Sitting behind the house of a dear friend of mine, having a cup of coffee, I am graced by the soft morning light that makes its way through gray clouds. Gentle gusts of wind move through the leaves of a locust tree and make their way to where we are seated. The breeze is refreshing. My hands embrace a cup of freshly brewed coffee that has both milk and honey (a mixture my friend says is “The Promised Land in a Cup”). On this particular morning my friend reminds me that “perspective is everything”; I could not agree more. In contrast to the surrounding yards… I am immersed in a garden. Tall trees of all kinds and floral colors create a perimeter where thought can soar. Blush roses and blood-orange lilies enter my contemplative gaze and make audible the inaudible voices of nature. At this moment I become consciously aware that if I were to glance over my left shoulder all of this perception would be over-shadowed by a gigantic water tower that looms above the roof of the house. I choose not to look over my shoulder. In a few minutes when I walk through the house on my way back into the world, off to work, I will see glimpses of the city’s industrial park where the tree line is thin. The urban elements that surround my friend’s home only serve to enhance my appreciation for the refuge and peace this place offers me.
Many of us recognize the Garden of Eden as a physical location that existed for a period of time in Earth’s distant past, a place where man was able to walk with God. As the story goes, immediately following mankind’s exile from Eden, our earliest ancestors were forbidden to return there. The scriptures record that the Garden and the Tree of Life within were thereafter guarded by a mystical sword that flashed back-and-forth ensuring that man would no longer be allowed to possess both knowledge (the knowledge of good and evil) and life eternal. Today, either our eyes deceive us or this Garden has vanished from the face of the planet. Eden today seems to be more a symbol of purity and innocence than an actual place we could visit to encounter grace.
As I drive to work I begin to think deeply about the mystery of Eden and the Cup of the Promised Land. Whether these places are in fact geographical locations or are purely spiritual refuges… my perception of them as either “origin” or “destination” suddenly seems of importance to me. The popular opinion held by most seems to be that ever since mankind was banished from the Garden at “The Fall of Man”, the Earth and particularly the people that dwell in it have been moving along paths toward destruction. “Times are getting worse.” I often hear, “A good man is hard to find!” Others remain hopeful that a new Eden awaits us.
Personally, I wonder if there may be an alternative perspective.
I have recently begun to think of the Garden of Eden as the place where our temporal universe and the realm of the eternal converge. Thinking of the descriptions from the Bible that tell of Eden, a place where four rivers come together, lush and green, and thriving with life. I like to imagine that two of these rivers (the Pishon and Gihon) were spiritual springs that have since quelled and that the Tigris and Euphrates rivers (the two that remain today) brought in the earthly waters. I imagine that perhaps the Garden once provided man with a place in which to encounter the heavenly realms, a middle-ground with rich soil cultivated by spiritual waters, a ground upon which the true experience of God was in full bloom.
I believe our own spiritual cultivations, if they are true, can produce eternal gardens in which our friends, families, and loved ones may experience the goodness of God. Isn’t this exactly how we have been taught to pray “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven …”?
I often love to sit and reflect on the times and the places that have represented “Eden” for me. Most of these memories involve elements of the natural world and also being in community with those whom I love most. Both nature and our loved ones are good at hiding us from the world and creating a “space” for us; they create for us places that time cannot touch, where the eternal is welcome and may become known. These spaces are heavenly gardens that are accessible from earth.
Mankind is far removed from the Garden. From the Garden to the village, from the village to the town, from the town to the city. States and nations; we have become part of established societies. But, have the urban bricks of our society built up a high wall around us… a high wall that blocks our view of the distant horizon and stifles our wonder of what is beyond?
Is the countryside now just a place that is barely visible and that can only be seen by those who dare to climb the heights of the city-wall and bravely peer into the distant unknown. How might a person shout back down the wall, how might a person describe to their friends and begin to put into words the sights they have seen? What language can dare to touch the true experience of the Divine?
Only memories perhaps…
Three young boys, just filled up on garden-fresh vegetables, country ham, and fried okra. Three young boys with smiles that reach their eyes. Fishing poles held overhead as short legs whip through tall grass. Over creek and under branch. Up this trail or down that trail? Only one worry in their minds. Only one worry in their worlds. Shall they go to the upper pond or the lower pond? Mystery will await them at either. How many fish will they bring back? Fresh, fried fish for dinner… a true country delight.
Memories such as these bring the warmth of country summers to dreary days in winter cities. Harvesting the fruits of our memory is the best way to beautify our gaze. Only when we begin to look through beautiful eyes will our perspectives begin to be transfigured.
The gravel road to Granny’s house. A cedar plank fence affront a long ranch house. Here, you are veiled from the outside world. At Granny’s house you are special. Everyone lines up at the door, each sibling does not dare enter before receiving a tight hug and more than one kiss. At Granny’s a greeting hug may span three minutes, but the effects are lasting and eternal. Many cats gather at the back door to be fed at dusk, the tall cedars become a softening canvas as the night approaches, for stories of “Barron”, the not-so-best dog they ever owned, and then Taffy, the best dog ever! Taffy, the dog that befriended the multitude of cats. In the distance is Barren’s old, rickety, cedar plank dog house still visible, just visible, outside the darkening tree line. The birds perch on this branch and flutter to that branch. From maple to walnut, and then from oak to cedar. The branches twitch until we can no longer see them and the trees become a subtle silhouette etched into the night sky. Pa Daryl stokes the wood burning stove. The smell of burnt wood and the comforting scent of hand-knitted afghans cover us; they keep us warm long after we have left the hearth of their warmth. There will be goody-bags and ginger ales for the trip home; a peaceful trip back home, to the city, not beyond the reach of a Granny’s love.
I once asked my Granny what her fondest memories were. Turns out they were with her Granny (her mother’s mother). Grandma Beal. Perhaps it was her kindness that my Granny has passed on to me. Here are my Granny’s words regarding Grandma Beal:
“Every summer we would go spend a week or two with Grandma, each one of us children (away from the rest) would have a week alone with Grandma. And she loved us all and she loved us to death. And we couldn’t do any wrong when we were down there, except that when we did something wrong we got our butt whipped ha ha ha, and we got sat in the chair… but, we didn’t do any wrong ha ha ha.
