At the end of one journey.....

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There are days when all of this seems unreal.  That Jason will walk through the door any minute now, laughing away at how much we fell for this, the ultimate joke.

If it feels this way for those of us who were with him, who held his hand and watched him slip away so quickly, I can only imagine how it is for those who hadn't seen him for awhile.  

It is times like this that it all becomes so very real.....

Jason's headstone was installed today at the Pack River Cemetery in Sandpoint, Idaho.

Its a lovely and fitting memorial for one so dear.... his father George Zimmerman and his "other mother" Patsy commissioned this wonderful stone for this, his final resting place.  

Thank you also to Jason's dear friends the Hughes and Durrants from Green River, Utah who graciously collected stones from some of Jason's beloved haunts on the San Rafael Swell, as well as to Janelle and Gerb for providing some sweet fall decorations a few weeks ago on their pilgrimage north.

We love you Jason... and we rest assured in the belief that we will see and be with you again.  Until then, may we all continue on this adventure called life..... and enjoy every moment that it gives us.

The Wall

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There are days I know I’ve given my all.

I arrive to work long before the sun comes up, and usually find myself leaving when it’s completed its journey down into the fiery blanket of the western skyline.

I thought about this tonight.

I thought about my life.

I thought about the people that you just can’t seem to please, no matter what…despite the hours you put in, heedless of the amazingness you try feed into the day, there are those who just don’t seem to feel that your efforts have merit; it seems that all they are capable of viewing is that which you didn’t do.

You know those people I’m talking about, don’t you?

Of course, my greatest archenemy is probably none other than I, the scrutinizer extraordinaire. No matter what we do, it never quite seems to be enough for us to feel good about who we are…there’s always one more thing we should have gotten accomplished before day’s end.

And so today, I hit the wall.

No, not literally, but figuratively.

It was akin to finding yourself standing in front of a brick roadblock that is far too high to climb, and too step to traverse. You sit before it, dejected, and know that you are beaten as the rain thunders down from a vortexual sky.

There’s no point in going any further; there is nothing you can do.

You feel your weakened resolve as it begins to crumble, and you succumb into apathy.

It’s then, in that quiet moment that you make the decision not to give up, you realize that it is the wall that will come down.

It must.

A brick is pushed loose and the entire peak comes crashing down in a heap of dusty rubble.

And when the dust clears, you stand, straighten your shoulders, and you keep on running.

November 26, 2009

Pin It My mind is a tumult of thought.

I thought about Mom today; as I did, I found it strange that someone you care about in this life could suddenly be whisked away. Photographs still remain. Videos might be left behind. Recordings of their voice might still be in existence…yet they are no longer with us.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to write about Mom, about how I’ve felt, about the good and the bad moments over the previous months since that fateful day this past summer. A whole lifetime has passed since those heartrending moments, and yet, it feels like it was only as long ago as a whisper shared amongst friends.

Time keeps going on whether or not we’d like it to.

The house was a melee of smells as family members were preparing the food for our Thanksgiving feast; however, I just felt that I needed to get out for a little while—to be alone—to think.

I decided to take out the trash.

I moved outside into the bitter crisp of November as the Thanksgiving wind buffeted me from all sides. In the distance, the pale light of the sun shone through the horizon’s misty clouds. I wanted that sun to bury its warmth deep into the empty and dark places of my soul. I stood, breathing in with lungs capable of still doing so, feeling the oxygen filling me.

I thought of the meal we were about to eat; the meal that she would not be taking a part in. It just seemed so inequitable, so unfair.

I retreated to my basement office to escape everyone and everything. I decided to organize files—as well as the accumulated slices of decades’ worth of living—to take my mind from the pummel of reflection. I settled down and found boxes rising about me in the minefield of disorganization…

Letters, photographs, various knickknacks and paddywhacks; they surrounded me like a vestibule of yesterday.

As I sifted though these fragments of my own life’s history, I felt myself remembering this particular student, that specific moment of childhood—a fragmented memory which had long-since been forgotten and lain dusty and dormant.

It wasn’t long before my dad came into the room.

Against the wall was a collection of artwork Dad had given to me on that last visit home, nestled amongst them were the sticheries, those which Arlene had done while she was still alive. Dad stared silently at each of these pieces in turn and then asked:

“Did you know that she wrote to you on the back of this one?”

