Year: 2013

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!

Wisdom often appears in the oddest places, that is, if one is paying attention. Katy Perry, sex symbol and pop star, was quickly elevated to the status of popular sensation after her hit single, “I kissed a girl,” was released in 2008. Obviously, the song’s sensual character shocked many listeners, enticed others, but demanded the intrigue and attention of everyone. With Perry’s reputation preceding her, she then released her chart topping album, Teenage Dream in 2010, which included the hit singles “California Gurls,” “Teenage Dream,” and “Firework.” In the eyes of the public and critics alike, the last of these has seemed to stand out. “Firework” sold more than half a million digital copies in the U.S. alone, and has been described as a powerful self esteem anthem on more than one occasion. In addition to the positive reviews, Perry says that the song is her favorite on the record and ultimately what she wants to communicate to her fans. As she says, “It’s a bit like my, um… opus, I guess you could say.”^[1] , 2010. Although there are a lot of singles each year that are praised by both the masses and their artists, there does seem to be something special about “Firework.”

Aside from the catchy melody and rhythm, this chart-topper’s lyrical message raises issues concerning subtle and deep types of human experience, experiences many people would relate to if they actually sat down for a moment and gave their own emotions, thoughts, and feelings some attention. In a curious, but slightly rhetorical tone, Perry opens her song with a series of three questions:

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting through the wind
Wanting to start again
Do you ever feel so paper thin,
Like a house of cards
One blow from caving in
Do you ever feel already buried deep
Six feet under scream
But no one seems to hear a thing

Perry’s questions correspond to three negative life experiences, and her use of visual imagery and metaphor is anything but subtle. The first question invites the listener to reflect on whether or not he feels like life is moving in a particular, purposeful direction. The image of a drifting plastic bag is actually a profound and appropriately contemporary analogy to the tumbleweed, often depicted rolling through ghost towns and deserts in the Old Western milieu. Tumbleweeds are simply dead plants, and once they are sufficiently dried out they break off their stalks and roll around aimlessly, blowing wherever the wind takes them. This meaningless movement is, unfortunately, a characteristic experience for a person who feels like he is simply drifting through life. At some point such a person would even lose interest in even an attempt at self control, simply allowing the circumstances of life to push him from place to place.

The visual imagery of the second question presents Perry’s listener with a paper thin person. His central experience is lack of depth or complexity. The imagery is arguably similar to Lewis Carroll’s famous characters from Alice in Wonderland, the Queen’s Court members, who are literally depicted as playing cards. For the Queen, of course, these paper-thin subjects are highly disposable. Who can forget the famous line, “Off with their heads!” As Perry suggests, they do easily collapse, or “cave in” when the wind of the plot blows them over. These characters hardly exhibit any internal complexity – a dissatisfaction for sympathetic audiences, but there is something infinitely more tragic about real individuals who perceive their own lives to only be similar, paper-thin predicaments.

Finally, the previous two questions culminate in a slightly morbid burial metaphor, which implies that living individuals ought to feel alive, not “already buried deep.” The subject in this case, however, is not death, but solitude or loneliness. The tragic element of the question is that the listener is screaming for help, but his attempt to attract attention is futile. It is this unheeded cry for help that creates the experience of being buried alive, separated from everyone else. Perry seems to imply that meaningful life experiences are accompanied by relationships and clear communication with others. Of course, individuals who suffer from an affirmative response to Perry’s initial questions will also probably find meaningful relationships difficult, and from “six feet under,” experience intense solitude.