She didn’t have any running water, we had to pump the water out back. She had a cow when I first went there, in the city! She tried to teach me how to milk the cow. And she had chickens… a whole big chicken yard. I would go and get the eggs every day, she taught me how to do that. She had a garden, and she had a plum tree that was delicious (delicious prunes), and aaah, peaches!! She had peach trees all-in-one-lot, every kind of peach you can imagine, and when they were hot from the sun and ready to eat she always knew. By helping Grandma we learned country life early.”
Through our memories… I think we can bring country-life to the city, as spiritual waters to urban stone. I have heard it said that “prayer is the art of presence.” A person’s presence can without a doubt soften hearts of the hardest stone. It is indeed people like my grandparents that teach us the art of presence, and where did they learn it?! My Pa Daryl has one of the most peaceful presences such as this. I had often wondered how he was so able to nourish his spiritual “Garden” (that is: his presence). Here is a memory he shared, that has continued to shape him, and that now shapes me:
“I was raised on a farm. We had a ninety-six acre farm that was an extension of my grandfather’s (my father’s father’s) four-hundred acre farm. For me, I was the youngest of nine children, and what I remember was that when my mom and dad first started they lived in the bottom of what we call a hollow; they lived in a log cabin. At the hollow’s base it was no wider than two-hundred feet and opened-up beyond the hill into our family farm. Later on, my parents moved up to the hill. If I remember correctly the house was 12-by-24 feet, with an attic up there, and then later-on they finally cut wood off of our own property and made three little rooms on the back.
I think the one thing that I really enjoyed was… in that hollow where my mother and dad had that log cabin, I went back over there, and there was a spring that ran down beside it. And I went down there when I was young, maybe in the sixth-seventh grade, and I wanted to camp out. So what I did is… I cut some trees, small trees, and I made like, a lean-to. And I made a bed. I used grass-string for the mattress and I had a dog, a Collie-dog, and we would go over there. I draped some cloth for the front of it, and we would lay inside, and you could hear the water going by… and it was just real peaceful.”
Later Pa Daryl would give me more details of how at that time the log cabin was no longer there but, that there was only the reminisce of an old, small barn down there. “The roof of my lean-to,” he said, “was made from a scrap of tin. Me and Collie-dog would lay down there most nights and even if it started to rain we would stay down in the hollow until the morning.”
In my mind, I imagine what the rain may have sounded like on the roof of Pa Daryl’s lean-to. Storing away such memories in our hearts, I believe, will allow us access to a stillness and peace even when we find ourselves among unsettling times.
Eden exists within us, if we remain in exile it is because we have banished ourselves.
Dr. Lauerence Kant had this to say: “Lost we wander in the wilderness trying to find an oasis, not realizing that both the wilderness and the oasis are inside us.” So, if we continue to wander in the wilderness it is of our own choosing. But, once we enter into the Promised Land, the water flowing in that land will become a Cup that we can offer to others. When will we allow the eternal waters of memory to soften and reshape the grounds of our hearts? Because only then will we discover how our hearts and homes may become an eternal Garden that offers protection and belonging to all those we encounter.
Eden can be found within us, if we allow the Divine to come near to us.
Mountains, rivers, and trees. Individual elements of Earth that each have roots, yet whose systems intertwine. Ancient snow-capped stone with foundations that reach warmth below, underground tributaries whose waters gather in the dark and emerge into the light; kind waters offering a drink to all who thirst… and leaves green with life, rustling in the wind, whilst wooden fingers travel deep the mire (around stone, in search of water) to anchor the existence of growth above.
I suppose the human person is most like a tree, we have life and we experience growth, but we have nothing, no physical extension to hold us firm in place. Our blood and ancestry can sometimes lead us to places where we discover belonging. Memory, however, is our truest anchor and will hold us near our Source.
There is a mountain beneath our souls and within the blood of our veins a river of life. What shall our hands create and bring forth into the light? Our memories are collections of what we will become; what we choose to remember gathers in the dark and what we imagine will pool into the light. The cup we offer to those who thirst will become the purest existence we have, here. Kind water for parched lips… eternal love that washes over the soul.
Each loving act a new memory -roots that hold us firm.
How exited was I to learn of the new Star Wars movies that are now in production? I will not answer that question in full for fear of being labeled more a dork than my friends have previously suspected. But, I will say, I was exited enough that when the notion crossed my mind at three in the morning I was compelled to jump out of bed and compose a few thoughts about why I like these films so much. I suppose the reason I connect with this story so intently (apart from the fact that the original three Star Wars films are woven into so many great childhood memories) is because stories such as these give us the opportunity to explore the mystery of an “Other” world.
Through the looking glass of an adult perspective certain details come to light that my young mind had not a glimpse of. It is amazing to me that in a galaxy far, far away there exist a people not so different from you and I -granted some that are stranger looking! Still, at the very heart of this series there is a battle between good and evil; a space odyssey that introduces us to a cast of peculiar characters. Yet, beyond outward appearances, these tales acquaint us with attributes that ultimately define each character as either hero or villain. I could not help myself when I was out shopping the other day and found a retro, Star Wars, metal lunch box… I just had to buy it for my son’s third birthday! On front of the box was the central crew of the “Rebel Alliance”, a group in shimmering white clothing crowded around the humble Luke Skywalker. Looming in the background of the cases front (over the shoulder of Skywalker) were the dark images of the DEATH STAR (a symbol of the destruction of all that is good in the world) and the haunting face of one Darth Vader.
Darth Vader is the evil commander of the much larger “Galactic Empire”, an empire bent on the destruction of all that oppose its power. For me, the greatness of this tale lies in Luke’s journey to discover “The Force”, the invisible fabric that transcends space and time and that interconnects all of life. While on his own path of self-discovery Luke acts as a servant-leader, leading the small rebel force (a remnant of good people left in the galaxy) to rally against the eminent total-eclipse of evil. Yet, a penumbral light is becoming visible… A New Hope.
