Take Me Out to (another) Ballgame

So my good friend Matt has the Cubs hook-up. While TJ and I LOVE our Cubbies, our love and dedication is puny compared to that of Matt's. In fact, not only is he the biggest Cubs fan I know... it's a scientific fact that he is on the short-list of the greatest Cubs fans on earth...

Last year, he was one of the 10 finalists of a field of thousands for the first annual "Ultimate Cubs Fan Seventh Inning Stretch" contest. The first round was an essay contest, followed by a series of "tryouts" in front of a panel of Cubs executives and "Legends" including Ernie Banks and Dutchie Caray-- the wife of the late great Harry Caray. The winner got to lead the historical singing of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at a Cubs game late in the year. While Matt didn't win the "grand prize", he got a bunch of really cool parting gifts, and also made a lot of friends on the "inside" of the organization.

After Leslie's fight ended back in July, Matt wanted to do something special for TJ and me. He made a call to one of his "inside" friends and told them our "story". As a result, we were given the tickets to the big Cubs-Brewers game a week or so back, as the two teams were in the middle of the pennant chase. (I had mentioned this in another post, and alluded that there was more to the story.) Not only were we given tickets to the game-- we were basically given the "movie star" treatment. Literally... We met the guy from the Sopranos, saw several government officials and "big money" sponsors and celebreties... which you tend to do when you're sitting in ROW 8 of SECTION 16!!! (For those of you who don't know Wrigley... that's 8 seats behind the Cubs' on-deck circle, right on the field.) (We were so close, Alfonso Soriano-- the Cubs' All-Star left fielder, actually smiled and waved at TJ before going up for an at-bat in the 5th inning.) OH! And before the game, during batting practice, we were escorted onto the ACTUAL FIELD for a photo op. People who are allowed this opportunity often compare the experience to the Israelites' first setting foot in the Promised Land... an experience so many of their forefathers (including Moses himself) longed for but were never afforded the opportunity. (I, of course, wouldn't go so far to make that comparison... but I'm not going to dispute the assertion by others, either.) :) Even TJ seemed to be taken with it-- even stricken with fear, clinging to my neck like a Koala on a gum tree, staring down at the grass, eyes like saucers. I know it sounds ridiculous. If you don't "get it", I can't make you understand... I guess I can recommend a movie-- one of Leslie's and my favorites... Watch "Fever Pitch". A great "sports movie" for the guys, and a romantic comedy for the ladies. But "Red Sox Nation" pre-2005 (the setting and "gist" of the movie) can be easily compared to "Cubs Nation" of today. The horribly tragic dedication of an entire culture of fans, who live and die (or more appropriately, LOSE and die) with their baseball team.

Anyway, the experience was wonderful. Oh, it was even capped off by the Cubs' 4-run, 2-out rally in the bottom of the ninth-- with the help of a 3-run homer by one of TJ's 2 favorite players, Geovany Soto-- to send it into extras. And then TJ's other "guy", Derek Lee won it in the 12th with a walk-off RBI single. Awesome.

I know Leslie was smiling down on us. And if the Cubs pull off the unimaginable and actually (forgive me, Cubs fans, should I end up jinxing the run) WIN the World Series for the first time in 100 years this year... don't think for a minute Leslie doesn't have something to do with it. I can just picture her talking to God... "He's had a really rough year. I know, his myopic dedication is a bit a pain in the neck... but you think you might be able to do me a favor, and help the Cubs make a run here, in October...?"

(TJ and his new favorite Cubbies souvenir-- the giant foam Cubbie Claw!)

A Better Version of Myself

"You make me a better man. A better version of myself." I used to tell Leslie that. She loved me, as different from her as I was. As much as I could get under her skin. And I loved her so much that I desired to hone the things about me that she found easy to love, and trim the rest down to nothing. She "reeled me in". She kept me in my shoes. She taught me how to love people better... how to have compassion and "come alongside". She taught me how to shut up and listen, and to think twice (or more) before responding. She taught me the quieter side of passion and private side of laughter. I could go on... but you don't have the time to read all the things she taught me. Basically, summarized, she taught me how to live the only life I know how to live today.