I looked up from the papers I’d been sorting through, and shook my head. I arose from my place and moved slowly to where my dad was standing. The stichery was large, proclaiming “Welcome to the Zimmerman’s” proudly from its frame.

I turned the frame with trembling fingers and looked down at the brown paper backing. There, scrawled in curls I immediately recognized, I saw a message written to me. Mom had written it, she’d written sometime before—before the final days and moments that had taken her inescapably away.

I read over the note she’d written, my mouth dropping open. I was devoid of speech for several moments—I simply gazed at the writing before me.

And, just for a moment, she was there. Whispering those things I so much needed to hear, a message spoken from beyond the blistering confines of this thorny life.

When my dad departed from the room, I remained a few moments longer, gazing at the letter written to me.

I smiled.

Photographs still remain. Videos might be left behind. Recordings of voices might still be in existence…and testaments of love will not be forgotten.

Repost : Blogs - Serials of Society

Pin It Originally posted on Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Why do I like to read blogs? Interesting question…really.

I guess you could say that I relate blogs as serials of a society. Blogs, like syndicated programs I love to watch, allow me to know more about certain characters, about their interests, quirks, and even moments of frustration and achievement in their day-to-day living. Like favorite programs, I have my favorite blogs as well. However, I look forward to reading all of the blogs on my subscription list (currently at an undisclosed number). Some of these ‘shows’ are on more frequently, while others only have a special which comes on every once and great while (ex; Yancy’s Christmas Special).

In the words of Will from the movie, About a Boy: “The thing is, a person’s life is like a TV show. I was the star of The Will Show. And The Will Show wasn't an ensemble drama. Guests came and went, but I was the regular. It came down to me and me alone…”

Blogs, like shows, have their major and minor characters…those whom we’ve become endeared to—though perhaps we’ve never before met them. They are the characters we laugh with at the good times, mourn with when there’s tragedy, and stand up and cheer for when they rise up against the odds.

You know what though? The ‘show’ would not be worth watching if it weren’t for the good times, as well as the bad. We need both to recognize the other—and to appreciate them. I never feel so good about feeling well as I do right after I’ve just been sick.

There have been times over the pasts few years when some my favorite ‘characters’ have taken a turn for the worst, are met up with insurmountable odds and trials, or quite simply, jumped in the lineup for a cancellation.

I guess I write this because I need to remind myself that a serial does not have a happy ending…at least, not yet. Sure, there are those episodes which make us feel good at the end when the credits start to roll, but there are others which leave us feeling frustrated or upset.

Just know that the writers will eventually get past that particular hurtful episode, and will get it right. But in the meantime, don’t cancel your show just yet.

Come what May

Pin It I have not responded to your individual comments; I don’t know as how to respond to be completely honest; just know that I am thankful for them.

I am also grateful for the phone calls which I have not answered, the emails which I have not replied to. For the Facebook messages which I have not ignored and for the text messages which you know that I usually never read. For each of these, I offer up a hearty “Thank you…I’m so glad that I can count you as friends.”

To save time I will reply to the one incessant question which has been universal through most of these forms of correspondence: “Teachinfourth, what happened?”

Please be patient and indulge me just a bit as I answer as I can. I find myself doing what writers do when they are faced with a dilemma…they write about it. It is with this in mind that I put tremulous hand to page—

The steady beat of the windshield wipers scraped away the waves of water as the miles of highway fell away beneath the tires of my Honda CR-V. I hadn’t made this trip in years. The clouds overhead were gray and ominous; they were a good mirror for my thoughts—reflecting back the mood of what I had been feeling.

Wait, let me go back.

It was Saturday. I’d been in St. George when the phone call came

No, I need to go still farther.

18 years.

My parents got divorced.

Yes, that was hard. But that is a whole story in itself which could fill volumes. The life that I’d once known had become fractured into two. I at times wonder about the life that would be now had that dreadful event not come to pass, however I’ll never be privy to that information; what I do know is the life which ensued because it did.

That’s the one I am currently living.

To surmise: both my parents eventually remarried.

My dad married a woman named Arlene. To sum up nearly two decades in just a few sentences: she helped my dad and me to finally have a positive relationship. She always made it a point to make sure that we were all included as family. She cared about my father’s children just as much as if she had given birth to each and every one of them herself.

Is it any surprise that we call her, ‘Mother’?

I have two Moms. Two women I credit with varied parts of my life.

Fast forward sixteen years into the future—July 2007; Arlene was diagnosed with cancer. She was given between one and eight weeks to live.