Alright, at this point if you know these movies and did not like them you are thinking “Wow, what a nerd!”. On the other hand if you did like them you are probably ready to wipe the dust off your collection and watch them straight through!! For those of you who do not know much about these films, let me take a moment to commend the creative genius of George Lucas (the creator of the film series). Lucas cleverly created a very captivating story that would be divided into numerous (nine, or possibly even twelve) movies. A strategy of filming parts/episodes 4, 5, and 6 first was the genius idea. George Lucas was the Writer and Director for the first film (Episode IV) and was involved in the writing on Episodes V and VI. Not knowing how many films he would actually end up producing or if parts 1, 2, and 3 (or 7, 8, 9, ect.) would ever come into being… it turned out that Episode I, Episode II, and Episode III were eagerly and anxiously awaited by fans and were not released until 16 years after the filming of Episode VI (the third film.) Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope was released in 1977 (most well known as simply Star Wars) and some people don’t even recognize it under its sub title of “A New Hope”. I wonder if George Lucas knew at that time what he had given birth to?! The sequel to the first film, Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back has been argued by film critics to be one of the best sequels to a movie ever, in the history of cinema!!
One of my childhood favorites, and the final film in the original trilogy is Star Wars Episode VI: The Return of the Jedi. The third film was released in 1983, which landed it’s release just two years after I was born and very near my childhood years. I count it a blessing that my young mind could have been enriched by such imaginative stories. As a young adult, I also thoroughly enjoyed the prequel trilogy (including Episodes I-III, that George Lucas served as both writer and director for) and because so many other people feel the same, what a franchise George Lucas has created! The Walt Disney Company just last year (in October 2012) purchased Lucasfilm and paid over 4 billion dollars for it!! Disney wasted no time announcing that they plan to make three new Star Wars films starting with Episode VII that is scheduled for release in 2015!!!
Here is a funny story that my father loves telling on himself. My father is the eldest of four boys and there is a ten year age difference between himself and his youngest brother, Philip. When he and my mother were newly married, they took Phil to the movies and guess what was playing… the first STAR WARS. From looking at the movie poster my father assumed it would be a kid-friendly selection (which it is), but after seeing the film he was personally not very impressed. Trailing Philip on the way back to the car my father leaned in to my mother’s ear and uttered the epic words “Well… that movie isn’t going to amount to much!”. My father admits today that he had never been so wrong!! Clearly his son agrees, as I continue to sing the praises of these stories.
I just love the idea that in our own world a spiritual world exists just below the surface of what we can see with our eyes. Sometimes we have difficulty encountering this Other world, but the invisible world-of-spirit is always most visible through the goodness and kind acts of others. There are many characters who play a role in helping us along our path of spiritual discovery: Jedi in white clothing, evil Siths with black hearts and my personal favorite… the real folks that belong to the fray -authentic people like Han Solo that inhabit the grey zone but deep down are attracted to the light.
If you have not had the privilege of watching these films, there is hope yet… it still amazes me how well the special effects that Lucas pioneered have contributed to the enduring quality of the original three movies (films as relevant today as when they were released over thirty years ago.) If you do not know what being a “Jedi” is all about, or have not made the acquaintance of Yoda, there is time yet. Or “time yet, there is” if you prefer! I would personally recommend watching the original trilogy first, before viewing Episodes I, II, and III. Watching the trilogies in the “reverse” order will spoil some of the mystery. Who knows, you may even become as excited as I am for the next chapters in this galactic adventure.
After watching the first three films, if nothing else, you will at least be able to laugh at some of the Star Wars anecdotes that are riddled throughout our pop-culture. When a child is wearing a shirt that says “The Force is strong with this one”… you will laugh! When you read an article or hear someone flip their speech patterns (“time yet, there is” for example) you will chuckle. When you see a child walking into their kindergarten class with a Star Wars lunch box it may bring a smile to your face. My hope for you is deeper however. While I was researching the original film release-dates I was reading on WOOKIEPEDIA and saw that the Jedi were described as “mystical warriors”. I believe our world would do well with a few more Jedi… I believe that A New Hope may just lie in the hearts of such warriors!
One of the most powerful opening lines in film is from the movie Crash:
It’s the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In [our Modern World], nobody touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.[1]
Here the narrator targets automobiles (metal and glass) as being to blame for the rift that has formed within human interaction. Nowadays people don’t walk they drive, and in doing so probable opportunities for genuine interaction are reduced to obligatory hand waves -general acknowledgments directed toward people that we don’t really know. Our capacity for Being Known ourselves is diminished by the walls we have constructed. Inside our metal chariots we focus only on our expectation of swift travel; sounds and fragrances from the outside world cannot reach inside our transparent encasements. In this same way our homes (brick and stone) are capable of the same kind of depravity. The seasons of the year are abolished. The early light of spring mornings is held off by our window shades, the quickened twilight of winter is circumvented by the flip of a light switch, and the climate within our little worlds are kept at very specific temperatures; held within a limited range of comfortable degrees.
Regardless of the amount sleep I get I am not what you would call a “morning person”. The only pleasant mornings that I can remember are from a time when my responsibilities were few and I could achieve a full ten hours of un-interrupted sleep. I would awaken when my eyelids became weightless and the early-afternoon sun remained hidden behind a thick curtain. I have always thought the alarm clock to be a cruel invention, it’s design is a blatantly specific one, providing an abrupt shove into the next day (breaking the threshold that separates the night from the morning.) I realize now that my sentiments toward alarm clocks have been a bit harsh, after all they are no longer to blame for my morning struggle. I am reminded that all things are indeed relative!
These days early morning cries frighten me awake, stealing my last breath of sleep. The cries come from two different sources, either from my son who is confined to his room at the end of the hall or from my daughter who remains ensnared in her crib in the room just adjacent to mine. The thresholds of their mornings have also been shattered. They have woken with realizations that a new day has already begun without them and their longings for human contact cascade down a short hallway at an unknown hour. I sleep deeply in the hours leading up to dawn, it is rare that I even stir when my wife makes her way down the stairs and off to work. I remain in my slumber until suddenly I do not. Often the shriek of my daughter wakes my son, then my eyes dart open and I gasp (a futile effort to catch the breath that had escaped me.) Through the fog in my eyes I examine the red, digital sequence of numbers that alert me to the labor of a new day. I receive my children as delicately as I am able… making my way toward the door of the one wailing loudest.
