A Redux of When does Autumn Arrive?

Hello on a Sunday Evening,

It was a good weekend overall, and it seems like the weeks move more quickly, and indeed, we are into the last full week of summer. I attended a soccer game, went to church, and earlier today went with Brad to see the movie, Tony, about Anthony Bourdain at the theatre in Lewisburg. It was a very good movie. It also has a good soundtrack. I’d planned to get back to the second half of this seasonal reflection, but got focused on some other writing, which is quite profoundly consequential, but was compelled to reconsider how to best manage it, so I have put it on a small hiatus. That writing might, after a blog written to my mother 12 years ago, be the most important thing I’ve tried ever to pen. It has offered an opportunity to come to terms with one of the most profoundly difficult and yet unparalleled in its many experiences. It was the time when I can say I was both the most in love with another and the greatest failure of anytime in my life. To attempt to understand the why is not an easy task.

Over the last month or so I’ve worked diligently to be the most accountable to anyone as well as to myself as I’ve ever been, but there is still so much to dig through, to reflect upon, and it, not surprisingly, has brought a lot of pieces of my life into a focus that, while disconcerting, is still freeing. And in staying with the philosophical concept of seasons as noted previously, moving into Autumn is a time of reflection, of harvesting and seeing what has been accomplished. This is, on some levels, logical and pragmatic, and yet what happens when the previous seasons of Spring and Summer had their difficulties, to continue the analogy, Spring did not allow for great planting and the storms of Summer damaged what was attempting to grow?

As I have noted many times, I love the Autumn with its cool nights and foggy mornings which give way to warm afternoons with brilliant blue skies and the changing tapestry of trees and their colors, spectacular and breathtaking. And yet, the morning comes a little later and the dusk a little sooner, and the realty of the Spring and Summer are apparent in what we can reap. Perhaps that is part of the struggle as I begin to ponder my Autumn. The life that I’ve led has been profoundly remarkable and rewarding on one hand, and I do believe what has occurred since the Fall of 2000 has been, to a great degree, successful and blessed, and yet there is the period before that, the late 30s into the mid 40s that my life was more disastrous than I could have ever imagined, as well as more damaging and hurtful, both to myself and another than I realize even now, though that is what I am trying to understand. I’ve been asked to come to terms with the “why” of that, and I am working to get there, but it’s proving to be more difficult than anticipated. Not to say I am unwilling to work toward it, but managing and being simultaneously open to, the process is weighty because it is not possible to do it alone. And while I did not initiate this journey, I do believe I must do it if I am ever going to be fair, though I am not sure if it can ever be fair.

One of the things that happens in harvesting is the land is once again laid bare, everything that was obscured by the many things harvested is now both open for all to see, but also placed into a sort of moratorium. It’s there vulnerable to the wind and the elements, and yet it’s allowed to rest o from all its had done to it. There is a transience that requires introspection, but introspection is dangerous because it reveals our flaws, our scars, and our insecurities. That has been my companion over the last couple weeks, and yet for the first time in a long time, perhaps the first time ever, I’ve been pushed by another, by someone who knows me too well, to face all my fears and shortcomings. All my life, I’ve been able to run away, sometimes not even knowing I was running. This time, there is no running, and I have no desire to do so. I want to understand it as much as I can. And surprisingly, it does not seem dangerous, it seems freeing. And yet I want to do it in a manner that does not blame the other, but allows me the option to be as honest and respectful, thoughtful and yet responsible as I can.

Perhaps it’s appropriate that I’ve been unexpectedly tasked with reflecting on that time in my life. Perhaps it’s what can provide an awareness or an awakening that could clear the metaphorical fields that some things were harvested, but what was left behind must still be dealt with. Certainly the lapse of time has blurred some things; the emotions and memories have left a profound imprint on who I am, on who they are, and the messages sent and received have illustrated just how deeply each was affected. What would seemingly be easy is to let it be, but that is what happened, and it’s profoundly evident that all of it has left a field that has ever recovered. Sort of like a house that was destroyed by a storm by never tended to after the fact. The reality of the damage remains even though no one lives there any longer. But of memories and the pain of what was lost can still be felt.

It is perhaps that such an attempt to come to terms with the painful past moves me into the final season of Winter? It is the reality that much more of life lies in the past than what lies ahead? It is something about seeing that tapestry which is fading like the trees in their bareness that pushes us to make amends, to allow the land to rest, and offer a chance for quiet growth, some much different than what happens in the Spring and its blooming and Summer and its growing. I think at one time I would have been afraid to approach this season in my life, believing that it signified a time of smaller accomplishments, of having less value. But now, I am not so sure that is true. It seems that the place I find myself is that Autumn probably arrived a while ago, and while on the calendar, we still have a week of summer remaining, in my life perhaps I’ve made it to the cusp of Winter. However, it’s not something to be fearful of. It’s not something where I should plow under what has happened in my past. It’s the time for thoughtful and deep reflection and honest accountability for my failings, and well as some gratefulness toward the one who pushes me to do so. In reflection and accountability, in honesty and humility I can both begin to let go, but continue forward in a restful manner that provides peace, not only for me, but hopefully beyond and for them.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael

When does Autumn Arrive?

Hello on a September afternoon,

It is warm and beautiful, with low humidity and a blue sky that seems even more spectacular after two cataract surgeries. Anyone who has experienced the drastic color difference will know what I mean. The changing of seasons, at least in terms of the calendar, are predictable. While the time of the day might vary a few hours, the 20th-22nd of the month on a quarterly rotation tells us we have once again made it through another quarterly epoch, and the seasons turn into years, decades, and beyond. Few make it to the century mark, though I did have a Great-aunt who lived to be almost 103. I think she is the relativewith the greatest level of longevity in my family. Otherwise, it is certainly all over the board. Without a doubt the interest in seasons, be it metaphorically or artistically, is something we look at and ponder regularly. Thomas Cole, the 19th century painter, created a series of four paintings collectively titled, The Voyage of Life (circa 1840). Perhaps one is the most well-know pieces of music is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, which became the basis for the movie written, directed, and starring the famous M*A*S*H’s Alan Alda. We are somewhat obsessed with the idea of and the circular aspect of our seasonal progression.

What I am more interested in, though I love the change of the seasons, and I am most assuredly a four-season person, is something that some refer to as the seasons of one’s life. There are both philosophical and psychological aspects to our connection with the seasons, and while some might see the easy parallels, perhaps there is more to the analogous connections than meet the eye. Jim Rohan, a well-known business philosopher, who is extensively published, has focused on the cyclical nature of seasons, which pushes one to think more contextually or accept the impermanence of life’s circumstances. And while there are a number of possibilities, what I find is I might dabble in a few different concepts. The idea of something circular is more gracious because it offers a sort of do-over. Additionally, perhaps it provides the chance of something cumulative. Perhaps within the redux one has the capability of reparations.