The crazy thing is that, through the events of the last several months, she has taught me (is teaching me) even more than she did through our first 6 or 7 years. I'm realizing, now that she is not actually here, in the flesh, just how much a part of ME she not only WAS, but truly IS... she always will be, in this life, and for "forever". Don't misconstrue this to mean that I'm sobbing my way through these days and nights, unable to function without my "better half". (Because to be honest, that is quite far from the reality I'm experiencing, as ashamed as I am to admit it.) But she does, in fact, remain my "better half". We are no longer married, (death did, in fact, us part). This is no longer "our life"-- it is now "the life she left me with". But she is still my "defining thing" up to this point in life... I am forever changed. I am not the man (or perhaps, the "boy" would be a better descriptor) that I was before Leslie was in my life. And I will never be the same.

I find it interesting, as my heart continues to heal, little by little, that each day I have more emotional, spiritual, cognitive, etc... energy to invest in other things. Less of my energy is spent on the burden and sorrow associated with "grief" and the re-living of the tragedy of the past year. Indeed, those things stretched me... made me stronger... made my very capacity to experience life and exhert such the afforementioned energy incomparably greater. Through these experiences, God taught me to RELY on Him... to RECEIVE His strength, just to get me through the day. He taught both Leslie and me to receive and be content in our portion... to, in Him alone, find the very definition of our being...

And now, with this increased "capacity", coupled with the "lighter burden" associated with God apparently starting the healing process in my heart, I find myself feeling more alive and passionate about certain things. It's like God is putting things on my heart... filling the void that is left in Leslie's absence. This is not that original of a thought... one of Leslie's friends sent me this quote from Kahlil Gibran: "The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain." Indeed, how true!

Anyway, these "reawakened passions" have been heavy on my mind, beating wildly in my heart... with a new clarity and sense about them, now. These "passions" aren't new to me-- they've always been there. They're just revitalized, lately. And they are finding themselves into my thoughts and actions and conversations with friends and strangers over and over again, more than they did when Leslie and I were young and healthy, and life was easier.

An inexhaustive list of these "passions" is as follows-- I should note that these are all things that Leslie "shared" with me... things that Leslie helped me to define and explore through our life together:

1. My God and Me- Worship. His love for me. His desire to be known and loved by every person. The beautiful mystery of the Cross. The physical reality of the power of the Holy Spirit. My understanding of Him. Grace. Peace, Agape Love, and so-on...
2. God and His Church- We are a broken, segregated, mess of a remnant of what we were in The Acts of the Apostles. (aka, the book of Acts) Yet, we have more power, knowledge, resources, and numbers than EVER. Just IMAGINE if... ... ...!!!
3. People in Need- The broken-hearted. The fatherless. The widow(-er). ;) Those who know or have known burden, suffering, and trial... and who subsequently also know the resulting blessing. Fits nicely in with #'s 1 and 2, if you ask me.
4. TJ- 2 letters will never hold as much love and life as these two letters do. The single biggest requirer and source of my love and energy on God's earth.
5. Health- My "physical" life. What I put into my body. What I get out of it.
6. Human Expression- "the arts". Music. Movies. Literature. Just simple conversation. and so-on.
7. The Concept of Marriage- An underappreciated and misunderstood blessing from God. To its very core, a miraculous image of completion... a taste of Heaven, right here on earth.

The list is larger... and perhaps this is over-simplified, in that some of these (#1 being the glaring example) might be better served as several different "passions"... but you get the idea. Anyway... don't be surprised if you log on in the future to find entire posts dedicated to one of the above. And when you do, you'll know how this relates to what God is doing in this, "...another chapter".