Today was a rare occurrence however. My transition between sleep and wakefulness remained a graceful threshold. My day appeared as a welcome gift as my alarm clock chimed in my ear, and I was able to reach over and silence it and then lay there three to four minutes instead of reactively leaping out of bed to investigate the source of a cry. It is strange to me that the sound of this unnatural electronic device now rings blessing into my ear, alerting me to the gift of a couple extra minutes to make the voyage to the light side of my soul. This morning I became aware that within a few minutes sunlight would slowly gather around the edges of the window shades, shades that were pulled down tight.
I have considered at times leaving the window shades up. Perhaps if my nights were not extended by extra hours of work or the inability to reach sleep I would let the light in. After all, Light Is Generous – as John O’Donohue states in the opening pages of Anam Cara:
If you ever had the occasion to be out early in the morning before the dawn breaks, you will have noticed that the darkest time of night is immediately before dawn. The darkness deepens and becomes more anonymous. If you had never been to the world and never known what a day was, you couldn’t possibly imagine how the darkness breaks, how the mystery and color of a new day arrive. Light is incredibly generous, but also gentle. When you attend to the way the dawn comes, you learn how light can coax the dark. The first fingers of light appear on the horizon, and ever so deftly and gradually, they pull the mantle of darkness away from the world. Quietly before you is the mystery of a new dawn, the new day.[2]
On the one or two days a year when I make the time to go camping the walls and shades have been removed from the scene and a splendid alternative is revealed. I feel like a morning person; I awaken gradually… just as a soft light graces the horizon. The chirping of song birds embroiders a natural threshold that offers me deep restoration. I think there is peace to be found in “natural thresholds” such as the dawn. These thresholds allow the shape of our day to become smooth, for each portion to move fluently into the next and fit together seamlessly (like the scenes of a movie). Integrating our thoughts at the end of such days is rendered an effortless task in the presence of such gentle transitions. I have recently begun to wonder if I am to blame for the daily collisions that occur at the onset of my mornings. That is: “Perhaps it is not the responsibility of the morning to suit my life, but rather it should be the desire of my life to suit the morning.”
The film Crash does a profound job of illustrating the hurt and pain that we cause to one another by building up barriers of prejudice. The walls that we construct only hinder us from experiencing the potential beauty that lays dormant within our daily interactions. Through our hard shells we lose the ability to be touched/to feel. Just as the people that we encounter have the capacity to touch us if we allow them to… so do the elements of the natural world. We as a culture have strong-armed the natural world into serving our agendas and have forgotten how to just ‘be’. Realizing that this next statement will sound a bit “earthy”, the technological advancements that serve our lives of luxury have the keen ability to subdue the voice that lies deep within us. We have forgotten that the experience of raw natural beauty is essential to understanding the clay that forms us.
John O’Donohue continues:
It is one of the tragedies of modern culture that we have lost touch with these primal thresholds of nature. The urbanization of modern life has succeeded in exiling us from this fecund kinship with our mother earth. Fashioned from the earth, we are souls in clay form. We need to remain in rhythm with our inner clay voice and longing. Yet this voice is no longer audible in the modern would. We are not even aware of our loss, consequently, the pain of our spiritual exile is more intense in being largely unintelligible.[3]
At night the lights of our houses come on. Lights that do not arrive gracefully. At the flip of a switch a smoke stack somewhere feeds a harnessed electric fire that throws our world out of balance. The darkness and soft flickering flames that used to embrace us so warmly have been drenched in a harsh, artificial glare of light. We sit alone, with our thoughts crowded out. The noise and images that emerge from our electronic devices drown-out the words that the day has spoken to us. And after the lights have been turned out our walls and window shades keep us hidden from the natural light of dawn… until we rush through the door (back into the Modern World) at a time of our own choosing. In attempt to put lyrical expression to the issues that plague our Modern World: Buildings continue to stretch higher-and-higher, how long and large are the shadows they create and how is the light ever to reach our human-clay?
How are we to rediscover the natural rhythm that lives deep within us? The solution is one. Our Modern World is in a hurry. Slow down… everyone. Receive the natural world.
[1] Crash, Written and Directed By Paul Haggis, 2004 (Film), braces: Mine
[2] Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, Written By John O’Donohue, 1997
[3] (quote continued) Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, Written By John O’Donohue, 1997
I experienced a “REVOLUTION” on this spring morning during my daily commute into the Big City. I encountered a woman driving one of the greener (non gas-gusling) vehicles on the highway. As my vehicle neared the back of hers the hand painted letters R-E-V-O-L-U-T-I-O-N came into view, and as I moved to pass the woman on the left I noticed that her car was covered in a brilliantly painted abstract with items of nature flowing one into the other. On the driver’s side fender the text “Question Everything?” appeared in curvy white letters surrounded in a bright reddish-orange flare of color. As I steered back into the right lane I saw in my rearview mirror a large off-white spiraling flower (on the hood of her car) and on the front bumper a suggestion that “We are all mad here :(“. Whether the statement being made was that we are all angry or altogether crazy, I believed it to be an accurate assessment of the drivers that I had met on the roadway each day. Minutes later as traffic slowed in my lane the colorful, flat paint came back into view as the mobile mural passed on my left. Our paths had moved full-circle which presented me the opportunity to behold the other side of this imaginative display of beauty. Words on the back bumper of her car that I had not noticed before disappeared into the distance. “Be Happy ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Be Free”. And so the woman continued on to her destination, apart from, but offering influence into my own.
While this vehicle exhibited an act of voluntary vandalism, I realized that I had recently begun to welcome most all graffiti as a means of prompting thought about my personal human experience. I am in NO WAY encouraging you as a reader to deface the property of someone else -your own perhaps. I am simply asking that you not discount these images and messages as eye sores. Within even the vilest of graffiti there is often expressive artwork that longs to be appreciated. There are exceptions!! But I consider transfiguring a cage of metal and glass into a driving-daisy to be an act of compassion for others that remain trapped in the daily grind -a point of beauty capable of influencing the perspectives of others.