Yet, wondering about what happens within the seasonal cycle, it creates some blocks that can be analyzed and reflected upon. If Spring focuses on the planting, developing foundations, and it the beginning of learning, there is a great deal that happens without our realization. One of the things I still find most fascinating is how infants absorb through sight. I always wonder just what is being imprinted when they are pre-language. What happens and where does it go? What is learned and absorbed in those first months. For instance, while I have no memory of the time living with my biological parents, and I was born in Texas and with the birth of a sister 14 months later in California, life was transient. Before I was two we would live in Omaha, Nebraska. It was within a short period of time, my sister and I would be relocated again, living with paternal grandparents in Sioux City, Iowa. There are a number of factors where I am compelled to wonder what kind of Spring I had.

The move to Summer, the place of growing, thriving, and learning did not immediately occur for me. If it is to be a time of growth and momentum, to say that mine was one of fits and starts would be an understatement. Throughout high school, there was little consistency, be it academically or personally. In my academics, ironically, I did well in the more rigorous situations and at times down right dreadfully in things that should have been easy. In terms of personally, my home life made feeling any sort of confidence or self worth was nigh impossible. I learned to get along with most everyone, but I felt no worth most of the time. The first time I felt any sense of capability or accomplishment was when I was acing my Communications and Electronics School in the Marine Corps and then found out my GCT scores were high enough to send me to college to become a commissioned officer, which I did not do. In spite of meritorious promotions in the Marine Corps, when I returned to Sioux City, being back around a parent who disliked me, much of the progress I made was thwarted. If not for my pastor’s family, I am not sure what would have happened. During that time, my brother passed away as did my grandmother, and I was reeling. There was little of a summer time of growth, productivity, and the only momentum was the increasing speed of the proverbial top going in circles. Growth would occur, but unexpectedly and more haphazardly than with any sense of structure. An unplanned acceptance as a member of a Lutheran Youth Encounter Team would begin me on at least one area of life that would create a constant progression of success. And what I realize now is I had some innate abilities that I had not tapped into prior to that time, at least not consistently. On the other hand, the focus on what would become an academic life left other parts of me far behind. I would from time to time attempt to attend to the personal side, but with little consistency and with no idea of how. As significantly, soon it seemed there was an increasingly impassable chasm between the two aspects of who I was, and all of me was behind chronologically. Perhaps a good way to explain it was if I were a tomato, it was well past harvest time and I was still green. And to make matters worse, I appeared red. My late 20s and 30s were an academic summer to be certain, and while I thought I had caught up personally in terms of managing life and people (I would date, get engaged, and married), nothing could be further from the truth.

I would do very well in terms of finishing my degrees, managing an internship, and even being certified and ordained, and from the outside it seemed everything was copacetic, but perhaps the real truth was in my GI track. At the age of 28, I was diagnosed with an Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD). I have since learned I was probably born with Crohn’s Disease, but that is something else. Much like the Spring, my Summer was filled with storms, and there was little consistent in my life, but somehow, and to some degree, I managed to move forward.

Perhaps it’s appropriate again because it seems I am halfway through to stop here, and for the second time, to create a two-part post. So as always, thank you for bearing with this. It is more than musing, as it is done with both a personal reflection, but with a sincere hope that another might find it helpful, whomever that might be. As I write this, I have three writing projects I am juggling. Part of this writing is to clear my head for the other two, and I am humbled by your responses and your simply reading along. I’ve been at this now for about 13 years. Almost 100,000 people have crossed the pages. Thank you for that. Much like when I taught, you hope some of it makes a difference.

Have a great day, and thank you as always for reading.

Michael

The Ultimate University

Hello on the final holiday weekend of the summer,

As I attended worship this morning, I was blessed to sit with two people who’ve become dear friends to me. While one is my former landlord after I sold the Acre, what I have learned is how incredibly astute he is as a land person, and while quite successful, he never acts arrogant, entitled, or pompous. The other half of the duo is capable in a number of ways, but in her soul, she is a mother through and through. However, while they are extraordinary, I believe they are also simply faithful people, much in the fways that many individuals try to be, living their faith not necessarily on their sleeves, but rather in their simple goodness and through their actions. I have also learned that for one of them, it seems our piety is quite similar. Long-story-short, they have become unparalleled blessings in my life.

While I sat with them listening to the sermon this morning, and thinking about the text in Matthew, that was the morning gospel, Pastor Mohan noted the two Greek words the writer of Matthew uses in this particular text, the first (at least in this text) being σκάνδαλοs (which means sort of trapped) and the second, being the more typical, αμαρτία (which means to fall short of the mark – imagine an arrow falling short of the target). So I was writing both words in my bulletin to remind me. I think about how they overlap with each other. Being trapped is something we can do to ourselves, or it can be done to us, but either way we are not allowed to accomplish what we are able to do. And yet, the idea of being trapped (either self-induced or inflicted) as a sort of sin is interesting and something I need to think more about (perhaps another post). The idea of falling short of the mark is something I understand intimately. And then as I drove home, listening to NPR (and a travel show), I heard the word, circumambulate, which I could figure out from its root words, but I do not ever remember hearing it before. Circumambulation is actually a religious term that is multi-connected to faiths from Christianity to Buddhism or Judaism to Hinduism. It means to walk in a circular way around something. And yet that was not how it was used in the piece I was listening to, it was about how we might return to something again and again, but we never see it the same way. An interesting, but accurate twist on both the word and its imagery. For those unacquainted, if you ever witnessed when the clergy walks around a casket (for instance) and they are incensing the body, they are circumambulating. But what if our entire life is a series of such action or motion?

When I ponder the moments I believe most significant in life consumed by education, certainly the amount of time spent both as a student as well as a professor takes up the majority of my life. And yet is it where I learned the most or what was most important? In terms of cumulative learning, I am sure that period of life on both sides of the blank stare is where I learned the most. In terms of what or when the most profound learning moments occurred, that is a much more difficult thing to ascertain. Certainly in terms of knowledge or expertise, between classes and application, the things learned in the classroom and in the academy were consequential, both in terms of the person I’ve become, both established an incredible core that does a lot when it comes to my understanding the world, others, or myself. And to be sure, it’s provided a good life as well as it allowed me to travel the world in ways that went far beyond what either the service or my initial European experience did. And the many trips to Europe, and particularly Poland have circumabulatory nature, especially when I think about Kraków. Traveling provides an incredible education. I often say after schooling, the best money spent is on travel because it is a cultural enlightening. It teaches us simultaneously about ourselves and how we perceive the world, while allowing us to interact and learn about and from the other. Perhaps one of my former students stated it most appropriately as three of sat at dinner in Kraków one January. When I asked the two of them what the most important thing they learned as we were finishing the month in Central and Eastern Europe, he responded, “I learned that while America is important, we are not as important as we think we are. There is so much that has happened and happens here that matters.” What an amazingly astute observation and realization. He was, and still is, correct.