This was the time I received a ticket for the emotional rollercoaster known as life, which would offer up its myriad of twists and turns over the next several months. I ended up flying home in October, thinking that one of my Moms was going to die.

She surprised everyone.

She began to get better.

She began to respond to treatments.

The cancer spread.

Saturday, June 20, 2009—1:34 P.M: The call came from Sandpoint, Idaho. My dad phoned to let me know that Arlene’s condition had rapidly deteriorated and it was not looking good. She had been admitted to the hospital just a few days before because of various complications which inevitably led back to the cancer. She had requested to come home—she told my dad that this is where she wanted to die.

There were to be no miracles this time; no saving graces where she would baffle the doctors and glean extra years to her lifespan as she had done so many times before.

This time, it was for real.

I was on my way. I bid farewell to the friends I’d been visiting and began the arduous trek to the panhandle of northern Idaho—a seventeen hour drive from my current location.

I ran the gambit of emotion as I drove in the rain nearly the entire distance to Tremonton, arriving at 9:00 P.M. and staying with an old friend so as to get an early start out the next day.

I was up before the sun, fumbling with contact lenses and car keys—slipping out into the early morning light, inking over the distant hills like warm butter. I drove along in silence. My jumbled thoughts were mismatched as town after tiny town nestled securely in and amongst the bosom of rolling hills passed in my wake, their inhabitants still aslumber.

As I drove, I passed from sunny skies to those of rainstorm. I traveled through storm after storm. Like the tempests in my own life, I traveled through he sun, rain and back again as the miles still fell away. From time to time I was in the sunlight, but I could see the dark clouds out on the horizon, and I was moving right toward them.

Bring it on.

Was this to be a metaphor of the events coming to pass in my own life? Leaving blue skies behind and trading them for heavens of ashen gray?

Makeshift crosses on the roadside served as sordid reminders of what was to inevitably come to pass. I winced every time I saw one, and quickly averted my eyes, as if having seen something repulsive.

I drove into the downpour.

Down it came, harder…threatening to dislodge my little vehicle from the road, but still I drove, unimpeded.

On the other side of the storm was a sky which was bluer than the one I’d left behind. It made the storm feel worth it, just to see what lay on the other side.

Joni Mitchell once talked about having seen clouds from both sides. I think I understood—finally—what she was trying to say….a road trip of this nature was the best thing for me at this time. It was just me—me and an iPod full of music and a head jammed full of thoughts and a heart full of emotions needing to be worked through. Like the trash strewn along the highways of my life, someone needed to pick it all up and sort through it.

Me.

So I kept traveling the road, with new sights waiting to be seen with the billboards of my life spelling back their messages in the broad moments of quietness.

This second day’s drive took 11 ½ hours, it was nearly 5:00 P.M. when I pulled into my parent’s suburban neighborhood. As I climbed out of my car I realized that had I flown, so many things would have been missed.

It was with a heavy heart that I cut across the evenly cut grass of the lawn and entered through the back door, silent as a wisp of smoke. The problems of the world were still gathering around me, pushing and shoving; they were mine to be conquered, mine to be vanquished.

But for now, let come what may; after all, there is nothing I can do to stop them.

The space between

Pin It There is a space.

A place where asphalt meets concrete; you’ve seen this space before I’m sure. Oftentimes, this is the area where new life tries to push forth, eager shoots feeling their way toward the sunlight from narrow crevices in the tarmac jungles of the city.

Each day I pass by the assorted weeds sprouting through the narrow cracks without so much as a second glance—after all, they’re simply weeds: Dandelion shoots, grass tendrils, and wild morning glory; all growing noxiously through the fissure—soon to feel the sweltering heat of the sun as the summer moves in with its searing temperatures. Some of them will survive the intense heat while others will simply expire, leaving behind lifeless remains to be blown away by the wind.

As I passed on one particular morning, I happened to notice something different growing there—it was a sapling; the small seedling of a Locust with its miniature twig-like branches reaching upward to the sunlight, nestled in amongst the weeds.

I passed over this small plant and went about my day, but it was on my mind; in fact, for the next few days I thought about it—and looked at it every time I passed. I knew it would die where it was. After all, it was growing in a zone where it would be cut down, run down, stepped on, or crushed. At such a young size I knew that I could probably pull it up; its chances were much better with my doing this than leaving it to fend for itself in a position of such precariousness where the inevitable result would be fatality.