Although “Firework’s” three questions correspond to different experiences in life, they are united by one dominant theme, emptiness. A person feels like a drifter when he is emptied of direction, and paper-thin when he is emptied of complexity. He feels “buried deep” when life seems to be emptied of meaningful relationships.^[2] Taken in isolation, Perry’s negative theme seems rather bleak. Luckily, Perry does not abandon her hurting audience to these dark, existential questions. Instead, the music builds through the bridge, and creates vital anticipation as the song quickly moves away from the pessimism of the verse, and toward a powerful optimism in the chorus:

Do you know that there’s still a chance for you,
Cause there’s a spark in you
You just gotta ignite the light
And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July
Cause baby you’re a firework.
Come on show ’em what you’re worth
Make ’em go “Oh, oh, oh!”
As you shoot across the sky

At this point, the song’s actual message becomes clear. It is indeed a self-esteem anthem, but not the heroic type that encourages individuals to simply trudge through their problems. The opening question of the chorus quickly overcomes all the negative rhetoric of the verse. The question, “Do you know that there’s still a chance for you, cause there’s a spark in you?” implies that the listener has only been deceived by his experiences of emptiness. Perry does not seem to be suggesting that the negative experiences themselves are fake, false, or insignificant; what is false is the negative worldview and unnecessarily harsh self-evaluation they create.

According to “Firework,” a human being cannot be emptied of meaning. Each person contains at least a “spark” that is present whether he is aware of it or not, and the ignition of this spark begins a highly transformative process. The speed with which the music builds in this portion of the song artistically suggests that this process may occur rapidly, with a significant amount of power. According to the lyrics, it is accompanied by a strong sense of intrinsic value and entitlement, just as the Fourth of July, a powerful national symbol, is entitled to “own the night.” It is also a highly visible process. People cannot help but notice an enlightened individual who “shoots across the sky”; they become astonished. Their only response is to go “Oh, Oh, Oh!” the lyrical equivalent to utter confusion and amazement. How could a person’s peers avoid marveling at such a change in their friend, coworker, or family member?

Given Perry’s reputation in pop culture, there is a temptation to overlook the significance and relevance of her “opus.” A very similar message, however, runs throughout the work of the late contemplative, John O’Donahue. The world lost this Celtic poet in 2008, but he spent many years of his life intentionally pointing people toward meaning, friendship, beauty, and value in religious, artistic, and even business-corporate settings. O’Donahue’s life was characterized by prayer, meditation, reflection, and genuine interest in service to others, goals which culminated in one of his most well known works, Anam Cara.^[3] Throughout the book, O’Donahue claims that people tend to experience cynicism and emptiness because they often overlook a great, internal significance that is always available:

“If we become addicted to the external, our interiority will haunt us… If you attend to yourself, and seek to come into your presence, you will find exactly the right rhythm for your own life… If you focus your longing on a faraway divinity, you put an unfair strain on your longing. Thus it often happens that your longing reaches out toward the distant divine, but because it overstrains itself, it bends back to become cynicism, emptiness, or negativity. This can destroy your sensibility. Yet we do not need to put any strain whatever on our longing.”^[4]

Although O’Donohue’s poetic, spiritual language differs from Perry’s popular, lyrical expression, the thematic parallels are undeniable.^[5] The reader longs for meaning and fullness, but typically he seeks meaning in faraway places or external goals that are too difficult to obtain in daily life, and so, his longing remains dissatisfied. Slowly, a negative, cynical worldview begins to cloud his mind, not because it is necessary or true, but because his perspective has become distorted. For O’Donohue, humans long for divinity, but divinity is incredibly close, its expression is internal and foundational, part of what it means to be human in the first place. He illustrates his point beautifully in a poem that certainly deserves a full reading:

Beannacht

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.^[6]

Beannacht means “blessing” – something everyone needs when life feels like “dead weight,” ” frozen eyes behind gray windows,” or “black stains in the ocean.” The hope of O’Donohue’s blessing is twofold. The first portion of the poem suggests that hope has an internal source. He frequently uses clay as a visual image to emphasize the earthy, but majestic identity of human beings. “We need to remain in rhythm with our inner clay voice and longing. Yet this voice is no longer audible in the modern world. We are not even aware of our loss.”^[7] In the first stanza of Beannacht, it is this lost inner voice that is capable of bringing balance back to a distorted experience, and in the second stanza the vibrancy of awakened internal colors and light allow the blessed to experience a life of peace and joy.