The ultimate university, if I can refer to it as such is the ability to integrate our experiences, our travels, and our education, our knowledge, our emotions, and our relationships. Perhaps the ultimate university is simply life. It is understanding the circumambulatory nature of our existence, realizing that we are a different person each time we return to something previously experienced, be that a person, a place, or specific event, even though we’ve done it before. The other sort of mistake often made is a belief that everything is manageable. Some things just aren’t. And perhaps some of those things we are incapable of mastering, of passing (if I want to use the university analogy a bit more) are things we believe we fundamentally should be able to accomplish. In a recent conversation with someone, they told be they believed that I was incapable of something many might believe basic to our humanity. I am not sure they are correct, but I am unsure that they aren’t. I will need to search deeply to determine that. I would add that while their assertion was difficult, it was not done in a mean-spirited manner, which makes my consideration all that more important. The conversation, which has been ongoing for a bit, has been both (and with appreciation for that) insightful and cathartic (again hopefully for both). The circling back is significant because it pushes me to come to terms with some of a history that I had not dealt with up to that time. And while the traversing of that has been life long, it’s almost half my life ago I had not managed it. The things done since to do so are not always apparent for those now because they did not know me 30 years ago, and for those on the other side, they have not been around to see who I am now.

What I’ve been doing, in many ways is gathering the notebooks of my life-long classroom and peering into them. The return to those previous recitations, where perhaps I did less than well are necessary. It’s always helpful to know that not everything from the past falls into the “do-over” realm, but there are some rather large failures, to be sure. Perhaps the gift of my ultimate university reality is there is still time to learn, to return and perhaps, to a degree, remedy my failures. That does not erase them, nor completely compensate for them, but hopefully it can ease the pain and hurt of the other. Just possibly, it offers an opportunity to provide a place of peace and comfort where there has been pain and hurt.

Perhaps it might allow my favorite prayer to be heard and felt for those who still have ears and the desire to listen. This prayer was sung at my ordination, which I have noted before. Ironically, today would be the singer’s birthday.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Being Content

Hello from my mini-mini-much less than the Acre, but homey nonetheless,

As we finish the week, heading into Labor Day weekend, what is considered the sort of official end of summer is upon us. Where did it go? is a common question as we seem to meander our way through the days, weeks, and months. Already, in less than a month, we are 3/4 of the way through another year. In less than a couple of weeks, I will note (not sure if celebrations still occur) the addition of a different number for that age-box that is on applications. How did that happen again so quickly? Facebook has a habit, not sure if it’s helpful always, of sharing those memories and some of them are going on two decades ago, when I was still in Wisconsin. Some of those memories, the events, and the people are reminders of where we were in life, what was happening then, and it offers the opportunity, or perhaps requires us, to consider the changes from that event, from people who are perhaps no longer in our lives, for any number of reasons, and what we spent our time doing. Certainly, as noted by Katharine Hepburn to Jane Fonda, as the mother and daughter in the movie, On Golden Pond. As Chelsea (the daughter) laments her childhood Ethel, her mother, after saying that all of us look at and lament the past, notes, “Life marches on, Chels, I suggest you get on with it.” What a poignant, and yet difficult line and reality for us.

Since I formally retired two years ago, plus a couple of weeks, so many things have happened. So much of what I thought I had planned for, studied and tried to prepare for, has gone differently than I imagined. It has been disconcerting at times, flat out overwhelming and frightening, if I am to be honest. From a bus project to health care, from living in multiple or traveling to numerous places and states, I have felt a bit like a tumbleweed, buffeted and battered by the wind, and yet still moving with a supposed sense of direction. What I realized is both by necessity and otherwise, how Bloomsburg still needed to be a landing place, the place I called, and must remain to do so, home. What I have learned about the intricacies of health care as a retired person, in spite of all the homework done in advance, is beyond anything I could have expected, anticipated, or explained had I been asked. Managing the finances of being retired, managing the reality of cars, inspections, and a host of other things that seem more paramount than when I was working have been mind-bending at times. And yet, I have learned to step-back, to allow the realities of others, of the circumstances, to merely be that, the reality of any situation. I have noted that I’ve realized that if I do not have power over something (or someone), I cannot waste energy on it (or them). While I’ve been aware of that truism for some time, I am still working on the appropriate response: let it go.

It’s now the next day, Saturday, and I wish my former student, and surrogate daughter, Becky, a Happy Birthday! It would seem that contentment is something most of us crave, and while it seems simple enough conceptually, it is neither simple as advertised nor easy to obtain. Certainly, the idea of peacefulness, stability, or a feeling of satisfaction does not sound foreign, does not feel unobtainable, and yet, how many of us can say we are content? Does it only happen after some achievement or after we have accomplished a goal? What if it should be the goal rather than the consequence? And it begs the question what achievement, what goal? Educationally? Financially? Relationally? Materially? All the above? While my generation believed in the paramount idea of the American Dream, and many of those who come here (regardless their status) still buy into that idea, I do believe that they come with that hope. However, studies reveal that less than 50% of the American public believe that everyone has an equal shot at achieving it. First, what is it? Central principles include with hard work you can get ahead (e.g. live a better life); that owning a home and being able to care for your family is still foundational; and that fairness and equality, justice for all is core belief in what America is about. Demographically, the sense of the dream is also changing. For those younger, happiness is central, including a work/life balance and an importance on mental health. In fact, current wisdom would place this above financial stability. That is a significant alteration. The costs of all of life had led to a widespread pessimism about the likelihood of achieving the dream of my generation, and consequently, the idea of fairness has suffered also. And how often do we find ourselves telling our prodigies life is not fair. And the divide economically illustrates the sense of achieving “the dream” clearly. The effects of gender, class, ethnicity, and even generationally (when one was born) are major factors to this disappearing hope. Yet, on the other hand, 3/4s of the country still believe it is worth striving for. So what does that do to my idea of contentment?

Perhaps understanding it might be important and realizing what it is not might be as significant. The very word comes from the Latin contents, which means to be held together, to be complete. Therefore, I do not believe it is something that comes from outside of us. While events, experiences, and accomplishments affect us, the feeling of something being enough for the moment is a decision made from our inner-self. To feel content is not momentary, and it does not appear out of the blue. Just as importantly, it is not complacency, it does not put us in some state of ethereal bliss. It seems more likely that we accept our circumstances with a sense of honesty and with still a belief or hope in the goodness of things. In that, contentment is not dependent on circumstance. Perhaps the way to ask it is this: can we find inner-peace despite the outward chaos? To look for a sense of peacefulness in our current world with our 24/7 connectivity sounds a bit ridiculous . . . think about it? How many of us can truly unplug? How many of us want to? One of the things that I believe contributes to my growing sense of contentment is taking a nap, a willingness, and now, perhaps desire, to unplug consciously. To sleep for a bit and rejuvenate. It does wonders, even though my friend, Cristian, teases me. What is important for me is to still have dreams, plans, and goals, but to go about them methodically, reasonably, or intentionally, but to treat myself with a sense of grace. To get to this point, this mindset, has not been something that magically appeared nor has it been an intentional process if you will. It’s been an evolution of sorts. Perhaps it was more a realization that I was not a contented person, that perhaps all my life failed to find a sense of peace, regardless my accomplishments. It returns me to the earlier things above. Contentment is internal; it is certainly related to what we do, what we experience, and the people we have in our lives. It is simple to understand, and perhaps difficult to achieve, but it is possible. There is always a sense of agency within us, will we use it? Can we find it? Perhaps it is in the small quiet moments we come face-to-face with it. Perhaps it is in those moments we see the bigger (the clearer) picture.