“U R All Robots”. This was a message spray painted on some construction materials along the very same interstate. A couple years ago a road project was underway; I had also been working on an intensive two-year project and there were times that I felt like a gear in The Big Machine. At the time I would drive into the Big City five days a week and work long hours before my return trip; upon returning home there would be only a few short hours until I would encounter the same scenery again the following morning. Out of the miles-and-miles of familiar highway and construction a fresh message grabbed my attention. I pondered the idea, admired the skill of the artist, and the medium of the image (a stack of concrete roadway dividers) I thought to be a conservative placement for such a deep notion. Questions began to swirl in my head: Am I a robot? Had my culture programmed me to become what it had required me to be? Was the course of my life void of imagination and creativity? Or, in contrast, had I chosen my own unique path guided by my imaginings? In spite of the motivation of the artist behind that red and blue paint, I was driven to consider my perspective and position… rather than being taunted into feeling insignificant.
These “Graffiti Epiphanies” exist all around us. We must open our eyes to receive them. Just a few weeks ago I realized that beauty is most visible when it is viewed against the mundane; six left turns, one right, a vacant space on the right. I typically try and park in a spot just to the left of the numerous lights (which are mounted to the low ceilings in measured intervals). The plastic shrouds that encase each lamp give release to a variable, yellowed ambiance. A yellow-orange glow darkened by the brown circles burnt into each covering where the lights come closest to their shields. The dim manila lighting is a hue I have come to prefer because it is relaxing yet still provides enough light by which to read. A couple pages of a book, a chapter on some days, serves to relax me after the shorter of my commutes. Mondays and Fridays I arrive in the Little City, and am grateful that I do not have to endure the hour and fifteen minute commute (into the Big City) every day of the week. These days offer me a very welcome rest. Staring between the twined metal wires that act as a barrier between the levels of the structure I can see another message written directly in front of me and especially for me… I just have to figure out what it means. W-H-E-N. “WHEN” written in sidewalk chalk inside of a parking garage, just a short walk from my work. The structure is a solemn labyrinth of concrete and steel. When what? Neon-orange block letters (color that has been added to an otherwise dismal and bleak landscape) provoke me to thought.
Today offers us a beautiful opportunity that will never exist again. The way we interpret the messages that sit before us today will not be possible tomorrow… because we are ever-changing. The element of WHEN far too often exists as the smaller part of a larger question, an inquiry that bends us toward the future. WHEN has the power to dissolve the possibility of NOW, but we must not let it.
My older brother’s re-birth as a Texas Boy occurred at the age of 23. When I tell the story I usually spice things up by mentioning that Dave chased a girl down to Texas. And if you know my big brother you would know that he would not have gone chasing just any ole gal. Up here in the beautiful State of Kentucky, is the only place we Hudsons ever called home. “The Bluegrass State” of horse farms, tobacco, straight bourbon whiskey and Wildcat basketball! When you ask someone in Kentucky “Where are you from?” you are typically expecting them to respond with the name of one of the other 120 counties that patchwork the Kentucky frontier. Here we sit just south of the Ohio River, just east of the Mississippi River, just west of the Appalachian Mountains, and on the rocky top of Tennessee. True home-grown Kentucky folks may shuffle from county to county, but seldom do we make the jump from state to state, and if we do… we usually come back real quick like.
The couple years prior to my brother’s move to Texas the three of us Hudson brothers met up for a time in college just as young people from other counties and states migrate to city centers to attend universities. My twin brother and I were only two years behind David in school, and upon our graduation Dave had the bright idea that we should gather a group of guys to rent an apartment. A group of five guys in a three bedroom town house is a good way to save money; Hudsons are thrifty that way, saving money where we can. We lived together in a town house with two other friends from Anderson County. The five of us guys that I refer to as “The Sugarcreek Boys” lived on Sugarcreek Road, just off the beaten path of Tates Creek Road; Tates Creek being one of the spokes that runs through the City of Lexington.
Learning to navigate a new city is a lot like learning to explore the possibilities of what you wish to do with your life. Most students may have a major or degree selected they plan to work toward, but the deeper they delve into their college texts the more they become aware that they truly are undecided. “Undecided” was the actual major with which Dave had started college with and had I known myself better, that would have been the non-major I selected as well. It is true that a lot of young people do not know what they want to do with their lives and my brother would agree that there should be no pressure to declare such a thing. Learning your way around a new city or a new period of life is not a very straightforward thing… and it is only through experience that we become comfortable with foreign surroundings.
Looking at a map of Lexington the image of a bicycle wheel becomes apparent. The spokes of the wheel are the avenues of antiquity most of which existed at the conception of the city. Then there is New Circle Road, a more modern addition that encompasses the city with a circular route providing access to each of the spokes. When you first move to Lexington the pathways between each spoke are unclear, you can however always lean on New Circle Road… it may take you miles off the most efficient course, but it will eventually get you to where you need to go! The year before living on Sugarcreek my twin and I made a weekend trip to visit Dave at Kirwan Tower (the dormitory where Dave had lived during his first years of college). There is nothing quite like ordering-in pizza and soda-pop, and sleeping on the hard dorm floor. That night I remember a witty banter going back and forth between Dave’s roommate and himself. Jeremiah had been folding and ironing laundry for his girlfriend at the time and Dave took a jab at him, saying that his girlfriend had him “whipped”. He proceeded to kid Jeremiah about him being the woman in the relationship and finished by telling him that he could start on his (Dave’s) laundry when he had finished. Perhaps it was the fact that two younger males were looking on, but this initiated a friendly roast that worked back and forth ending with Jeremiah’s comment that New Circle Road was Dave’s “crutch”. To this day the comment still breaks me into a laugh! There is something about insulting a man’s sense of direction that will cut him to his very core… I do not remember specific statements made after that but I do remember the gloves had come off!! The two roommates argued as well as we brothers ever had. Still, no punches were thrown only jabs at one another’s adolescent pride.
Now, a few things you must understand about David is that he has always been a very hard worker, and a bright student, but when it came to the close relationships in his life he preferred to be served rather than to serve. You would not catch David doing your laundry or cooking your food… he was the one requesting favors. I am not sure exactly when we began to refer to David as “Dave” but “Dave was Dave”; there were not many surprises. Funny thing was people often found themselves wanting to earn Dave’s approval and would accommodate him in various ways in order to acquire it. You don’t go butting heads with Dave Hudson and walk away without being a bit disoriented. If you did not wish to serve the purpose which Dave had in mind, he found a way to convince, coax, or barter until he got exactly what he wanted. It was a mystery to me growing up (as his younger brother) how David somehow achieved this without creating a single enemy.