The second portion of the poem suggests that hope has external sources as well, but these are all still intimately related to the internal clay voice. For instance, they are all natural sources: moonlight, earth, ocean, and ancestors.^[8] In addition, O’Donohue implies that external hope processes to the location of the blessed, as opposed to the blessed setting off on a strenuous journey in search for it. The reader is not told exactly what propels this external hope, whether it moves naturally or is sent by a higher power, but the moonlight approaches horizontally, bringing direction and purpose from “across the waters,” the earth approaches from beneath and “nourishes” hope, and the light is an encompassing, clarifying power that makes experiences sensible.

Although it is probably the case that human beings have always struggled with the sort of self-attentiveness prescribed in Anam Cara and the negative experiences expressed in Beannacht, O’Donohue is certainly correct to point out that the modern world makes it increasingly difficult to attend to these deep problems. The speed with which modern technologically driven days move makes it nearly impossible to sit and be attentive, and most folks today are indeed so alienated from the depth of the natural world that they hardly even consider that there might be intimate blessings to be found there. No one, therefore, should be surprised when messages such as Perry’s are met with great enthusiasm in American pop-culture. They touch a deep yearning. A significant portion of the American population struggles with emptiness, ill-communication, darkness, meaninglessness, and fear. Everyone from philosophers to biologists seem to be searching for the value and meaning of life. Anxiety and depression, clinical versions of these issues, are on the rise. Hurting individuals want answers, and will even settle for suggestions. Artists such as Katy Perry and John O’Donohue provide just that. Generally speaking, they encourage their audience to adopt a method of turning inward for hope. From this perspective, meaning, value, and hope are not circumstantial; they are intrinsically present at all times. They are intricately woven into the tapestry of the human person.

A lot of folks, especially many religious folks, tend to disapprove of the suggestion that hurting individuals ought to turn inward in search of hope. In particular, Christians often seem as if they might even fear the concept. To these offended ears, discussion of an internal spark is at best fruitless or theologically confused. At worst, such discussion is perceived as idolatrous and heretical.^[9] Pop stars and Celtic poets may speak their minds, but in the end, their romantic ideals are too often trumped by the determination of the closed-minded. So, the prescription for a hurting individual is not to attend to himself, but to attend to religious services and volunteer ministries, to spend more time simply asking God about direction and guidance, and to more consistently participate in financial giving – all quantitative remedies driven by external circumstances. If this truly is the modern Christian approach, then Christians have lost sight of a historically subtle, but deep and long standing tradition of introspection that is probably more in line with the pop artists and the hopeless romantics.

For a Christian, precedence for an internal source of hope appears early in the biblical tradition, but is hardly discussed at all in many Christian congregations. This might be because it appears in conspicuous places in the scripture or because it might sound dangerously individualistic; maybe it is simply too vague and esoteric to be relevant to most readers. In any case, it appears in the book of Deuteronomy following the proclamation of divine law, which is directly related to experiencing a meaningful life. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendents may live… “(Deut 30:19, NRSV). The life giving law, as it is laid out throughout Deuteronomy, is a daunting list of externally driven regulations, but the Lord is quick to encourage the Israelites that choosing life is possible precisely because there is a powerful internal element to the Lord’s life giving words:

“Surely this commandment that I am commanding you today is not too hard for you, nor is it too far away. It is not in heaven, that you should say, “Who will go up to heaven for us, and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?” Neither is it beyond the sea that you should say, “Who will cross the other side of the sea for us, and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?” No, the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe” (Deut 30:11-14, Italics Mine).