Thank you as always for reading, and I wish you peace and contentment.

Michael

Loving with your Heart

Hello on the first day of September,

As I look out my window, there is one particular tree that has begun its yearly transformation from a rich vibrant green to the colors of the impending autumn palate – something that always astounds us as humans. It is but one more reason I find the coming season so wonderful. The morning fog, blanketing the Susquehanna River and beyond as well as the need for morning wipers, perhaps some heat in the defrost, is a poignant reminder that a growing season is almost completed and harvest is on the doorstep. And yet the sun will break through, creating warm and comfortable afternoons to remind us that even in a 24 hour period there is so much contrast. From Apple pie and cider to the pumpkin spice lattes, even our pallets change. Road trips to chase the autumn colors, attending harvest festivals, and little children planning their Halloween costumes remind us that yet another year is rapidly coming to a close.

As I am noted before, it is my favorite time of year. I am quite sure that is connected to education, to the sort of oxymoron of seeing the fall as the beginning of a year versus what I just noted that it’s simultaneously a reminder that something is ending. Recently, in a specific circumstance, a close friend and long-time confidant noted that I need to demonstrate, as well as speak about, how I love something (or someone) from my heart. And I admit I have that sort of love in this particular situation, but I must also admit, it’s not something that I actually seem to portray easily even though it is deeply seated in who I am. Or at least I believe that to be the case. However, what does it mean to love someone that deeply? Does such a love radiate from us in a visual manner, that it is instantly noticeable? Is it possible that the depth of it is so profound that it is just accepted as a given, and it perhaps is the foundational piece of all a person does? I’ve always been a person who steps back and observes, ponders, and initially says little or nothing, and that is about most things. That has become more pronounced as I’ve aged, and I believe in a number of ways I’m more introverted. I think such a demeanor has allowed me to listen more carefully, more intentionally.

As I write this morning, many students are back with the first week of school completed, daily schedules falling into place, and freshmen in college still trying to come to terms with the jump in levels from their high school requirements to the syllabi they are now staring at. The reality of life hits us in different ways and at different moments. As I work through this week, there are moments where life will possibly come a bit full-circle. As I’ve noted at a number of times, I’ve seldom known where everything will go, or how I might get from one place to another, but it seems there’s a plan for me in spite of myself. Sometimes those plans are prompted or even instigated by the actions of others. For instance, I would have never heard of Bloomsburg as a place or university without my friend and colleague, a Stout colleague who arrived here before me. Now I’ve spent 1/4 of my life in this town. When I left the clergy roster in the Spring of 1998, it was one of the darker times of my life. From emergency surgery to my father passing away, from learning how my sister had mismanaged things with my father to my own struggles in a marriage, many of my own frailties would result in so many changes in my life, from location to status, from working toward one thing to finding another. And yet within the seemingly impossible survival, there were things, people, and someone (something) more powerful, profound.

From my older cousins, to whom I am still grateful even though they have passed, from the job in an area I knew nothing about, which would sustain me over the next two years until I returned to graduate school, and a seminary colleague who never gave up on me, though they would certainly admonish me when necessary, I have received, I have witnessed, and I have experienced love that sustained me, supported me, and provided me the sustenance we need to not only survive, but to thrive. In those moments, through those incidences, and from those individuals I experienced love for me that comes from the heart. It illustrates for me the truth of the First Commandment, the command that we have received ourselves that you will love the Lord, your God with all your heart and soul and mind and your neighbor as yourself. That is the love of a Savior at its purest. It is the reality of Luther’s Law/Gospel dialectic that shows us both how to live in a world that requires the law because of our human limitation while simultaneously reminding of the divine reassurance that Jesus does love us; that God is love. Our reassurance of God’s love, of God’s grace is based on what God does and not what we do. This is not a works righteousness. When I was in seminary, one of my confessions professors, and I have noted this before, Gerhard Forde, wrote, “Confessionally speaking, the answer to the question what must I do to be saved? is nothing.” He continues in his text with the following, and I can still hear his somewhat quiet, some might argue monotone, voice saying this: “Shut up and listen for once in your life” (Justification: A Matter of Death and Life). That is how remarkable the love of God is. When it comes to our life here, we have the law, but when it comes to eternity, the love of God is so boundless that salvation is already taken care of. That is love. That is the love that Jesus demonstrates, and he commands we do the same. That is loving from the heart. We begin to understand the love of Jesus through the way we receive and attempt to emulate what he has said and done. The other of my confessions professions, the Rev. Dr. James Nestigen, also an incredible Luther scholar notes how Luther’s Small Catechism is one of the ways we hand over faith (what he called “handing over the goods”) from one to the other. It is the understanding of what I came to understand for me to be the most significant element of the entire Small Catechism. Luther writes about the Third Article, “I believe I cannot by my own effort or understanding believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to him, but the Holy Spirit calls me by the Gospel, enlightens me with his gifts, sanctifies and keeps me in the true faith.” That is the profound example as well as our experience of the love of Christ. If we are called (gathered together if you will), through his word and sacraments we are enlightened (offered knowledge of God’s love), and finally, we are sanctified (made holy, even in our sinfulness) and kept (not merely left flailing) in true faith. It is all we need. And it is offered. That again is love.

So what are we do understand about love in our world that is controlled by the law; how do we take the love of God, which is freely given to us, that is unconditional, and manage it in a conditional world? That is what I find myself pondering. Again, I will turn to Luther, and while his explanations of the Ten Commandments remind us how terribly we fail to kept them, it is the Eighth Commandment I find most profound as well as difficult, but it is instructive. To work diligently to never lie, betray, slander or hurt another’s reputation is not easy . . . but Luther takes it even further (and farther). We are to defend them, speak well of them, and explain everything in the kindest of terms. Seriously?? Dang!! That is really difficult, and not something we are prone to do, but that is what it means to love them with the love of Christ. During the actual semester we were sent home as COVID was overtaking our thoughts and actions (March of 2020), I was teaching a Rhetoric class, and my students brought a story to class about a couple who had been married for 71 years, and they had passed away six hours from the other. The students were stunned by this story. First, that people could be married that long, and second, that they had actually died within hours of the other. So, they asked me what I thought. I told them I was not the person to asked because both of my marriages ended in divorce, but then I noted there is an actual physiologic syndrome called Broken-Heart Syndrome. It is referred to as Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy. And it can be caused by extreme emotional stress, and it can be remedied or it can be fatal. Second, I said facetiously, “As far as being married 71 years, they were six [then they got married].” After I admitted I was kidding, I said the following, “On the morning when you wake up and you do not want to see them, hear them, speak with them, even think of them – on that morning you really do not like them and you cannot imagine what you must have been thinking to want to marry them or spend your life with them, in fact, you detest everything about them, can you remember in that moment you still love them?” I paused and then said, “If you can, then you might make it.” It is a depth of loving that knows no bounds and makes no sense. If we can love then, I believe it is the actual love of the heart, and then a broken-heart makes perfect sense. You cannot imagine life without them. I do believe that is the kind of love the God of love wishes for us, but it is so difficult to find, or more likely create.