Praise God (yet again) for the gift of Leslie that continues to live (and will forever live) in my life. And the beautiful paradox of how this "gift" is beginning to thrive, in the midst of His healing in my life.

"Bittersweet" revisited

I just realized that many of the readers here may not have any clue what I was just referring to, with my "Bittersweet" reference. I just realized that the reference actually outdates this current blog. As some of you know, I started "blogging" on my MySpace page a year ago, so that friends and family could keep up to date with Leslie's journey. That site was then mirrored by a friend of ours in a more public forum, entitled "Leslie's Journey"... and the whole thing kind of took on its own personality from there. The amount of encouragement Leslie and I got from the comments and support from those blogs was tremendous-- God used it as a vehicle to prove His presence and His hand in "our story". That being said, I've recently received some inquiries via this site, regarding our entire "story". Well here you go... the whole kit and kaboodle. A very long read, just to warn you, from September of '07 through July of '08. (Both "sites" are still available-- links below, depending on your preference of MySpace vs. Blogspot. As a disclaimer-- the pagination/ spacing of the blogspot mirror site can get a little hard to read, due to "copy/paste translation" issues...)

http://blog.myspace.com/tyson_aschliman

http://www.forleslie.blogspot.com

Anyway, on July 12 of 2008, I posted the following blog. Leslie's health was going down-hill quickly (obviously... her fight was over on the 26th of that same month). And as I re-read it, a mere 2 months after she was taken from me, I'm struck with the same thoughts, in a whole new light, all over again. This has been a "theme" of sorts, in my life, these past 5 months...

-------
Bittersweet...

And I'm thinking... Love...
It's bittersweet.
More sweet than bitter.
Bitter, then sweet.
It's a bittersweet surrender.

Those are the lyrics to a chorus of a Big Head Todd song I fell in love with in college. I think I just liked the melody and syncopated rhythmic guitar part. There was a certain passion and even an anguish in the singer's voice. Funny how songs that I used to enjoy and sing thoughtlessly along with take on a whole new meaning these days.

(For those of you who are MySpace users, you can hear the song on my main Profile page-- just click on my name above the picture of Leslie and me in the upper left.)

It's been bittersweet. I guess that's the report. I realize it's been over a week since my last update. I've been kind of waiting for something encouraging to happen-- some sort of event I can report-- so I could come at you with a "gee, that sucked, but things are looking up." And all I can really say, when it comes to Leslie's health, is "gee, this sucks..." And that's all. And it's an understatement of a lifetime.

I can't even begin to recount all the "action" around here over the past week-plus. Summarized: Leslie was caught in a "Twilight Zone" of sorts, until about Wednesday of this week. She was (even in her own present recollection of the week) unable to differentiate between what was really going on and what was happening in her dreams/ delirium. The good news-- she was so out of it, she doesn't really remember much at all. But, it was rough, whether she realizes it or not now. She was so weak, it was all she could do was roll off of bed and onto the bed-side commode, and back into bed. Reach for the puke bucket, alert me (via TJ's baby monitor now in her room) that there was some "tending" to do-- usually just by groaning my name-- and then roll back over and plunge back into the sleep-coma. Maybe she'd manage a phrase or two of conversation while she was "awake"... but 90% of it was disoriented... she was basically working me into her dreams. And I didn't have the heart to tell her that I had no idea what she was talking about. It was just the dehydration (even though the nurse comes daily-- sometimes 2x/day to administer fluids), low potassium, poor nourishment, and the chemo-narcotic cocktail raging through her body... all working together to put on quite the show in her mind for the 5-day stint. Tuesday things were calming down a little, and Wednesday I was back to work. She called me that morning at the office, and I could tell by her voice-- even as weak and raspy as it was-- that she was "back".

"Good MORNING, Baby!" I laughed.
"How long have I been sleeping?" She asked weakly.
"About 5 days," I said. "What do you remember?"
"I don't know... Commercials and parts of movies I know I didn't see... and bits and pieces of conversations I'm not sure we really had... What day is it?"