Several hundred years later the Apostle Paul re-applied the same idea to Christian faith. Writing about the revelation of Christ in the first century CE, he exhorts the church at Rome, “But what does it say? ‘The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart’ (that is, the word of faith that we proclaim)…For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved.” (Rom 10:8-10). Scholars and systematic theologians may debate the technical, theological implications of both of these passages, but there is simply no denying that these sacred scriptures generally present a pattern of meaning that, in practice, flows from the internal to the external, from the heart to the mouth, from the depths to the shallows of human experience.

As the centuries passed, this biblical tradition may have reached its height of practical application with the ancient Christians who are today referred to as the Desert Fathers. Although many Christian authorities in the second and third centuries were highly occupied with administrative and theological debates, the Desert Fathers were desperate to preserve Christianity as a spiritual, practical experience. “In solitude they made careful observations…they talked about their thoughts and feelings, about their concrete way of life, and about their path to God.”^[10] Highly influential ancient Christians such as Antony and Pachomios believed strongly that the first significant step toward a meaningful life was attending to the depth of the self with honesty and humility. As the famous fourth century Christian, Evagrius Ponticus, stated, “If you want to know God, learn to know yourself first!” Isaac of Nineveh, a seventh century theologian who spent more time contemplating love, prayer, humility, and faith than rigid church programs and lofty ideals, may have said it best, “Strive to enter the treasure chamber that is within you; that way you will see the heavenly treasure… The ladder to the kingdom of heaven is hidden in your soul.”^[11]

This ancient focus has become increasingly popular in both scholarly and public circles in recent decades as both religious and non-religious folks continue to struggle with the same contemporary problems. As Anslem Gruen, a Christian monk and scholar from Germany, has pointed out, “Psychologists are taking an interest in the experiences of the early monks, in their methods of observing and dealing with thoughts and feelings. They sense that this isn’t mere talk about humans and God, that the monks’ words come from sincere self-knowledge and real experience of God.”^[12] In addition, this spiritual method, however ambiguous its theological particulars might be, in practice, can be traced to many contemporary Christian authors such as Thomas Merton and George Maloney, whose works also emphasize self-attentiveness, meditation, personal prayer, and devotion, and have, not coincidentally, been widely received by the public. The systematized, externally driven prescription for hurting individuals that is so often prescribed by many modern Christians is simply too often a temporary answer for deeper questions.

Cynics, especially Protestants and Evangelicals, may certainly criticize the theological implications of turning inward for hope, but an honest Christian cannot ignore the fact that his own world is full of hurting individuals and sincere questions about the fullness or emptiness of life. In these moments, a purely intellectual faith may be too shaky.^[13] Experiences of emptiness pervade modern culture and create false realities. There is a tremendous amount of wisdom in the suggestion that folks begin a journey of self-discovery. The discovery will demonstrate that the most meaningful experiences possible are closer than anyone can intellectually imagine, hidden away from the distortions of all the false realities, deep in the recesses of the soul. As Gruen would claim, “There is something that wants to come alive, to bloom.”^[14] It is no coincidence that this wisdom surfaces in all sorts of artistic material, even in the music of best selling pop stars whose work is often saturated with crudely explicit content. It is also no coincidence that when it does surface the public gravitates to it. Perry may or may not have any sort of systematic or logical beliefs to support her ideas,^[15] and she may not have put this much thought into her opus, but the positive message in “Firework” has obviously been exposed to millions of listeners, and for that, credit is due.

[1] Katy Perry, www.katyperry.com/katy-perry-talks-firework/

[2] Emptiness continues to be a characteristic theme in the remainder of the song, “You don’t have to feel like a waste of space… ” (Verse 2).

[3] Literally, “Soul Friend”.

[4] John O’Donohue, Anam Cara, (Harper Collins Publisher, 1998), xvi-59. Italics mine.

[5] In place of “spark,” for example, the former uses “divinity,” and in place of “ignite” the reader is told to “attend.”

[6] O’Donohue, Epigraph.

[7] Ibid., 2.

[8] The last of these might also be considered an internal source.

[9] It might also be added that in such discussions many Christians would throw around terms such as “mystical” and “New Age” really having no idea what those terms actually mean or represent.