I waited a few days, until after we’d had a rainstorm. On my way out to my car I paused to examine this small plant. I took it firmly by the stem—one day to be the trunk—and gently pulled.

The roots held determinedly to the packed earth in the fracture where asphalt and cement united together. I didn’t relent, but instead kept steady pressure; suddenly I felt the plant come way quickly. However, that’s when I noticed that I’d snapped the taproot.

I was worried that I’d killed it.

I brought it home and put it in a container of water in the sunny kitchen windowsill and checked it each day. At first there was no change; then it began to look sickly. A few of the little twigs wilted, browned, and fell away.

I was now positive that I’d destroyed it.

I had to remind myself that it was doomed where it was growing—it would only have been a matter of time before a school bus or other vehicle would have crushed it—there was a much greater possibility that it would survive with what I’d done.

I would wait.

After a few weeks, I saw that it was starting to sprout new shoots; tiny roots were also starting to emerge from the whitish base.

It was starting to adapt.

It was going to make it.

After a few more days it the roots were much longer, and even more branches had begun to develop.

It was healthy.

It had survived.

The day of grandeur came two days ago when I took my small friend out to a place away from oncoming cars and the feet of small children; to a place where it will have plenty of room to grow.

I planted it in the rich, warm soil.

It now has wide-open spaces, far away from that small crack where it once found itself; forced to grow—and before summer’s end—would die.

I think of the times in my own life when I am content to let myself survive day to day in a small crack in the ground; a place where life does not thrive and will one day be doused. Sometimes, it takes a lot of courage to move yourself from this little chink in the asphalt to the wide open space where the fields of possibility become yours. At times this move may hurt, old branches may wither away, but new branches will eventually grow to take their place.

Let us not be content with the space between.

The Marrow of Life

Pin It It was Henry David Thoreau who once penned the words, “I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”

What does this mean? What is he saying? Why did he say it?

While I cannot speak for Mr. Thoreau, and I guess it really isn’t that important to me, I know how this applies to my own life…

I was with a friend of mine tonight. We went out because of a life-changing event in the pathway she is walking. This event is not necessarily a good thing.

As we talked this evening and enjoyed our dinner—as well as each others’ company—I couldn’t help but think about the simple pleasures I have in this life. The things about me which I often take for granted. I hope you will forgive my indulgence by mentioning a few of these varied bits and pieces…

• Eating spoonful of cookie dough, as the sweetness of it beckons you to fetch a glass of milk.
• Walking on a brisk afternoon as the scent of autumn wafts about on the breeze.
• Watching a sunset as it sets the sky ablaze in an orchestra of color.
• Wearing a brand-new pair of flannel pajamas, and feeling the warmth of a blanket wrapped about you on a frosty night.
• The smell of freshly-baking bread and eating it, fresh off of the loaf, with little wells of melted butter like lakes on its surface.
• Talking to a dear friend for hours on end about nothing in particular—and enjoying each others’ company with so many common experiences we’ve shared.
• Watching the stars above you, as they watch you back on a warm, lazy summer night with an ensemble of crickets lulling you into slumber.
• Listening to that song…you know the one…the one I haven’t heard it in such a long time and then suddenly, there it is again. I love it even more than the first time I’d heard it.
• To shoulder a backpack and head out into the lonely windswept desert hills and not see another soul for days on end. It’s just she and I.

You might say that tonight was yet another reminder to me that life is meant to be lived deeply—and to the fullest.

“Live life so completely that when death comes like a thief in the night, there will be nothing left for him to steal.”

- Unknown

Blogs—Serials of Society

Pin It Why do I like to read blogs? Interesting question…really.

I guess you could say that I relate blogs as serials of a society. Blogs, like syndicated programs I love to watch, allow me to know more about certain characters, about their interests, quirks, and even moments of frustration and achievement in their day-to-day living. Like favorite programs, I have my favorite blogs as well. However, I look forward to reading all of the blogs on my subscription list (currently at an undisclosed number). Some of these ‘shows’ are on more frequently, while others only have a special which comes on every once and great while (ex; Yancy’s Christmas Special).

In the words of Will from the movie, About a Boy: “The thing is, a person’s life is like a TV show. I was the star of The Will Show. And The Will Show wasn't an ensemble drama. Guests came and went, but I was the regular. It came down to me and me alone…”

Blogs, like shows, have their major and minor characters…those whom we’ve become endeared to—though perhaps we’ve never before met them. They are the characters we laugh with at the good times, mourn with when there’s tragedy, and stand up and cheer for when they rise up against the odds.