Her mind is back with us, now. But her body is still so weak. She's still unable to get out of bed and to the bathroom by herself. She's trying to eat-- but her digestive track is still not cooperating. The nurse is coming by in a little bit to get her some more fluids. Our goal today is to get her downstairs and in the Lay-Z-Boy for the day, so she can participate-- or at least be a spectator in-- the normal Saturday action... Wiggles, baseball games (on TV and in the living room), books, pretend cooking, real cooking, etc... The objective is just allowing some of her strength to come back. Her weight is now down almost 40 lbs (and those of you who know her know that she didn't even have 5 to give, originally) since "the beginning". Her lungs and muscles and bones just need the stimulation.

We had an emotional but wonderful conversation last night. We just had a lot of catching up to do. Her eyes are now alert and strong again. We're just trying to get her body to catch up a little. We're not sure why this "Week One" was so violently difficult... The doctor's don't even know what to expect, one cycle to the next. We can hope that it's because the chemo drugs are starting to make big progress against the tumors and cancer in her blood, and it's just wearing her out. But we just don't know. Meanwhile, I'm just happy she doesn't remember much of it.

TJ has been so amazing through the course of this. He got to spend last weekend at his cousins' house in Wheaton-- a time full of fireworks, parades, and all kinds of fun and games... and family. He had so much fun, but was very excited to be home. He's kind of "adjusting" to Mommy being "sick". He's very "gentle" when he goes in to see her-- knocking on her door and quietly calling out, "can we come in Mommy?" before entering. He seems joyful, secure, loving, and very aware of everything... like he always is. Praise God for this. He is good and full of grace. He's protected Leslie's heart over the past week. Even her mind. And He's given me TJ-- my own little Ativan pill-- keeping me "calm and happy" when I otherwise should be struggling for my breath and sanity. So... I guess... it's like I said at first... Every day... Every breath of every minute... It's bittersweet.

...and then some

So it turns out that my crappy morning on Friday may have been virus-induced. I'm pretty sick, and struggling to keep my wits about me. Not out-cold-on-my-rear-end sick like I can get. It's an I-can-still-go-to-work-and-stuff sick. But it just makes "dealing with the day" a bit more difficult. Yesterday was a busy Sunday. We had an evening church meeting for which I was asked to lead worship, in addition to the usual morning service. Both were such blessings, and were great for my heart, soul, mind, and strength. God has a way of meeting me when I'm at my worst, like that-- hardly able to talk, with the laryngitis and what-not, laced with all kinds of cold/flu medicines, low-grade fever sweats... but I open my mouth and the worship comes out, and He is glorified.

But as I was leaving the evening meeting last night, guitar under one arm, and TJ in the other, I was just struggling. I get that way on Sunday nights, anyway. I always have. As much as I love my job, and as "easy" as Monday mornings are for me (relative to the average among working people everywhere), I just have always struggled letting go of the weekend... the time at home, the rest, the comfort, and so-on. It used to be that I'd just lean on Leslie those nights. The aforementioned card games and a glass of wine. Maybe crash on the couch and watch a movie or a couple of our Office episodes. (By the way... has the Office new season started yet? I've completely lost touch with the world of Dwight, Jim, Pam, Michael, and the gang.) Last night, driving home with a wired and over-tired 3-year-old in the back seat, feeling my fever creep back a little, I was just really loathing facing the evening at home without Leslie. It was a night that, had it been a year or so ago, I would have just said, upon arriving home, "Honey, I need to pay some bills and clean up the desk. I feel like crap, and need to get to bed early. Can you take care of TJ duty tonight?" Instead, I just prayed all the way home (it was a short drive- 2 miles maybe- but it felt like 1000), "God... Provide... Get me through... Heal me... Settle him... I can't..." and so-on.