So, we always said it would take a special girl to please Dave. A small number of suitors came and went… it usually only took Dave a couple dates to send the girls packing. He made no compromises, and he was not about to lower his standards. If you had asked me I would have said Dave was going to be a bachelor forever. My twin brother Brett was the first “Fallen Soldier”. This is what we called our friends as they succumbed to the powers of the female race. Brett was engaged to be married the next summer, and his presence around the town house was fleeting at best. Dave was next; he fell fast, and he fell hard. I did not see Lori Loesch coming… she caught all of the Sugarcreek Boys off guard. The first I heard of Lori was when she did not yet have a name, she was referred to as “this girl” that Jason (a.k.a. Weez) and Dave had been introduced to at a friend’s house. On the way home that night “this same girl” in a big green truck had pulled up next to Weez’s Jeep and said “Nice Tires!”. Weez’s Jeep had been lifted-up and he had replaced the original wheels with tires about three feet in diameter. A female that could appreciate this type of thing, no-less from the driver’s seat of a Dodge Ram truck, was truly a gem… in the eyes of the Sugarcreek Boys at least. Dave and Weez had wondered which of the two of them Lori might have been interested in. Dave was excited and further impressed when Lori had sent her phone number through the grapevine (via a mutual friend) with orders to give her a call. Dave was hook, line, and sinker when Lori suggested that they go see an area football game for their first date. That was the first time I had set eyes on Lori. A real Texas beauty, tall and blonde, with a smile that warmed our hearts.
We all learned more about Lori as the weeks went on. She had been accepted to UK on a gymnastics scholarship, and that was her main reason for coming to Kentucky. After only a couple months both Dave and Lori’s spring graduations were fast approaching and we were all curious what would happen when Lori returned to Texas. Dave was a bit unsure about what he wanted to do following graduation, but he was certainly not unsure of how Lori would fit into his life. This was not just any girl! Dave recruited Weez and I for a summer trip to Texas; Dave had planned to visit Lori for one week that summer and then come home to tie up loose ends. Dave was moving to Texas, “after the first of the year” he had said. I will admit that a trip to Texas changes a man. I came home with a new pair of boots on my feet, a cowboy hat on my head, and a goatee on my face. Dave (sporting a goatee as well) had also been changed, but deep within. He now knew where he belonged. With Lori… in Texas. It was the tears in his eyes on the plane ride home that assured me that Dave could not go on living without Lori. I had only seen tears staining my brother’s checks two other times that I could recollect.
My face was shaven within a week of our return from the summer trip. After three weeks Dave’s whiskers remained. He had packed up most of his belongings and abandoned the rest. When I said goodbye to my brother he was standing with only two bags in hand, ready for his trip to the south. My parents accompanied Dave to Louisville where he would catch a flight to Texas. Before heading to the airport Dave wanted to pay a visit to Ma and Pa Hudson, our grandparents, the meekest of folks you could ever meet. So it was that David’s departure was blessed by all his family, and he was soon to be missed by all in Kentucky. A Texas boy was born.
A Texas Wedding
After the move I had fun telling the story of Dave’s abrupt departure. “Do you miss him?” people would ask. “Nope.” I would reply, explaining that it was hard to miss him when I knew how happy he was with Lori and that I could not help but be excited for them both. Lori had softened Dave’s heart in some way. With Lori, Dave was willing to compromise. The first time I saw Dave serving Lori I knew I was watching Dave cater to his future wife. When you find a “good catch” you will all but fall out of the boat to make sure you keep it on the line. All Kentucky men love using that analogy, though it is not until later in life that we realize that we men are actually the ones on the line. When a beautiful woman sets a hook in the heart of a man there is no option of turning lose, and the line remains much too strong to be broken. The love of a man’s true match is a love that cannot be severed.
After Dave moved I often thought of him down in Texas. I imagined him working on the land of Lori’s parents; enough land to be considered a ranch, complete with plank fences just like we have in Kentucky, even a couple horses. Dave loved working the piece of property that I had visited only the summer before. The visit made it easier for me to picture him in his new element. The quality of Lori’s family and memories of time spent with them always brings a feeling of peace to my soul. Lori’s father fixed up an old blue pick-up truck for Dave, “Old Blue” they called it and images in my mind of my brother driving that truck around Texas erased the distance that separated us from him. As time passed the distance would open up a little, but Dave would always diminish the gap with his random phone calls.
As often as I thought of Dave, I would never follow through by picking up the phone and dialing him. Dave was always the one that called. He was good that way, always bringing thought to action. The best way David had of making a person feel loved was in the gifts that he gave, gifts that he no doubt had put much thought into. Each trip he made back to Kentucky he would bear these gifts in hand, gifts that always touched the heart. All of us Hudsons love to be together as a family, and an occasion for togetherness approached as Brett and Cindy’s wedding date neared. Sitting at a poker table at the Sugarcreek house, on the weekend prior Brett’s wedding, we got a phone call from Dave. Apparently Lori had considered Dave a good catch as well, she had accepted his proposal of marriage. In the nightlights of downtown Houston, there beneath a wall of water, my brother offered a diamond to a rare Texas gem, and he rose from bended knee one of the richest men in the world.
Less than a year later, three of the Sugarcreek Boys stood as groomsman while the Texas Boy stood hand-in-hand with his Texas Gal beneath the black oak trees that intertwined over the plains of Sugarland Texas. Dave honored our father with the role of best man. There was a surreal feeling standing under the trees in late April as sunlight trickled through the leaves; it felt like God’s blessing on two lives, all felt blessed to have been a part of that day! Most of the Kentucky folks arrived a few days prior to the wedding… the more days the better, soaking up as much of the Texas experience as we could, the daily landscape of things that Dave had come to love. An easy task when we arrived at the Loesch’s ranch offering to help prepare for the wedding festivities.