You know what though? The ‘show’ would not be worth watching if it weren’t for the good times, as well as the bad. We need both to recognize the other—and to appreciate them. I never feel so good about feeling well as I do right after I’ve just been sick.

There have been times over the pasts few years when some my favorite ‘characters’ have taken a turn for the worst, are met up with insurmountable odds and trials, or quite simply, jumped in the lineup for a cancellation.

I guess I write this because I need to remind myself that a serial does not have a happy ending…at least, not yet. Sure, there are those episodes which make us feel good at the end when the credits start to roll, but there are others which leave us feeling frustrated or upset.

Just know that the writers will eventually get past that particular hurtful episode, and will get it right. But in the meantime, don’t cancel your show just yet.

The Last Lecture

Pin It There are things and people we encounter in life who inspire us… these little wonders grab us, shake us, and refuse to let go. Today I’d like to share one of these people who changed me. By viewing this, I hope it will change you and become a part of your life as much as it has now become a part of mine.

Meet, Professor Randy Pausch, a man who’s made a tremendous impact on the lives of millions of people, a man who lived his childhood dreams of meeting Captain James T. Kirk and experiencing zero gravity, a man who fathered three children, a man who died today of pancreatic cancer.

The wisdom Mr. Pausch…only, he’d want to be called Randy—left behind speaks long after he is physically able to do so.

His message will inspire you.

Randy Pausch - ABC Special.

A condensed version of Randy's Lecture recently given on Oprah.

Randy Pausch's Last Lecture.

“The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us the chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. They’re there to stop the other people.”

- Randy Pausch

For you...

Pin It Sometimes life can turn on a dime. We feel that we know what the future will bring and yet, sometimes we are given little surprises...some good and some not so good.

You know who, this one is for you. Never forget that He who calmed the waters and winds is mindful of each one of us.

Living out loud

Pin It I met Steven Curtis Chapman a few nights ago. For those of you who do not know who he is, he is a Christian singer/songwriter that I have listened to ever since I was about 15 years old. I feel that he and I have been through a lot together throughout the years. We’ve shared some good times and have built some great memories. However, all of these memories are mine, and not his.

On Friday Steven and I were just hanging out, we were talking and I finally met his family. They were not what I had expected. I thought that this man, the one who’d written so many songs which had moved me throughout the years, was somewhere around perfect, however, after conversing with him I realized that this was not the case at all, in fact, he wasn’t all that different than I was.

You see, I had always looked up to Steven. Wow I’d think, If only I could sing like that or if only my life were more like his...his life is perfect. Well, that night I got a wake up call. His family does argue, they do have problems, and he struggles with some of the same things I do in my life. When I asked him about this he responded with, “There are fights in my own house on given days...there is a point when literally hell sounds the trumpet and Satan releases his demons to come and attack the Chapman family. We pray and we get a lot of others praying...It’s not enough to just pray; you must respond when God’s answer to your prayer...and invest yourself in things that don’t always come easily to you.”

He then went on, “You know, you and I are really not all that different. We both have things we are working on in our lives. The thing is you don’t see those things when you look at me…do you?”

I admitted that I really hadn’t.

“This is live we've been given, Jason.” He said next with a smile, “It’s made be be lived out...so live your life out loud.”

It was at this point my alarm clock sounded, and I was roused from my night’s rest. As I opened my eyes I realized that what I’d just experienced was only a dream, a lucid dream, a dream that did not fade from my memory...it was so realistic that it still is sharp and defined even now, days later.

This experience was a great eye-opener for me to realize that Steven is human, just like us all. The reason I say this is because I think that many of us have a tendency to look at those around us who seem to have “perfect” lives and fail to realize that they have their problems, struggles, weaknesses, and even moments of deep despair.

I feel that I have spent far too much time in my life thinking, “If I were only like what’s-his-no-face, things would be better.” It has been over the last little while that I have realized that this is not really the case. I need to stop comparing myself to others and their seemingly “perfect” lives and instead compare myself to myself. Am I a better person today than I was yesterday? Have I done any better? If the answer is yes, good for me; if no, then I need to work a little bit harder. The point is, we all need to live our lives for who we are…not for somebody else.

