Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to do a better job reaching out to the “forgotten” people in my life. They are people who are important to me, but that I have fallen out of contact with over the past months. The pandemic disrupted our routines, and I allowed them to fade away along with the habits that kept us connected.
These people are more important to me than our shared activities, and I miss them. If this is to be a new world, then we shall have to find our new way in it.
Bob and I had lunch together this past weekend. Bill and I will paint the trim on a neighbor’s house on Saturday (assuming the weather improves). I called my cousin John to follow up on a request that he made back in January. I have also sent texts and emails to other people just to check on them.
One of the responses I got was heartbreaking. It was from a friend who I will call Mark.
Mark has had a long-term battle with substance abuse. I don’t pretend to have any expertise in the area of addiction, but am aware of its devastating effects. The impact of isolation during the COVID-19 outbreak has compounded a difficult situation.
Back in March of this year, Mark’s life was going well. He had a good job and had moved into a nice apartment complex. He was worshipping and working out regularly, which helped his body, mind, and spirit. He was regularly attending a men’s discussion group. He had been sober for a longer time than he could recall.
Then the lockdown hit. Friends hosting men’s discussion groups in their homes canceled “until further notice”. Churches closed their doors. Gyms shuttered. Personal contact was avoided worldwide. Mark’s carefully constructed support structure collapsed around him.
Mark’s facemask concealed an increasingly troubled life. Out of frustration with his loneliness, he began drinking again. A single falling-off grew into a pattern. He was ashamed of his failure, and the voice of his guilt screamed at him in an otherwise empty room. To silence the condemnation, he drank more. His problems escalated as the following days turned into weeks and then months.
Eventually, his problems spilled over into his work life. By the time my text message found him, he was unemployed and hadn’t left his apartment for three weeks. He had hidden the ugly truth and his pending financial collapse from his family and even waited for three days to respond to me, not knowing how to reply. When I heard how desperate things had become, I asked if I could come to see him. I still haven’t gotten a reply.
He is burdened with embarrassment and shame. Everyone can sympathize. All of us have had problems we don’t want the world to know about. Unfortunately, building walls to hide our pain gives it a safe place to grow and expand.
I will find a way to tell Mark that he shouldn’t be ashamed. God has not granted him sufficient strength to defeat every evil. The author of his design is aware that he cannot live up to the ambitions of His spirit. It’s OK. He never asked us to. He has only asked us to love Him, accept His forgiveness, and be content with what He provides.
COVID-19 has created a mirror that twists our reflection to show only the worst of our nature at the lowest possible moment. Alone and cut off from others, Mark can only see what the corrupted mirror reflects.
I wish Mark saw the same man that I do. Sure, I see a guy who has problems, but I also see a dad whose eyes sparkle when he talks about his son. I see a humble son that adores his mom and soaks up every bit of love that she sends him. I see someone whose smile is genuine and spreads until it covers his entire face and then sweeps across the room.
I see in Mark a friend who makes me feel worthy of the trust he places in me. I see a brother in faith that I would march into the fire with. I see a child of The King whose difficult season is preparing him for a glorious future.
I see a soul that shines brightly, even when his actions seem contrary.
So many of us have been locked up alone, staring into the twisted mirror and listening to voices of condemnation. If you are one of these people, I am sorry.
If you have managed to survive this season intact and healthy, please reach out to your “forgotten” friends. You will know the ones that are hurting. They won’t answer their e-mail, texts, phone calls, or other notifications. Keep trying. If they make it hard, try harder. We must break down the walls and free them from the lies. You are their lifeline.
Mark, you know who you are. I will not condemn the depth of your fall. I love you, not because you have it all together. You are my friend because we are better together than either of us are individually.
We will shatter the twisted mirror. I will not leave you behind.
My job regularly carries me to northern Ohio. One of my frequent trips is to a one-million square foot facility that is located in an Amish community. The modern, automated, manufacturing facility provides a stark contrast to the lives of the people dwelling there.
On a typical morning drive to the plant, I will share the road with a number of horse-drawn buggies. Children walk in groups to their schoolhouse during parts of the year and sell vegetables out of roadside stands in the summer months.
The downtown area consists of an area about a block long. A general store sits on one end and a grocery store on the other. A few feet away is Mrs. Yoder’s Kitchen, where you can enjoy wonderful comfort foods on their buffet lunch.
Every Wednesday is auction day “downtown” and the entire community seems to come together. It appears to be a social event as much as an economic one as people gather in clusters on the main street. On other days everyone congregates at the church where softball games break out and their unrushed lives are on full display.