As I ponder life, I realize there are times I believed I loved in such a way, and I believe I desired to love in such a way, and yet have I? Am I capable of such an unconditional life-changing love? It is definitely one thing to ponder and think of it, even thinking of it critically and honestly, but what makes us capable of it? That is something I am still pondering. Is it because I desire to experience such a love? Is it because I hope that such a possibility is still there? Again, I am unsure, but examining the love of a Creator and seeing how unconditional I believe it is provides a sense of solace, a sense of hope that perhaps such a thing exists. As I move through what has been an eventful, and important week, I am called in multiple ways to consider possibilities. When I consider things that are part of my Luther heritage that are significant, one of the things that always comes to the fore is Lutheran hymnody and chorale music. I leave you with this, which are two of the best renditions of this incredible hymn. One, of course, would have to be a Lutheran college choir. I am still grateful to Dr. Paul Neve, of Dana College for my chance to sing with his choirs.

Thank you always for reading.

Michael

Who am I? Who are We?

Hello on a beautiful August Sunday afternoon,

While we had a somewhat significant rainstorm last night, today is beautiful: partly cloudy with a nice breeze, moderate temperatures and low humidity. Quite ideal for anyone wanting to get outside, moving back into the dorms or their apartment, and merely able to lay back and enjoy a late August afternoon. it’s been a good summer and the “standard end of Labor Day weekend is only two weeks away. Somehow it’s already mid-afternoon, and as a couple of friends who know me well, it’s after my optimal nap time, but I think I might sneak one in nonetheless. What I find is that Hispanic custom of Siesta has strong benefits. My friend, Cristian, teases me, but that’s fine.

This morning at church the gospel for the day spoke about identity, particularly when Jesus questions the disciples about who people believe he is, which, of course, is followed by who the disciples themselves believe Jesus to be. Identity is such a powerful element of our humanity. It’s so much more than the name we are given at birth (and I think of how well I know that when I was on my third name before I was 5 years old). It’s more than the titles we many earn that might precede our names or the letters we might earn that follow our name. So what creates or develops our identity? Is it experience, knowledge, where we live, where we’ve traveled? Is our own perception of who we are more significant than what others believe? I think merely the things listed give some insight into what I am trying to show. Identity and understanding what it means is complex. And I believe it’s not static. Perhaps some aspects maintain, but I believe all the interrogatives above affect both our perception as well as the view others have of us.

Anthony Giddens, the British social theorist (Dr. Patty Sotirin, see what you’ve done to me!!??), refers to these aspects of identity as subjectivities, the different roles we might inhabit in our lives, and how each of as croce them are significant to the understanding of self. Those identities are transformative. They influence us often in powerful and complex ways that are often unrealized. When are the moments that are most consequential, and what makes them so? For a reading group I belong to, we are currently reading a book by Andrew DeCort, which I believe I noted in my last post. It’s considers the ethics of Bonhoeffer. Bonhoeffer wrote an incredible poem after his arrest titled “Who am I?” Penned in the summer of 1944, while he was still imprisoned in Tegel, before he would be transferred to Buchenwald and eventually Flossenbürg, the poem is profoundly revealing of both the public persona he had created (though I am implying it was untrue) as well as the personal struggles he would endure when alone in his cell.

Certainly that question has been raised for me numerous times over the last 24 months. Retirement, while not nearly as existential as Bonhoeffer’s imprisonment and eventual execution, did, nonetheless, create more of a dilemma for me than I anticipated. Not being in the classroom, while understood, took away much of what I did, no longer having an office which was self-designed to reflect all the aspects of my life, was a safe haven for me, much more than merely the place people could find me during prescribed times. So the campus that took much more time than the eighteen required hours (an amount that a provost once claimed was all faculty were required to work), was no longer accessible. Even being on the campus was different because the loss of direct instruction and interaction with students made me feel like an afterthought with others. Bonhoeffer in his pondering of his incarcerated self wrote, “Am I one person today and another tomorrow? Am I both at once? . . . Who am I? These lonely questions mock me. . . .” Indeed, while in my older age I’ve become more introverted, more selfish in protecting my solitude, so much of who I understood myself to be is wrapped up in the public realm, and most of my life, even more the academy, was such. A person I know that still knows me better than most once told me that I might be the most educated server they knew, but there are more parallels in serving and professing than meets the eye. From my first day in the parish as a called pastor to today as a I prepare for new possibilities, the public and private realities of being called, while having requiring incredible grace and clarity, always push our limited understanding of God’s love, which is foundational to our humanity.

Perhaps it is there we truly find our identity. Perhaps it is when we are most vulnerable to the call of caring for the other we begin to undertake what allows us to comprehend who we are. Perhaps it is in the moments when we are confronted with what we are not or have not done, and we fill in more pieces to our person jigsaw puzzle we become most capable of answering Bonhoeffer’s question. For instance, never helping create another human being has been a thread in my life that has left me wondering what I might have done as a parent. I’ve noted that from time to time here in my posts. From being a step-parent for a short period of time to being an exchange parent, from having students live with me on numerous occasions to being a surrogate parent and confidant to students (now all former) even today, I’ve been able to imagine what I would have done. And, in fact, believe I might have done it pretty well, there are no individuals who will ever carry on my family name into the generations; there is no one’s family tree that will ever say this is my father, grandfather, or beyond. Does that make me merely an ellipsis or footnote on a page? Fortunately, I am more well-adjusted than that. Mercifully, and possibly fortuitously, my public persona provided some comfort for my private self, because the nature of most positions had such a strong vocational nature (in Luther’s understanding of vocation) to them. As I have started to embrace the who I’ve become nature of my present life, I’ve been pushed, compelled, to realize the giftedness of the life I’ve had.

As a person whose becomes singular now professionally, and has been personally for quite some time, I’ve begun to understand some things about identity that often escapes me in the past. Who we are is often shaped by external factors, influences, and circumstances. We allow others to shape us more than is perhaps helpful or healthy. As Bonhoeffer probably realized his life would be ended as a prisoner, he found the strength and peace to conclude his poem with the following words. “Who am I? These lonely questions mock me. Whoever I am, You know me, I am yours, O God.” Even in the existential angst of Tegel Prison, through a Gestapo interrogation, in the reality of his circumstance, Bonhoeffer found his identity in his love of God and his faith of God’s love for him, which he would continue to share even to the gallows.

I used this clip at the beginning of my dissertation defense. It comes from Bonhoeffer’s work written to his fellow conspirators in December of 1942, a few months before he was arrested.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael

What if . . . Something We Seem Predestined to Ask.