We all are given life and each of these lives are different, it is my goal to follow Steven’s advice to me and to try to live my life to the fullest...if there does come an occasional day when I feel like staying in bed and doing nothing, this is okay—I just won't do it all the time.

I want to live my life the way I want it to be lived...

living it out loud.

Storms...and He that Calms Them

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Remember when I said that I had a soundtrack to my life?

I do.

I remember when I compiled the varied songs that there were far too many to simply have a one, or even a two-disk compilation. There are just too many songs which have become interwoven into the threads of my experiences. Their words, as well as the emotions they invoke, would also need to be included in that simple “soundtrack” to my life.

I needed more.

I went for a walk tonight, enjoying the crisp, evening air and the empty streets a Sunday night always seems to provide. It was nice to be outside and away from the things in a week which, at times, has been hectic and draining for me. As I was walking on a road overlooking the city, I stopped to gaze at the lights spread out below me…

In this vast panorama which lay before me, I could imagine a veritable trove of people, all with their individual lives and problems, struggles and challenges, joys and accomplishments. As I stood looking out over the city, it seemed so calm, so quiet. Into my mind came the words from a song I’d first heard many years before, as I drank in the calmness all around me, I felt at peace.

The calmer of the storm does look down and He sees us all, and is mindful of everything we experience in our lives. All of our pains, trials, and everything which bombard us each day; I need to remember to take the time to raise my eyes and not concentrate on the waves crashing around me.

My favorite stanza from the song is the following:

“There on the storm I am learning to let go.
The white wave’s high, it’s crashing o’er the deck
And I don’t know where I go.
Where are You Lord? Is my ship going down?
The mast is gone so throw the anchor…
Should I jump and try to swim to land?”

Thank you, Calmer of the Storm.

Calmer of the Storm
Down Here

When everything is wrong
The day has passed and nothing’s done
And the whole world seems against me
When I’m rolling in my bed, there’s a storm in my head
I’m afraid of sinking in despair.

Teach me, Lord to have faith
In what You’re bringing me will
Change my life and bring You glory

There on the storm I am learning to let go
Of the will that I so long to control
There may I be in Your arms eternally
I thank you, Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

You rebuke the wind and the waves
Once again I find I’m amazed by the power of Your will
‘Cause I’m a child of little faith
I feel the wind and forget Your grace
And You say, “Peace, be still.”

Teach me, Lord to have faith
In what You’re bringing me will
Change my life and bring You glory

There on the storm I am learning to let go
Of the will that I so long to control
There may I be in Your arms eternally
I thank you, Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

Oh when the torment blows
The middle of the sea.
May I never trust, never trust in me.
‘Cause there in Your arms I find
No tragedy.

There on the storm I am learning to let go
The white wave’s high, it’s crashing o’er the deck
And I don’t know where I go
Where are You Lord, is my ship going down?
The mast is gone so throw the anchor
Should I jump and try to swim to land?

There on the storm, teach me God to understand
Of Your will that I just cannot control.
There may I see all Your love protecting me
I thank you Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

Logan, the Sky Angel Cowboy

Pin It

There are those things in life which really make you think and bring your perspective back to where it should be.

I was recently given a link by a friend of mine, Summer, to a clip on YouTube. The clip is of a phone conversation between Logan, a 13 year-old boy who lives on a Nebraska ranch, and a radio DJ for 89.3 FM KSBJ. This is a Christian radio station which broadcasts from Houston, TX.

Logan made a phone call to the radio station very upset because he had to put down a calf that he loved. The message he shared made me think of what is truly important this time of year, and that no matter what challenges we are called to face in our lives, Somebody knows and understands what it is that we are going through.

Soundtrack to life

Pin It There are times when I am going day to day through my routines and moments…suddenly a song comes to mind. Often I will think to myself just how grand it would be to have that particular song be part of the soundtrack to my life. Maybe I’m one of the only people who do this, but I will frequently rethink over portions of my life to a song I’ve heard which seems fitting for that particular “scene” or moment suspended in time.

One of the most recent titles I’ve added to my “living album” is Matt Scannell (the lead singer from Vertical Horizon) remaking John Lennon’s 1965 hit song, “In my life.”

There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends, I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I'll love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I'll love you more

What song would you add to a daily life playlist? Would you like to add yours to the list of other fellow bloggers? If so, go here.