Sometimes, a new house is under construction and neighbors come together to pitch in and help out. On those days, I roll my windows down and relish the sounds of hammers, saws, and voices.
The allure of the simple life tugs at my heart. The Amish are a hard-working people but unencumbered with the busy-ness that has taken hold of the outside world. They shun technology in favor of human contact. Through their fashion and life choices, they promote what they have in common. They look within their group for solutions instead of delegating those responsibilities to outsiders.
These fragile ideals represent my vision of a community.
Pursuing a life of community has required more effort than I ever anticipated. Knowing when a neighbor could use help requires constantly connecting with them and picking up on non-verbal cues. Offering to help requires courage.
A few weeks ago, my friend Steve Thomas got a red-hot deal on a storage shed that provided a solution to his over-crowded garage. He bought the floor model in a semi-state of assembly and stacked the pieces on his back patio. The instructions advised that it was a three-person job.
Before I offered to help him set it up, several thoughts crossed my mind. What if he didn’t have confidence in me? What if he thought I would make an irreversible mess? What if I did screw it up? What if he laughed when he found out that I can’t drive a nail to save my life?
My fears were focused on me, but my hopes were centered around him. Thankfully, hope won and I asked him if I could help with the assembly.
The following Saturday afternoon, I invited two other friends to join in our Barn Raising. Our reality was that we were screwing together a plastic shed but in my mind, we were the same tight-knit group of neighbors that I watched pitch in to build a house in Amish country.
The job was somewhat harder than we had hoped, but we had a great time. It was a beautiful day, we had time for guy talk, and we came together as friends more quickly than the various pieces of the shed. Several hours later we stood back and inspected our work.
I noticed the defects. The foundation I had built was about 1″ out of square. The right-hand door stuck when it closed. A ridge in the floor betrayed a twisted floor stud. A small pile of “extra” screws sat on a shelf. I hoped my shortcomings wouldn’t be a disappointment.
If Steve noticed any of the defects, he never let us know. He graciously thanked us for our help and bragged that it was exactly what he had hoped for and would improve his life.
I think that he while he appreciated the finished work product, he valued the symbolism even more.
When Jesus sent the disciples out to spread the gospel, he instructed them to go into people’s homes along the way. Then he said:
As you enter the home, give it your greeting. If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it. (Matthew 10:12-13)
Steve had known that each of us would offer our greeting when we arrived. As we labored with him, our peace rested on his home and he accepted it. More important than its capacity as a storage unit, the shed is a reminder that we came together and filled his home with the peace and hope of Jesus. That was the greatest blessing of the day.
My house is full of reminders of the peace that different friends and family have let rest on it. I believe that my walls are strengthened by that peace and that dark forces are repelled by its presence. The peace endures because my home is deserving. Not because of what I have done, but because the One we have dedicated it to is deserving.
Some favorite parts of my home are these small reminders of the peace that rests there. I embrace them as symbols of the layers of supernatural protection that shield everyone inside. Although they are only trinkets, the authority they represent is real. They are scattered in most rooms and comfort me while I have my morning coffee, sit down for a Sunday dinner, or answer the front door.
The Holy Trinity represents the community that God himself has chosen to live in. As his children, it is natural for us to emulate Him. Nothing is too small for him to share with his Son or Spirit, and I got to live it out for a few hours during Steve’s Amish Barn Raising.
In my own way, I am discovering the simple life. It is still somewhat frightening to risk embarrassment and rejection by opening up to my neighbors. However, one shed at a time, we are fulfilling our own prayers that God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
May God’s peace rest on your home when you welcome others into it and share your blessings with them.
The pictured reminders are only a sample, but include:
University of Tennessee coffee cup from Carra Day. She said folks from TN shouldn’t just have Texas cups.
Superman coaster from Columba Spaziani. It’s a thank you for being her defender.
Vintage 1968 glass from Pam and Steve Hermann. A gift from my 50th birthday.
Reps 4 Jesus t-shirt from Steve Thomas. A gift based on my post of the same name.
Floor tile in the Great Hall hall laid by Bob Womack. He’s just a great friend.
Dime-size cross thingy from my sister-in-law Pam Nuchols. A random gift that hangs over our front door.
I barely looked when my mobile phone rang. The meeting had already run for almost six hours and nobody knew when it might end. Regular business hours were over, but we were on a deadline that demanded total focus, and there was no time for interruptions. In my weakness, I shot a sideways glance at the vibrating, ringing box next to me.
Momentarily, I sat frozen while I tried to decide who to ignore and who to focus on.