[10] Anselm Gruen, Heaven Begins Within You: Wisdom from the Desert Fathers, trans. Peter Heinegg, The Crossroad Publishing Company, New York, 1999, 11.

[11] Ibid., 21.

[12] Ibid., 7. Italics Mine.

[13] It is important to keep in mind that what is being suggested here is a type of spiritual method and practice, not particular beliefs. In practice, Christians are often far too occupied with external conditions such as visible, measurable accomplishments to give any authentic attention to their own condition and needs.

[14] Ibid., 25.

[15] For instance, Perry does not seem to make any suggestions about the origin of the spark in “Firework.” Is the spark purely a humanistic concept or does it imply something divinely other, as it does with the ancient Christians and other similar religious individuals? The lack of information may or may not be intentional. The song’s lyrics are brief, and many influential songs revel in brevity.

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.

The Birth of a Texas Boy

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.

– Bill Hudson 12/27/2012

Lapierre, Dominique. The City of Joy. Trans. Kathryn Spink. New York: Doubleday, 1985.

One day in Calcutta a rickshaw puller took internationally bestselling author Dominique Lapierre to one of the poorest and most over populated areas of this haunting city, where five million people live out their lives on the streets. The district was Anand Nagar – the City of Joy – and being there would change the writer’s life forever. At the heart of this extremely poor community, Lapierre found more heroism, more love, more sharing, and ultimately, more happiness than in many a city of the affluent West. Above all, he was overwhelmed to discover that this seemingly inhuman place had the magical power to produce heroes and heroines of all ages and from all walks of life. For Calcutta is the home not only of such saints as Mother Teresa, but also of countless other inspiring people who are ordinary and completely unknown. Lapierre discovered Stephen Kovalski, the Polish priest who came to the City of Joy to share and ease the plight of of the most underprivileged; Max, the young American doctor who came to treat people who were without any medical resources; Bandona, the beautiful Assamese nurse who became an Angel of Mercy for the afflicted; and the thousands of men, women, and children who rose above harsh destinies to conquer life with a smile…(Dust Jacket)

Last Saturday morning my wife had to run some errands, so she dropped me and my four month old son off at a locally owned coffee shop. My son, Locke Edward, needed to nap, and I was nearing the end of Lapierre’s book and hoped to make some considerable progress before she picked us back up. A few minutes later, however, I was taking a break from the text and pulling the brim of my hat down a little lower over my face so people wouldn’t see me cry. I don’t remember what particular chapter of The City of Joy I had reached at that point, but it doesn’t matter because that wasn’t the first time the book had reduced me to tears. The same thing happened in Starbucks a couple weeks earlier and multiple times since then at home. Lapierre’s writing is simple enough, but emotionally and psychologically it’s just not the sort of book a person can rush through, especially not in a public place. As a matter of fact, I personally believe it would not have been respectful of the inhabitants of the City of Joy to do so.

From the beginning I should point out that this book moved me more than most other books I have read. Suffering and religion are two central themes throughout the entire story, and though I don’t want to minimize the significance of other books and films that make us sad or leave us impassioned, I can honestly say that I have read very few books and seen very few films that force me to consider these themes and my personal responsibility the way this one did.

Experiences of suffering in The City of Joy are rough, but most of them are not a result of hate. In this sense the book differs from other material with similar themes such as Holocaust literature, which typically leaves me considering the question of suffering as it relates to hatred, war, violence, and the general lack of humanity exhibited by human beings. Instead, The City of Joy showed me what happens to poor farmers in India when the monsoon season arrives too late. It also showed me what happens to the poorest of the poor living in Calcutta’s shantytowns when the monsoon season arrives on time but then proceeds to flood the city, leaving thousands of people without homes and many others floating dead in alleys and gutters. It left me frustrated by a disorganized Indian government whose bureaucracy is not necessarily hateful, but such a mess that pregnant women die while they are waiting for the postal service to deliver medical aid. As a father, it broke my heart to read about children who completely surrendered their childhoods, their health, and their dignity to put a bowl of rice on their family’s table once a day.