Now- to those of you from my church who are reading this... Please don't take this as a "cry for help" or as a "guilt trip" or whatever. I had so many people offer me last night, before leaving for home, "ANYTHING...ANY TIME..." But the fact of the matter is, TJ and I just need nights like this. It's all part of the process. To have had somebody else there to "help out" would have made it emotionally quite a bit harder. It's hard to explain. But I just needed to experience the "solitude" last night. (Different than "loneliness", as a cousin wiser than me has eloquently pointed out.) There are times God provides actual people and opportunities and tangible vehicles of His grace. And then there are times like last night where He attends to us as we wander in the desert. I'm not afraid to accept help when it's needed. I'm also not afraid to decline when I don't.

Anyway, God again provided, and here I am again, at my desk, taking a busy-work break to share this all with you. I'm not sure if I'm feeling better or worse, this morning, in regards to this little virus. I guess we can just say it's "progressing" which is better than "going nowhere". I should be back to 100% by the end of the week, according to others who seem to have had the same thing. More notable, perhaps, is an experience I had this morning, as I was getting ready for the day. It was before sunrise, the only light in the room was coming from my closet and the adjascent bathroom. I was sitting on my bed, buttoning up my shirt, just looking at the pictures on Leslie's dresser.


Just beautiful photos of the two of us. (I mean, photos of beautiful moments... you know what I mean...) On our wedding day. (pictured here) At a romantic little restaurant in St. Marten on our honeymoon. (We looked so YOUNG!) A picture of us grinning proudly as she holds up a giant 24" catfish she had just pulled out of my parent's pond. And one of my personal favorites-- pictures of us at Tad (my little brother) and Amity's wedding. I have often said that, while Leslie was unbelievably gorgeous on her wedding day, I believe she looked her BEST at that wedding, in July of '07, a mere two months before she was diagnosed. It's just so hard to believe, as I stare at her face in those pictures, that a tumor was growing there, right behind her eyes...

Anyway, I'm sitting there on my bed this morning, in a bit of a haze as I try to shake free from the grasp of sleep, trying to get my senses about me, to determine just how sick I am this morning... just staring at these pictures. And I realize in a moment of self-awarenes... I'm not crying. In fact, I'm smiling. The joy of the memories encapsulated in those pictures, even in my moment of half-consciousness, outweigh the pain of the loss that has followed. I am so thankful for the life we had, even if it is no longer. It is still ours. It is still mine.

So I hate to be redundant and go back to the "bittersweet" theme... But so it is this morning. Trying to keep in my right mind-- and within striking distance of the nearest bathroom-- as this virus "progresses", just trying to "get through" the day... the week... but with a soft smile on my face, in utter appreciation and thanksgiving for the gift of life with which we were blessed for those 7 years... and even more so, knowing that I get to carry those seven years with me, for the rest of this life... and then some.

Rested and Restless

Yesterday we attended the Cubs game at Wrigley. It wasn't just ANY game. (More to come, once I get the pic's uploaded.) But we had a great time. Of course, TJ missed his nap, and I've had a crazy week with less sleep than I usually require... so right after bath time we both fell asleep as I was settling him down. 10 hours of sleep is usually enough to give me a good morning. This morning, I woke up in a cloud, and feeling restless. Cue: some good prayer-in-the-shower time, some morning coffee... and I'm feeling a bit better now.

I'm doing very well, day-to-day. Too well. Kind of like when the Israelites of the Old Testament were blessed with good times, they got fat and lazy and their minds drifted from God. Then, there would be a famine, or they'd be attacked by another army, or whatever, and then they'd turn their thoughts and hearts back to God, begging for His help. That's how it works for us, isn't it?

I haven't "drifted" far. But it's just easier to fall into the trap of "doing it yourself", as things get better... easier. I know this is what has happened over the past week, because scrolling through my memory, thinking of my prayers this week... I've spent more time in repentance and confession than I have just giving Him glory and asking for His strength and peace. That tells me that I'm wrestling more with sin and pride through the day, rather than just "basking in His glory" and worshiping Him.