Hello as the beginning of August is beginning to feel like the dog-days-of-summer,

While I have heard the phrase numerous times, I knew neither its origin nor its significance overall. I was quite accurate in that it is about the warmest days of summer, and I learned it corresponds the star Canis Major, and it is a period in summer from July 3rd to August 11th, so when I first began writing I was in that timeframe. Now about a week and a half later, the weather has changed as August can. Indeed, it was hot and humid, and while we did have some torrential rain more than once, much of the rainfall has been more miss than hit. And as is often the case into late summer, the mornings are foggy – the last week, I’ve seldom needed my air conditioner, and the need for a hoodie is more likely.

As I have often mentioned, I have a propensity for remembering dates. Today is Susan’s birthday. Some will ask who is Susan? Susan was my girlfriend in college, and the person who would become my first wife. And we would get married three days after her birthday. If I recall correctly, part of the decision influencing our wedding date was she wanted to be 21. One of the difficulties with going to a traditional 18-22 year old student body was I was older. I did not always think about that, but those differences would have a much more significant impact than I knew. When Susan and I got married, we did much of the planning, and we paid for much of our wedding. She actually did all the flowers. She bought her dress and worked diligently that summer on so many things. Her parents, who are amazing people, did a number of things to assist, actually much more than my parents did. Susan’s father is one of the most outstanding people I’ve ever met, and I can still say that. As I look back now, we would be married over 45 years, but not yet 50. But, for numerous reasons, and certainly some of the struggles my fault, that did not happen.

I will begin with there were things I did not manage nor was I prepared for. I will take that on my shoulders completely. What I know now, decades later, is beyond anything I consciously considered that summer of 1984. I am not sure even in my late 20s I was ready to walk down the proverbial aisle, and an even more profound, albeit difficult, reality was I am not sure I was capable of loving someone enough to be married. That again is on me and not her. Ironic how much I thought I had worked through all of that, and I had worked through pretty much none of it. When I told my father Susan had filed for divorce, he never spoke poorly about her, and he did not get overly involved during the process. The only thing he said was, “If you need anything, let me know.” It was only after we concluded the process, one day he said to me, “I’m not surprised that you got divorced.” I was both stunned and displeased by his statement. My immediate response was to dispute him, but somehow I only listened to what followed. And while I was not happy with what I heard, I remained quiet. He continued in his measured and matter-of-fact manner. “You never learned to work together, to be partners in your marriage. You were too focused on your jobs,” he said. “You were very different people, and fundamentally you did things opposite of the other.” He ended with the following observation. “You are a giver and she is a taker.” I was not expecting any of that, and my initial response was to reject his position, but as he often did, without continuing, and without belaboring things, he merely stopped. And as was generally the case, he compelled me to ponder what he said. Nothing either in his words or tone were meant to be confrontational. That was not his way. He was merely speaking his truth based on his observations.

Again, years later, I see what he said very differently. And like my father, I step back and continue to ponder and reflect. There is little he said there (or ever for that matter) that does not ring true. But through my own continued consideration, my own digging deeper and careful rumination, I think what doomed our marriage (and perhaps not the only thing, but a major factor) was i was not in love with Susan in a way that supported my being a good husband. That is not her fault, nor was it something I understood at the time. In fact, I am not sure I realized that until years later, and even after I failed at second marriage. Again, there are other contributing issues, but I alone am responsible for this aspect of what would fail.

This brings me to the title of this post. When something fails, goes poorly, or seems like we perhaps should not have taken that path to begin with, it’s typical and easy to pose the “what if?” And yet what we are doing is asking for some prophetic ability. And first, seldom are we capable of such foresight, and second, being prophetic was not popular and seldom accepted. There is little we do that is necessarily prophetic, and yet if we think critically about what we do, analyzing possible outcomes, it is not impossible to come up with some credible idea of what is likely. I do not think having a strong sense of what is probable should ever be a surprise, but most often I think we merely fail to take the time to think about the long-term implications of our choices. When I think about the intersection of thought and emotion, most of my poor choices, most of the times I have met with less than ideal consequences occurred when I responded emotionally with little room for thought. So are we predestined to our failures, or our successes for that matter? Doubtful . . . I believe it’s because to seldom do we take the time to ask the what if questions either in a timely manner or in a way where we really want to hear the answer, or listen to it. Should I have married Susan that summer of 1984? That’s a difficult question, and I can imagine both of us answering that question in the negative, but I believed I was in love with her and after being together for 3 or so years, it seemed appropriate to be sure. Do I regret being married to her? Again a difficult question for both I think. I do not. Do I regret some of my choices and decisions, some of my actions? I most certainly do. Do I wish it might turned out differently? To some degree, of course. I think what I wish is that I would have understood my late-20s self better. What if?

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Episode Two of the Circus

Hello on a Monday afternoon,

The week has begun with a plan and some degree of anticipation since I was scheduled for my first of two cataract surgeries this morning. I’ve know for a few years this was on the horizon, but I met that distant boundary was met last September. Unfortunately, the primary provider is so understaffed that I was not scheduled for 3 days short of a year. My primary ophthalmologist referred me to another clinic and surgeon, and after working with them over the last two months (and this is not to take anything from my original surgeon), I feel blessed. The entire staff was phenomenal. The second surgery will be in two weeks. The cataract surgery is one of the things to manage, and, of course, there are the other conditions, some life-long and others not quite as long, but equally concerning. As many of you know, tipping the scales at 17 ounces has had its miracles and its complications, but I know that I’ve been blessed. My new way of describing the things needed to maintain is because s%#t did not have enough time to bake.

And yet that is the perfect way move into episode two of my “family circus” existence. As I moved into my 30s, I would complete seminary, find my way to NE Pennsylvania (know out here as NEPA), try to figure out the life as a pastor, struggle to understand being a husband, and in a sort of oxymoronic manner, succeed and fail at both. While there were specific incidents, the reason for the demise of being effective at either was more due to my own personal struggles than I ever realized at the time. My lack of security in who I was, which was a consequence of my upbringing, and more influential in my decisions, doomed me on multiple levels. By my late thirties I would find myself in Michigan, in a very different situation, but now single, still trying to figure myself out, still simultaneously achieving and failing in numerous ways.

However, in the midst of the chaos I often created, though generally unintentionally, I somehow moved forward. These are the times where if I have a guardian angel, I suspect, they begged for reassignment. My counselor at the time, and I saw him for the entire time I was a student at Michigan Tech once told me I was the smartest and one of the most capable professionally, but a disaster in my personal life. He was correct. The more significant question was to understand the why. I think there were two factors. In many ways, I was a decade or so behind in where many were in their lives. The reasons for that were myriad. Second, I had missed a number of social events that were necessary as we grow and mature. I think this can be traced all the way back into high school. The resulting lack of experiences caused me to go through some of them long after many had grown beyond. This would also have consequences in my professional life as I was a graduate student (for the third and fourth times) into my 40s. At the time most had children ready for college, I was still in college. Acting as a 20 something in your 40s is neither wise nor helpful. This work to catch up and get all aspects of my life in synch would create struggles throughout my 40s. I wish I had been more put together because the gap between what seemed to be and where I struggled was not helpful for anyone. During that decade I left graduate school to work on a second marriage, but failed again, while leaving more than once because of my own insecurities, my fears. Somehow I would be offered a second chance to finish my PhD, which I did, and I would get the first tenure track position I applied for.