Reinhardt, Lori’s father, has about the most generous heart of anyone you will ever meet. He owns and operates his own business. He is the man that works from dawn till dusk and often “does without”, without a long lunch break (sometimes eating standing up), without nightly entertainment, hitting the sack early so that he can beat even the earliest bird. Yes, from what I had observed from my few prior trips to Texas the man was the hardest of workers, making sacrifices to get things done. During our visits Reinhardt worked his weekdays away but would show up throughout the day to make sure that all of the guests were well taken care of. Not to mention footing the bill for every meal that we sat down to. He would even suggest ideas via the sweet Mama Loesch for daily and nightly entertainment, things that we may not have thought of. He reminded me a lot of Dave in that way; at each meeting you could tell that his thoughts had been with you as he had toiled. Lori’s parents have a way of making friends feel like family.
As we all pitched in around the ranch to detail the place which would become the backdrop of Dave and Lori’s wedding, Reinhardt spear-headed the effort, effectively ordering us this way and that; much work was done in very little time! Working the land that my brother had worked daily gave me yet even more insight, brushstrokes that would fill the frame of my imagination after I had returned to Kentucky and when my thoughts of longing turned to my brother. These memories proved to strengthen all of our hearts for our trip back home.
Not long after the wedding and then finishing school, Dave felt drawn to return to Kentucky. He and Lori wanted to try their hands at starting a chiropractic business in Wilmore. And while the business did well, it did not do well enough. It now seems to me that the Lord above had other plans about where in this world Dave and Lori belonged, and the purposes that they were both meant for. The events that unfolded following Dave and Lori’s return back to Texas (about a year later) remind me that “[His] ways are higher than [our] ways…” (Isaiah 55:9)
A Texas Funeral and a Kentucky Burial
The last conversation I had with my big brother was on his 5th wedding anniversary the night before he passed. Another member of my family had called to remind me to give Dave a shout and tell him “Happy Anniversary”. While I did not often call him, I did usually remember to call him on his birthday and anniversary. “Ole Bill, he never forgets anything,” Dave had said after I let him off the line. Such a short conversation it was. I had caught him in the middle of dinner with his wife, oops! Dave picked up anyway. I congratulated them both, but immediately said I did not want to keep them and that I would talk to him later. How we all wish that we had spoken to him one more time or for just a few seconds longer. Dave laid down for an afternoon nap the following day and never woke up.
Amazing how God works, though. There were a string of events that would have appeared to be coincidences but which became quite non-coincidental when viewed in light of one another. These happenings which I will attempt to detail, pave a path of higher purpose, a purpose for which my pen cannot fully account.
We were all so grateful for Dave and Lori’s year in Wilmore Kentucky. It seems that God had split the time that Dave and Lori had spent together between Kentucky and Texas, between the Hudsons and the Loeschs. We were all equally blessed to enjoy the time we had with Dave Hudson. When Dave and Lori had packed the contents of their Wilmore chiropractic office into that moving truck and again left for Texas, we had expected not to see Dave and Lori until the following Christmas. The Lord again had other plans when in late December my parent’s car hit a sheet of black ice, rolled over, and came to rest on the opposite side of the Bluegrass Parkway. My mother was air-lifted to UK Medical Center. She had a head injury but was still with us. Our family pulled together, closer even than we had always been. My younger sister, Sarah, having just graduated nursing school, became essential to taking care of our mother, and Sarah’s boyfriend (soon-to-be fiance) Dan became intertwined in the fabric of the Hudson family almost overnight. Dave and Lori dropped everything and came to Kentucky for a week to watch over my mother as she continued her recovery. She was scared but the same Mama Hudson that we all loved. As it would turn out, that was the last trip David would make to Kentucky.
How grateful we were for that week… in spite of the reason for their visit. The morning before Dave and Lori flew back to Texas most of the Hudson family had gathered for breakfast at my parent’s home in Lawrenceburg. There in the front bedroom we all gathered around the bed. Propped up in bed was my mother with a bandage around her forehead. My wife Mel and I thought we would have some news that would put my mother in good spirits and we announced the new addition we would be expecting in August. My father’s eyes lit up with joy as he broke the secret news that Dave and Lori had entrusted to him just hours before. As it turned out Dave and Lori were expecting an addition to their family as well! It seems August was going to be quite a month!! In the front room of our childhood home, with hands held, my father prayed for the blessings that God had given to the Hudson family and for the protection God had provided over himself and my mother. God had smiled on our family.
When Dave and Lori had moved back to Texas from Wilmore a few months earlier, they had no place to hang their hats. They had sold off their Pasadena town home once they arrived in Wilmore. So, Mama and Daddy Loesch had taken them in upon their return. It was good that their daughter was so close to them; she would need that closeness, all too soon and all too suddenly. Mama Hudson just happened to be en route to Texas when she got a phone call from Lori detailing how Dave’s breath had given out. It was good that Mom would be there to embrace her daughter and that the two of them would have each other to lean on. In my mind the Lord had set many intricate details into place, gracious provisions for us that would fit into his higher plan, from the extra time that we got to spend with Dave in Kentucky to the immediate web of support that God had woven into place for Lori in Texas. My father had made the comment that even the photographs of David which we held as precious before were pure gold now, but how much more valuable would be the gift of that little baby. What great plans the Lord would have in store for Lori and that little babe… the Lord above only knows.
The Hudsons arrived in Texas in a steady wave, all planning to be there to console Lori. What we had not anticipated was that Lori would actually become our refuge. Mom arrived only minutes after Dave’s passing, my father was accompanied on a flight by my sister the next day, and Brett and I hopped on an early flight the following morning. As each of us arrived I am sure we all had the same question in mind. “What can I say to her to help make this alright?” As it turned out words were not needed, as we entered the room she was able to offer a smile to each of us. A smile and an embrace from Lori is all we needed to feel better ourselves, a bit of warmth from the person who had grown closer to my brother than anyone. She had become the extra support that we were not aware that we needed. Having the whole family there in the Loesch’s home together created the presence of “Dave”.