I righted the ship this morning. I'm just frustrated at my weakness... the fleeting nature of my spirit. I can't believe that thing I said, or that thing I did, in my moment of prideful resistance of the Holy Spirit-- those sins of the week that I know have already been forgiven, but they still have left the bruises. And when I'm in "that" place-- that restlessness, when I'm focused more on my own heart rather than the heart of God-- it's just easy to start asking stupid questions... "What is my life about? Is this where I want to be? What I want to be doing? Will my heart ever be healed? Will I know happiness again? Will I ever LAUGH as we used to laugh?" And so-on.

All that being said, as I stop and take a breath and "take inventory" this morning, I've been unbelievably encouraged when I see the "fruit" God is bearing, all around me. The conversations He's allowed me to have... the wisdom I feel He's granted me in crucial situations at work, at home, out-and-about... He's using me, He continues to use Leslie, and that feels good. It just scares me how little time it takes for my heart to wander a little... for my pride to slip in and try to take over the reigns.

Anyway, like I said... the ship is righted, and I can finally feel that mainsail catching a stiff breeze... and I'm back on my voyage, off to start another day.

(I PROMISE that will be my last sailing reference. I don't even sail. I was going to delete it, due to the sheer "corny" factor, alone. But it fits, for whatever reason, this morning.)

Dreams, Lies, and Riding the Waves

Leslie's sister is the 2nd most amazing woman I've ever met. (No disrespect, Dana, but you know I'm a little biased toward your sister.) :) Dana's wisdom and intelligence are matched only by her own compassion and love. And she was the closest of friends with Leslie. She and her husband, Curt, have shaken up the routine and order of their own lives, now (it was an intricate and complex routine as it was-- they have 4 boys of their own, ages 1-8), in order to honor one of Leslie's dying wishes, that Dana might be a sort of "surrogate mother" to TJ. This morning, as she does every Monday, she packed her boys into the minivan before sunrise and proceeded to navigate her way through the streets of suburbia so that TJ could start his week in his own house, and so I could leave as early as possible for work, in hopes to "beat the rush" to my office. I wrestle every week with accepting this unbelievably selfless gesture from her. And every week, I humbly accept. As she and her mom keep telling me, "We're in this together, Ty." Several times a week, we all talk on the phone or email, or whatever, just sharing our days. Friday, Dana had a rough morning-- full of sadness and hard thoughts, unable to sleep the night before-- and emailed me to "share it with me". My heart broke for her... Indeed, our hearts break TOGETHER every day... sharing each other's burden. Sharing the SAME burden. (What a beautiful testimony to the Body of Christ, and a Christian family, no?) (Reminds me to pray for TJ's future wife and family...) Anyway, I had one of those mornings myself, this morning, before Dana even hit the road and bobbed and weaved and waded her way through the flooded route from Wheaton to Bolingbrook.

I haven't been dreaming much, lately. Sleep is simply respite, for the most part. When I do dream, Leslie is often there with me, playing a roll in my dreams just as she would have before. And I'm always sad when I wake up, to "lose her all over again", but it's typically a pretty peacful experience, knowing she's whole again, (indeed, more "whole" than ever!) and knowing that "we're doing just fine" here-- God is providing. But last night-- or early this morning, rather-- I truly believe I was "attacked by the enemy" in my dreams. As a Christian, I typically don't like to give Satan credit for much of anything. Why even acknowledge him? He'd just relish in that. My "take", if you will, is that it's kind of like standing naked on the beach and cursing the sun for your sunburn. Bad stuff happens. It's part of "The Fall of Adam". "The Curse". Yes, it's Satan. But it's also "just life". So wear your sunscreen and try to enjoy the beach. Or shut up and go inside. But stop staring at the sun and shaking your fists. All you're doing is letting it burn you more, and allowing it to blind your eyes to the beauty around you, on top of it all.