Again, up to this point, over a relatively short period of time I found myself in Michigan (both the Upper and Lower Peninsula), Iowa, South Dakota, and Texas, and then it would be off to Wisconsin. While I was progressing in some ways, the struggle to understand who I was personally and professionally would now overlap and, at times, overwhelm me. Wisconsin allowed for more progress of me synthesizing and catching up than I realized. Being single was generally a good thing, but the person to whom I must give the most credit and for whom I am most grateful is the Austrian tornado. Lydia became a parent, a companion, someone I could makes amends with because I was no there for my father. She became a confidant, a guide, and she changed my life. As I had continues to grow as a professor there were still issues, but I would manage them. Lydia taught me more about life than she will ever realize, even when she would enter a memory unit the last few years of her life. 

Wisconsin taught me a lot. And I would finish my 40s and move into my early fifties. Perhaps most significantly, I realized who I was, more about what I was capable of, and how to manage my life more efficiently, more truthfully, and therefore more successfully. As I took back to Menomonie, what I learned was that perhaps the reason I got there was more about Lydia than Stout. And yet Stout prepared me for what would come next. It also instilled something in me I instinctively realized, but perhaps never articulated precisely. The three things I find most difficult to manage is when someone is dishonest or disrespectful, and if someone abuses power. As I look back in life, the things that have been most consequential, caused the most problems, were in the last of those things occurred. Standing up in the face of abuse of power is something I cannot abide. I believe it is because of the abuse I experienced or saw inflicted on others as a child.

When I moved back to Pennsylvania almost 20 years ago, I believe my life finally found the time and place everything could fit together. I would continue to care for Lydia for the remainder of her life and beyond as I promised. I would flourish as a professor, and I found myself in ways unexpected. While I did work to have healthy relationships, and believe I did that well, I learned I did not need to be with someone to be whole. Additionally, through having exchange students, I became a parent of sorts, and with other students living with me from a semester, a summer, or a year, I continued to see that I would have been a good parent. I’ve learned to step away when there was too much drama, and perhaps most importantly, I am content with where and who I am.

More than a dozen trips to Europe and hopefully more to come. To manage my heath through significant hurdles, in some ways I feel healthier and happier than ever. The dotted-line continues, but I think it’s appropriate now versus running or hiding. I’m returning to some things set aside and imagining still more adventures. Indeed, it’s been a circus at times, but it’s mine.

I remember seeing America in concert when I was stationed in Hawaii in 1974. Life is a highway (another song), and yet this song reminds me of my earlier life. Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

My _Family Circus_ Life

Hello on a humid August afternoon,

I am regularly told I’ve led an extraordinary life, from students asking where I am jet-setting off next to regular reactions of surprise or disbelief because of the various experiences I reflect upon as a matter of course; it’s just how my life has unfolded. Certainly, from the outset where I came into the world a bit early, there is some level of being atypical. And perhaps, for some, being in a third household before the age of 5, although still within my you biological family, continues that same divergence, rather anomalous life before I ever entered public school. I have been encouraged to do somewhat of a timeline of my life more than once, and so in the manner of the Sunday version of the Family Circus cartoon, here it is. Hence my title.

While growing up adopted had its challenges, knowing about it was not one of them because I was almost five years old, and as I have noted in other posts, I remember that day clearly. I think it was much more difficult for my sister, for multiple reasons, but she was always quite intent on finding our biological parents, where I, on the other hand, had no real interest in that nor felt the need to do so. Furthermore, in spite of some of those difficulties, I am sure that growing up in the Martin family provided me opportunities and afforded me the chance to do things that would not have even been considered had I grown up in Texas, where my mother would go shortly after we were taken from them. Additionally, while perhaps being in the Martin household changed some of the fundamentals of my life, most of what I did post-high school, occurred because I searched it out, figured out how to best manage the possibilities, and availed myself to options that presented themselves along the way. That was something I had begun to figure out (though most often I did not realize it) by the time I was 15 or 16 years old. I would leave home, only returning because my father implored me to do so, before my senior year in high school. However, within a month of graduating, I would be at MCRD in San Diego. That would be the beginning of a life of experiences, visiting places and learning things I never fathomed as an undersized, naive, and personal, but shy boy from the poorer section of town. High school was a reasonable experience, and while I did excel from time to time, at moments in the classroom but most often in band and choir, I would say I was above average for the most part. The reason I stood out, if at all, was because I was so small. I was probably one of the smallest males in my class even when I graduated from high school.

That size would also cause me to be noticed in Marine Corps Boot Camp, and anyone who knows that experience knows, sticking out is not always helpful. My name became “Private Chicken-body” or House Mouse, as I was tasked with managing the Drill Instructor’s space each morning also. It was after boot camp that I would find that I was perhaps more capable than I realized, graduating second in my Communication and Electronics schooling as well as finding out my GCT score qualified me for Platoon Leaders class, which I turned down twice (perhaps not one of the more intelligent decisions of my life). My enlistment in the Marines would provide experiences never duplicated anywhere from overseas deployments to meritorious promotions. I got my first job as a technical writer, something I would come back to later, when I was cross-trained as a Service Record Book (0121) clerk . There was a lot of growing up to do from the scrawny boy with the oversized ears to when I would find myself back in Sioux City after my discharge. The next few years would provide a wealth of experiences, some of which still influence me today. I learned to bartend, to serve, to prep in some incredible restaurants. And those of you who know me are well aware of my propensity for playing with anything culinary as well as an interest in wine and cocktails. I must give Aunt Maude’s, a restaurant that still exists in Ames, Iowa for that introduction. From that time in the late 70s until today, being involved with food has been integral to my life. Currently, there are over 2,400 food pictures on my phone, and much it things I have created. The late 70s would also begin my multiple forays into the field of higher (post-secondary) education. And while the first attempt was a miserable failure (much of my own making), I would turn that around in a big way. I still remember Father Fred (as he was fondly and respectfully known) telling me, “Mikey, you will do fine unless you just fuck off.” Truer words were never spoken! The two years from when I would fail out of Iowa State University and return to Dana College to start over, I would travel the entire Midwest, logging 48,000 miles as a member of a Lutheran Youth Encounter team. It is when I learned to play the guitar, something else that would become an important part of my life. The next decade, the 1980s) where I would first realize I was somehow a decade behind in my life development would be paramount to who I am.