Lori was strong through this difficult time. So many decisions to make, she stood firm through each of them. We were all there to offer our input, but all the final decisions rested with her. Perhaps the most heavily weighted question was, “Where should Dave be laid to rest?” Deep down the Hudsons may have believed that David’s body belonged in Kentucky, but I found myself telling Lori that ultimately the decision was hers and that Dave loved Texas in his heart… that he belonged here with her. The pain of losing him being so fresh, I thought it did not really matter to me. I broke into tears when she decided that he would be buried in Kentucky -beneath the ground of his youth. Looking over photos of our growing up years the happy memories were too many to count. I began to shed happy tears, tears that I did not know I possessed.
A funeral in Texas was followed by a funeral and burial in Kentucky. It was at the funeral in Texas when most of us saw Dave, Dave’s body, for the first time since his death. While the funeral home did a wonderful job creating a likeness of Dave, that is all that was there -a likeness. I remember the moment of fright and panic as I looked at the body lying in front of me. I was terrified as I tried to construct the memory of Dave’s spirit. Staring down at his empty shell, I feared that I was already beginning to forget him, and a panic began to creep over me. It was only by turning my eyes towards the ceiling and trusting in the fibers of my own being that this memory became known to me.
Dave and Lori’s belief holds that the Father and Son exist within one another and that the same Holy Spirit that exists within the Father and Son also binds us together in faith. It was this Spirit that allowed me to feel and to know that my brother was alive in Christ. The body that can be seen is only temporary, but the unseen Spirit is eternal. It is this eternal Spirit that allowed my family to endure this sudden loss.
The impact of lives touched by David Hudson were widespread. Both funerals in Texas and in Kentucky were packed houses. It was amazing to me the number of people David had influenced in the short time he lived in Texas. The turnout of the people from Kentucky that arrived in Texas, and the Texas folks that made the journey back up to Kentucky spoke volumes of the man that David Hudson had become. I found it a strange irony that the one hundred year old Edgar McKenny happened to be in Texas visiting his son and attended the funeral of my thirty year old brother. This gentleman gave David his first job cutting his grass over on Park Lane in Lawrenceburg. Ed must have seen many funerals in his years, but I could sense that he had a solemn empathy for what he knew our world had lost. Yet as a brother in Christ, Mr. McKenny had a glint of hope in his eyes, wondering I am sure, when at last he and Dave would be reunited. This is something that all of us Hudsons await… when our family chain will reform again, link-by-link, as we each join Dave in the next realm of being.
Lori asked my brother Brett to speak at both funerals. Brett has such a bold personality and such a charismatic quality about him; his words gave comfort to many in Texas and in Kentucky. Brett started his talk in Texas by taking off his suit jacket, then ripping off his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt… stating that Dave would not have had it any other way. Brett wanted to speak plainly to the crowd about “What Dave would have wanted to tell them”. Dave was a simple guy, everything he did was done in an efficient manner in order to create more time to enjoy the things he loved. God. Family. Friends. Sports. Food. Games. Fun.
One of the few verses Dave underlined in his Bible is also one of the most well-known passages. And while it takes only a few seconds to read, you can spend a lifetime trying to understand it. This one verse holds in itself the greatest story ever told. “For God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)
A series of questions will arise as each individual piece of this verse is considered. Why did God love this world so? Why am I worth such a sacrifice as this? What does it mean to believe in Jesus? How should a person awarded a gift of eternal life be altered in response? Seeking the answers to each question and how that answer relates to your own person is the key to becoming one in spirit with the One that created you.
My mother has a beautiful idea. “Children are not unlike flowers. Each of us are created with the essence of who we are already existing deep within us”. She says, “All that each of us needs is to be showered with love and grace and we will grow and bloom into the people that God intends for us to become”. I will go as far as to say that under the right conditions we can become full grown in a relatively short period of time. With a supportive family providing us a firm place to plant our roots, with the shower of blessings that are rained down upon us from a glorious heavenly Father, and by turning our faces towards the radiant love of Jesus Christ our Savior… David Joseph Hudson was a flower in full bloom. Perhaps Dave had become all that God had intended him to be. If we can each learn to listen to the voice within us, we will succeed in becoming what we already are -the beautiful creations of a loving God!
Here is a picture that has sat upon a shelf in my Grandparents home for many years. A picture of David as a child dressed up for Halloween. Note the sparkle in his eye!
Twenty-some years later upon the announcement of his engagement with that same sparkle in his eyes… Dave was well on his way to becoming all that God had meant for him to become.
Here is the headstone that Lori and my father collaborated to design. A beautiful yet modest monument commemorating the amazing life of David Joseph Hudson.
On the other side of the stone HUDSON appears across the top, a name strengthened by the grace of God. Just below David is acknowledged as a loving husband by his wife Lori, and David, the son, is lifted up as Dave would have declared in his own breath…”A GIFT FROM GOD / HIS HERITAGE AND JOY”.
A Texas Family
This Christmas season as I consider what words and images to leave you with, I can only say that I am blessed to have been a part of the family that God has built around me. Under the same mighty hand, God the Father has established a new family. Just two years after my brother passed the Lord has brought a new companion to Lori, a man of God that will guide Lori and Little David Jr. along the paths of life. The Hudsons give thanks to the Lord above for Chad Westen Bertrand. We look forward to the beacon of light that his family will become. There is strength in the Bertrand family as Chad and his father are both pastors, and I have no doubt that the true love of God is being revealed as part of our Lord’s higher plan. Here is the Christmas card my parents sent this year, a framed photograph of a new and growing family. A family that I pray will continue to be showered by the provisions of a loving God.
A Warm Texas Wind
How true are the song lyrics “New life makes losing life easier to understand”. (Jack Johnson)
An acquaintance to the Hudson family, and a beloved member of the Loesch family (Jeremy Rodriguez) had this to say: “It is possible to have met someone only once and be affected by their absence. Some people’s light shines too bright to ignore the fact that it is no longer there.” Dave’s light has indeed vanished from the face of this earth, but a new light has been lit… and how bright will that light grow to be?
It is my personal belief that there is a “Divine Spark” within each of us. The divine signature of a divine Creator who has designed each of us to play a specific role in the revealing of His sublime goodness. At the moment that we open our souls to the Will of God (our Author and Creator) that spark is fanned into flame. The story of such a life becomes a guiding light, a beacon of hope, and a warm rushing wind of spirit that will kindle the spark within another. I hope the story of David Hudson becomes the warm rushing wind of spirit that reaches you.