But The City of Joy has no bad guy. There are questionable characters, but no evil dictators, no single person or group of people I could accuse when I became sad or angry about the pain the characters in the book experienced. There is no scapegoat to blame for the suffering, not even human nature. Too often we Christians use human nature as an excuse to dismiss the profound suffering we see in the world around us. We shrug our shoulders at the problems, and with solemn faces that actually help no one, we suggest that the problems are simply a result of sin and God will fix them all in the end. On the contrary, Lapierre seems to think that human nature is actually quite wonderful, or at least has the potential to be wonderful, though it is often corrupted by the brokenness of the world. So, without someone or something else to blame, I could only reflect on my own choices – my own possibilities. The City of Joy forced me to consider where I stood in relation to the brokenness in the world and what I was willing and able to do about it.

Compassion is probably a typical response when people encounter scenes of suffering in the book, but the religious theme might be more challenging for some readers to appreciate. In particular, very theologically conservative Christian readers may have some difficulty with the fact that Lapierre tends to approach religion functionally. This means that he doesn’t seem interested in debates about the truth of the beliefs or doctrines of the three major religions in the story -Hinduism, Christianity, and Islam. He doesn’t really attempt to elevate one religion over the others. Instead, the value of religion lies in what it accomplishes, how people respond in certain situations.

There is almost never a dull moment in The City of Joy because the story line swings back and forth like a pendulum between situations of extreme crisis and extreme celebration. Each crisis is an opportunity for a Hindu, a Christian, or a Muslim to do the right thing. Sometimes they shine as each of them are supposed to, like the light of the world, but sometimes they fail. Stephen Kovalski, the Christian priest, is so noble and compassionate, but he can be naive and short sighted. He can be timid and fail to accomplish important tasks in a culture that requires a loud voice to be heard above the chaotic noise of Calcutta’s culture. His neighbors in the shantytown, the Islamic family, are so faithful and austere, but they are suspicious, don’t communicate well, and some of their decisions lead to disaster. The story, of course, is dominated by the presence of Hinduism. Hasari Pal, his family, his fellow rickshaw pullers, and all the political powers in the story are deeply religious Hindus. They can be so generous and oriented toward authentic relationships, especially those who are poor. No one who reads The City of Joy will ever forget the power of tea and hospitality. But Lapierre does not romanticize Hinduism either. The ancient caste system is powerful in the social and theological system of the Hindus, and it often discourages self improvement, social advancement, and positive change.

In spite of religion’s failures, the overall picture is positive. When there are great needs the Christians, Muslims, and Hindus frequently set aside their theological differences in order to save lives and relieve suffering. In addition, the descriptions of rituals and celebrations described throughout the story are beautiful and testify to the positive influence of beliefs and traditions of all kinds. Stephen Kovalski, for instance, celebrates the Eucharist in the slums with the the poor in several touching scenes. As a Christian, however, I was particularly intrigued by the Hindu marriage and burial rituals. In my entire life, I have never once even come close to wondering what it would be like to observe an Indian wedding in a leper colony! But the great Hindu festivals were the dominant religious features in The City of Joy. There are many of them, and with Stephen Kovalski, I at first found myself questioning whether Calcutta’s impoverished and dying people should be spending what extremely small amounts of money they have on clothing and food for a single day of festivities, but with Kovalski, I soon realized that there was more life in those festivals than in any amount of food.

The City of Joy is simply a challenging read. Although I have not responded to all of those challenges adequately in my own life, I have started the process. For the reader who becomes immediately suspicious that this is socially liberal and theologically pluralistic, I might agree with you. But I would also suggest that if we never open ourselves up to anything different, especially real experiences as profound as the ones described in this book, we will never actually grow in any significant way.