Not home yet

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As I sit here this evening I find myself thoughtful…reflecting on my life and all of those things which have made it what it is today. There are times I have made mistakes, traveled down roads which I wish I’d never taken. There are also moments I have made, what I consider, grand contributions to the lives of others. As I consider these individual parts of my life which contribute to the sum, I find myself realizing that there is something more, something beyond the scope of this life and the trials and successes it affords us.

It is when I remember that the events and situations in this life are temporary that I have hope. It is this which helps me to carry on day to day. I do have a song I particularly like right now by Steven Curtis Chapman. It is my reminder that we are all still but travelers along this road known as life and we are truly “not home yet.”

The Living Years

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When I turned five years old I got a really cool little puppy for my birthday. He was a half St. Bernard/half Golden Retriever mix (If you’ve ever seen the movie, ‘Beethoven’ you have a basic idea of just how big he really was). We decided to name him Grizzly Bear but we just called him Grizzly or Griz for short. He was a fantastic dog that I played with as a young boy and loved very much.

As the years trudged on and I became older, I began to play less and less with Grizzly. Though I didn’t seem to notice, as I got older, Grizzly did too. But no matter what, he was always there for me, even during a period of time where I pretty much ignored him because I had other things going on in my life. Unfortunately, as he got older he became and sick, and eventually couldn’t walk anymore, his fur was falling out, and he was in pain. We called the Vet who gave us the devastating news that Grizzly had simply grown too old and would need to be put to sleep.

I will never forget the day that the vet came out and gave Grizzly a shot that made him fall asleep. I remember knowing that once he fell asleep that he wouldn’t ever wake up again. As I watched from my bedroom window I thought of all the times I didn’t play with him. I was angry at myself for letting all that time go on and ignoring him until it was too late. We wrapped him in my favorite blanket, one that I’d had since I was four or five and buried him. I felt horrible inside, like I wanted to run and scream and hit something until the pain would go away. I had lost my best friend.

Isn’t it strange that so often we get caught up in life and don’t seem to truly notice our pets, friends, and sometimes even our family? One of the most terrible things that can happen is when we do not truly appreciate someone or something until they are gone. A group called “Mike and the Mechanics” came out with a song nearly twenty years ago entitled “The Living Years”; this song tells the story of a man who never really took the opportunity to tell his dad that he loved him. His dad dies and the man feels a hollow emptiness inside, wishing that he’d told his father how he’d always felt. In the end he basically expresses just how important it is for us to tell the people we love that we love them, while they are still here and so are we.

I guess my point is that it’s easy for us to create memories with others but so often we don’t. The TV set usually wins out over family conversation and long hours at work can consume a lifetime. When we, or a loved one are about to pass on from this life, will we have the right memories to take with us, or will it be reruns of our favorite television programs? I just hope that we can all think of experiences such as these in our lives and remember that the people around us won’t be around forever. In any moment of time they could suddenly be gone...would you have told them everything you’d have wanted to? Would you have spent the time with them, showing them how much you loved them? I think of this too and I realize in writing this that there are several people in my life that I really need to let know that I love them, to tell them that they are important to me, and that I haven’t forgotten them. Sometimes this can be hard when it feels that there is so much demanding our time in regards to school, work, and everyday life around us. It is my hope that we will all take the time to reach out while we are still in our “living years.”

Journey through Time

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I took a journey back in time today…I found a box of memorabilia…yearbooks, photos, and a book of thoughts from a decade ago. I found myself reliving those days and moments, caught in a moment in time. I stayed awake until nearly 3 a.m. while Bryan Adams’ song, Heaven, was running through my thoughts like a gust of wind blowing through the distant canyons on a star filled night…

“Oh - thinking about all our younger years,
There was only you and me,
We were young and wild and free…”

As I listened to the soundtrack of my life playing along with the images and memories I came to realize that though it is great to reminisce about days gone by, I would never want to return to them. I look where I am now, and the conveniences that we have today and I have to ask, would I really want to go back to a cassette player and a VCR?

No, I wouldn’t.

However, sometime in the future will I reminisce about these days that I currently reside in? Will I look upon them with fondness? I guess that will all be determined by the choices I am making today, won’t it?

It was Cubbi Gummi in Walt Disney’s “The Gummi Bears” show who once wisely said:

“Though the first step begins it all and the last one ends the quest, the long steps which come in between most certainly are the best.”

So though it may be fun to take an occasional trip to yesteryear, I would never want to go back and live there.

Make the journey worth taking…