Anyway, forgive my tangent, but in the wee hours this morning, plain and simple, I was "attacked"... I don't want to go into details, because they're quite disturbing, and very dis-jointed... I'm not sure I could even describe them if I tried. But in the wake of the dream, I woke up in the dark, feeling scared for Leslie. Feeling I had abandoned her. Feeling no peace about her "victory". Feeling she was still stuck there-- suffering, dying, and it was somehow my responsibility... my fault. My mind still wasn't fully awake, so I just stared at the twilight coming in through the blinds for I-don't-know-how-long, turning these thoughts and trying to piece together the details of the dream that woke me-- trying to make sense of it. It finally dawned on me (or the Spirit had had enough and decided to whisper some peace, or whatever), that the dream was a LIE. It was simply not of God. The very ambiance of the scenes as they echoed through my mind were dark, cold, full of fear for Leslie, and not love for her. At one point of the dream, she even got up from her bed of suffering and tried to hug me... and I tried to hug her back and tell her "I love you", but physically could not... something was preventing me from wrapping my arms around her. Like I said... it was all just a LIE.

After wrestling with it all for awhile (I don't know how long, it was, really), there was no chance of going back to sleep. I decided to just get up, do some dishes, some laundry, and take a shower and start the day. In the shower, I prayed, as I typically do. I was frustrated as I confessed my weakness to God, that such a stupid "flaming arrow" of a lie could burn so deeply like that. I asked Him to search me and show me what sin I'm holding onto that allows evil such a "foot-hold" into my subconscious. And then, finally, I just gave (or re-gave) my life-- my day, my heart, my mind, my dreams-- to Him. I asked for Him to pour His wisdom, discernment, and grace into me, once again. Maybe it was the hot water pouring over my head and down my back... or maybe it was the Holy Spirit soothing my soul, in an immediate answer to prayer... I tend to believe it was both. But before I'd finished shaving, that "senseless peace" had returned to me. I smiled at God's goodness. At Leslie's whole-ness and completion today. And marveled at His provision and grace, once again. (Oh, and I got the mess in the kitchen taken care of before Dana arrived, too! "All things work together for good...") :)

So yes, overall, I'm daily amazed at how "well" things are going. There are tears, still, and sad moments. I miss Leslie. But TJ and I seem to be settling into this new "routine". I'm even enjoying my life. The doubt and guilt I wrestled with, in consideration of this fact, last week seem to have been covered, again, by the grace of Christ. I just hadn't expected to feel this "well" this soon. But instead of letting myself get frustrated about it, or question myself about it, I'm just "turning it back to Him in praise", as I've sung in that song, so many times. Why is it that we sometimes tend to feel guilty for our blessings? Of COURSE, we don't "deserve" them! That's why they're called "blessings" and not "rewards" or "wages". Again... GRACE! Hallelujah! This morning... this week... this LIFE... my burden is again lifted. In its place, blessings of peace. Certainly, there will be worse days and weeks to come, as this "grieving" thing comes in waves, they tell me. But when the next one hits, God will provide another board. I'll grab it and ride that wave back to shore, then as well. The salt will burn my open wounds... the fear of falling... but, OH! The THRILL of the ride!




p.s. TJ got sick this weekend. I mention it, because it is one thing I had really stressed about, imagining what it would be like once Leslie wasn't around to take care of us both, when one of us got sick. He "puketed" all morning on Saturday, which kept us home from our weekend travel plans-- which turned out to be quite a blessing. He's such a good boy when he's sick-- not whiney, just sleepy and cuddly. It's the only time he will actually SIT and watch a DVD all the way through. And the virus was actually pretty short-lived. He woke up Sunday morning back at 100%, and we went to Church together. And we had a very restful, quiet, weekend at home together. God is good. ALL the time.

Smiling at an old memory...