The fall of 1979, I would begin my journey as a student, one for whom it would be the first time I was committed to my education. Dana College, where I had visited the year before, seemed to be not only where I needed to be, but it was my last chance to see what I was capable of doing as a student. What I know now is, up to that point, seldom did I dedicate myself to my studies. I had merely gone through the motions, and even with minimal effort, I was capable. So what might happen if I actually did my work? My first fall at Dana was a learning experience from every aspect of my life, from the classroom to the extracurricular things I did, from simply relating to my classmates to beginning to see what I might actually achieve. I was scared that I would not measure up in any area, but found out with simple hard work and honesty amazing things could happen. Those four years, which included some time away at the University of Iowa, where I would be an honors student, included more travel, more cultural experiences than one might ever expect to occur on the bluffs of the Missouri River in a little Nebraska town. It changed my life in immeasurable ways. As I have noted in other places, I learned how to learn, to study, to think, analyze, and synthesize. Those skills were what prepared me to succeed in life. Dana was where I finally began to believe I was capable; it was the place where I pushed myself to see what I was capable of. It was the place where, as an adult, I fell in love with someone. It was the place where I found an insatiable desire to learn and understand the world I had been exposed to as a 17-year- old Marine. It was the place I really began to understand what it meant to be faithful. And yet at times, all that learning was overwhelming, perhaps even suffocating. That was the reason for running away to the University of Iowa for a bit. And yet Dana would call me back, and the choice between seminary and law school would be decided. Going to seminary was always both beckoning and somehow foreign to me. And while I did well there, a part of me never felt worthy enough, faithful enough. I remember my second life telling me once I was an academic Christian. I think she was more correct than I understood, and its amazing how that has transformed as I have aged. That is not to say that I do not think critically and ponder, but I think the connection between heart and head is much different now.

While this is not something I regularly do, most often my posts are a self-contained event, I think I will pause here. At this point, I have made it to the decade of my thirties. I will pick up there in the next blog, so much like a two episode television show, you will have to tune in in the next few days, and I will continue my dotted-line path of my life version of the Family Circus, Michael-style. I heard this song this morning playing where I have morning coffee, and I heard the lyric “16th of September I’m lying in my bed.” That is my birthday, so I decided it would be the song to post here.

To be continued, thanks for reading.

Michael

“. . . life to the lees . . . “

Good morning from the darkness of my little corner,

I am always amazed by talented people, those who are artistic (e.g. drawing, painting, sculpting, for instance) as I am not particularly talented. I think of a former student who is now an art teacher, and a recent post illustrated (pun intended) how both of her young children profoundly capable at this ability too. I have colleagues who are exceptionally (in fact unparalleled) pianists, dancers, thespians. And while I have strong talent as a writer, again there are those I know well who are noted awarded writers and poets. And while I have writer a couple short stories as well as some poems, I am not sure I would ever be asked to contribute to a collection or write a book of such. While I admire each of these skills, I believe poetry is what I find more astounding to me than any other art. One of my best friends, and former colleagues is a well-known, and nationally acclaimed poet. His ability to bring to life any aspect of Central Pennsylvania is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

Recently as I lay awake at O-Dark-Thirty, I watched a reel where an English professor (and perhaps movie critic) laid out three movies that used classic poetry most effectively in their script and through the action of a character. One such poem contains the line (fragment) that is title of this blog. I was caught by the line, which comes from the poem “Ulysses,” and uses the word “lees,” which is the sediment that collects at the bottom of a wine barrel after the wine is first barreled and before they rack the wines and do any secondary malolactic fermentation. The picture at the beginning of this entry is racking wine. The lees can also be a component of grappa, something made from the stems, skins, seeds and pulp of the pressings. And it is dangerously strong. For a long time, lees was considered something to merely discard, something with little value, and if you’ve seen it in the buckets where it is collected after racking (btw, there are approximately 59 gallons of wine in a barrel), you can imagine such a perspective. And yet, the buckets are collected together and allowed to settle and additional wine can be extracted. The lees has value. However, in the poem, Tennyson noted that Ulysses is still longing for more to his life, that he is willing to push it to the last drop of drinkable wine, drinking it to the lees. As the movie, The Odyssey, is exploding at the box office, an entire new generation is being pulled back to Homer’s epics. And the influence of this Trojan War hero once again finds itself filling the minds of those who were required to read the classic in high school or college.

What causes someone to explore their world, to push the limits of their experiences, to imagine their life beyond what they see daily? Certainly, I have great appreciation for the concept of wanderlust. And while my time in the Marine Corps taught me a great deal about the world and myself, it was my first journey to Europe with Dr. John W. Nielsen that whetted an appetite for travel that has never faded. However, I am compelled to ponder what was it about that trip that moved a somewhat sheltered NW Iowa lad, and yes, Marine Corps veteran to fall hopelessly in love with his world? Was it the sites that moved from pictures in the incredible text Gardner’s Art Through the Ages to experiencing it in person? Was it experiencing road signs and billboards in another language? Was it being, albeit minimally at best, to use my beginning German? Even now I am unsure, and while my next two cross-Atlantic trips would occur 5 and 10 years later, they served to strengthen my desire, perhaps an actual need, to return to absorb, to drink from the barrel of carefully fermenting wine (e.g. the cradle and the centuries of heritage America had and has drawn upon). I was walking through our humanities class and experiencing it with all my senses.

In the time since what was a third journey, twenty-five years would pass, and while I did a lot of other travel, Europe remained an important, but aging memory. Certainly, living next to Lydia, the little Austrian tornado, who somehow adopted me and I her, ignited the faint embers of my European experience. Then, unexpectedly, I had a student in a summer class with Polish heritage, and dual citizenship the first few years I was in Bloomsburg. A dinner with her father the fall of 2014 would lead to setting up a visit to Kraków, Poland, which was not only her hometown, but where a group of Bloomsburg students would be traveling. Because of that relationship, I would meet someone, another professor, an incredibly brilliant man I might call the European version of Pope John, my advisor and person who first took me to Europe, yes, the person noted above. Dr. Mykola Polyuha is as much a Renaissance person as Dr. Nielsen was, and he afforded me the incredible opportunity and privilege to work with him over the next half decade. Additionally, I would travel to Poland and take two intensive summer language classes. Had COVID not have changed our world, I would have spent a semester teaching at Jagiellonian University.

Another aspect of globalism, or my desire to be more worldly inclined, was my affinity for students from other countries, from other continents and cultures, which would prompt me to have three different exchange students, two which I hosted from a traditional exchange program, while the first came through having that person in class and their parents visiting my home. She would spend more time in my home than in her apartment. I have visited two of the three countries and homes of those former students. What I realize is my travel experiences have allowed me a sort of wandering that is not completely different from that of Ulysses, though not related to a life as a soldier. My first journeys away from Iowa were in the Marines, and I visited places never anticipated. My return home was also not completely different again as I struggled to feel welcomed back, both because of my own mother as well as the public reaction to Vietnam veterans. My year before I started at Dana, I traveled throughout the Midwest sort of itinerantly. Dana and Dr. Nielsen would create a thirst for travel that has never left. Perhaps like the barrel and its lees, I am still going, and perhaps I am closer to the time of racking than I know. And yet, the lees allows for more possibilities. It has value, and perhaps the strongest of options is still ahead. Wait and see. The second movie and the incredible of poetry uses Whitman. It’s one of my favorites.

Thanks for reading and create a verse, drink the lees.

Michael