8 years ago. A week-night. Not too far from where I sit and type in this moment. A twenty-something man was filled with a flood of new emotions, balanced with a calm insight, that drew him to his keyboard. He started typing a letter to the woman who would turn out to live to be (and die as) his wife.

(I'm racking my brain to remember if she ever read this... I believe she did... but I can't say for sure. Either way, I know she died knowing the truth this note encapsulates. I found this tonight in an old archive, looking for a different file. It made me smile...)

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Leslie-


I’m not sure if it’s isolation or clarity that drives me to write tonight. It’s probably a whole lot of both. I’m in Chicago on business, it’s 9 pm here in the hotel, and we just talked for about a half-hour, although it never seems as long as it really is when we talk. Sometimes people happen into your life with whom conversation is so natural and effortless that time is impotent. Hours are seconds and days are years. So it has been for me in the past several weeks with you.


Perhaps I should present my point first and spend the rest of this timeless evening, and evenings like this which are sure to come, attempting to describe to you—and to myself—the thoughts and emotions that go into such a letter as this. Perhaps such thoughts and emotions will prove one day to be foolish, in which case I hope to display some timely wisdom in deciding whether to ever let your eyes find these words. Regardless, the combined isolation and clarity of this night and this week drive my fingers to write.


My point is this: Everything I know of you is truly good. Beautiful. Everything I see in you is of God. A passion inside of me has been stirred, and I’m not sure what exactly it longs for, other than to experience you for another timeless hour. I want nothing more than to know you more than I do now, all the while being content and taking joy in what little of you I do already know.


What do I really know of you? Let me first start by saying that yes, since the first day I knew you—since that afternoon we sat by the lake and studied for the pending psychology exam—I have always found you to be a very attractive girl. I have tried to decide what feature it is that grabs my attention, and I’m sure it is your eyes. They have a certain beauty that I can’t my mind can’t quite grasp. They come alive when you talk. I remember running through a garden sprinkler in the yard when I was a boy. The summer sun would paint rainbows in the mist always just in front of me. I would run in circles trying to reach out and touch those little miracles, but their beauty was just always out of my grasp. So it is with your eyes.


But I’ve known your outward beauty for years. What is it that I’ve learned of you in these past weeks that has stirred this passion for you? You have a quiet but somehow passionate joy about you. You are a paradox to me, in this regard. You admit openly that you are somewhat of an introvert, but still your joy and life are impossible to disregard. In fact, they are contagious. You make me laugh. I make you laugh. We make us laugh. It’s not the silly kind of nonsensical laughter that always makes me feel foolish for ever having uttered as much as a giggle. It’s a freeing laugh. It’s as though I’d forgotten what laughter was until those moments when you draw it out of me.


I admire—nearly to the point of envy—your understanding and discernment. You never miss a thing. You read people and situations so well, and put thoughts into such wonderfully understandable words. You are a phenomenal listener and communicator.


Most of all, your pursuit of God in your every breath and heartbeat are inspirational. You’ve been an amazing encouragement to me over the past month or so, without your slightest awareness of the fact. Your very way of being encourages me to draw closer to God, growing a deeper desire to know Him more. You are one of the wisest people I know. And everything you do is permeated by this adorable humility that could only come as a result of a life of intense communion with the One Living God who has courted your soul since its creation.


I’ve been writing about the beauty I see in you for forty-five minutes, and I feel as though I haven’t even started. I guess what I’m trying to say through all of this is… What is it I am trying to say? What else is there to say except that I love every second I’m with you, whether it is spent in deep and spiritual conversation, nonsensical laughter, or just sharing a blanket, a bowl of popcorn, and a movie? I’m not sure when it started, but lately I’ve been noticing that this time of night regularly brings you into my thoughts and prayers. What does all that mean? What am I to do with it? Or a more difficult question: What difference would it make to your life or mine if you knew all of this?


I guess I’ll sleep on it.