Commitment to my responsibilities is a matter of personal pride. I have proven my willingness to pour out whatever time, energy, or resources are required to achieve success, both at my job and with my family.
Sometimes those worlds collide.
Rather than choose one over the other, I took the path of compromise. At least for the moment, neither received my full attention, but both unwillingly shared with the other. I tuned out the meeting around me and sent a brief text asking if I could call later. Erin’s reply was immediate.
“Was just calling to tell you Josh got the job!”
I replied, “Wow. That is amazing. Congrats.”
Even as I hit the send button, I knew how disappointing my abbreviated response was to an excited daughter. Although my head was reeling with thoughts, I shut them down and returned my attention to the meeting that had not stopped.
The hardest part of life isn’t being successful, it is balancing your loyalties. Success shows our capability, but priorities reflect our character.
Eventually, the meeting ended and I called Erin on my drive home and got all the juicy details. After a couple of disappointing rejections, my son-in-law, Josh, had received his first promotion at work. Nobody should be surprised. He is a smart, hard-working guy who only needs someone to take a chance on him so that he can prove his capability to the world.
His new job would start in four days. More money, longer hours, and more responsibility. He will be a better provider for his young family and his pride is on full display as it should be. He may not be aware yet, but his training program will unwittingly introduce him to the same choices that have faced me the past three decades, choosing where to direct his focus to balance competing priorities in a world that never has enough time.
Josh will do great.
At the same time, Erin’s responsibilities at work are expanding. This past week, she was issued a laptop to enable her to work on customer communications from home. Her hours will also be growing with her new responsibilities and like her husband, she is taking a major step toward providing a better life for them.
I can see reflections of Kim as Erin excitedly chatters about where they will move when their lease expires. The extra money will allow them to expand their boundaries. Their larger paychecks may arrive in dollars, but in her mind the conversion to dreams is immediate. She shares the same ambition as many young women who long to establish a home that is full of life and love.
Their moment is a celebration of a strong foundation. She and her husband have made wise choices that will give way to bigger decisions in the future. Whether she is aware of it or not, the competing priorities of life are crawling toward her too.
Erin will do great.
Meanwhile, James is slugging it out at school. The past year has not gone the way he wanted in many ways. He has faced personal challenges and loss. The pandemic has upended his college experience, requiring him to reinvent his life both academically and socially.
This past weekend, we drove to Waco to meet him for lunch. He talked about his plans to use summers and on-line classes to graduate a year ahead of schedule. He is balancing work, classes, and dealing with a constantly evolving world. The uncertainty that faces him is unique to any previous generation, but he is carving his path forward admirably.
While he told us about the various events in his life, Kim played with his new Chiweenie puppy, Cash (named after The Man in Black). Cash playfully bit her fingers and tugged at the toys she offered him. He never totally took his eyes off James though. If James wandered too many feet away, Cash would drop his toy and fall in line behind James, bouncing and romping through the grass that was as tall as him, staying with the one person he has learned to depend on.
In the midst of all the challenges, James has chosen to use what he has been given to care for and love something besides himself. Buying a puppy during college may or may not be the most responsible idea financially and academically, but it fulfills a growing need in his heart to provide for others. I suspect he is doesn’t yet understand that he will soon enough be the man sitting in a meeting deciding whether or not to answer the phone. I trust his heart though.
James will do great.
When I was James’s age, I stopped referring to my mother as “Mom” and began to call her “Cosmo”. It’s a silly name and to everyone’s disbelief, it had absolutely no relevance to anything. I had chosen it at random from a thought that flitted across my mind one moment. It was never intended in disrespect, rather as a colorful nickname for someone I cared about.
We worked together at the city’s water company for a couple of summers. I delivered the mail throughout the company each day, and as I neared her desk, I would call to her loudly down the hall.
“Hey, Cosmo! You wanna grab lunch today?”
She spent months ineffectively explaining the nickname to her confused coworkers.
For years, she could count on finding a present under the Christmas tree that said “To: Cosmo, From: Jimmy”
In the days when caller ID was a mark of affluence beyond our reach, she answered the phone every Sunday afternoon in her very genteel, soft voice. In contrast to her polite greeting, I would respond loudly.
“Cosmooooooo.”
By the time the kids were born, she had been Cosmo for so many years, that they never knew anything different. To them she was Nana, to others she was Jan, to a few she was Mom. But to me alone, she was Cosmo.
Nobody ever understood why I called her that. Nobody except for her anyway.
The day she became Cosmo was the day that I began to release her from her role as my mother. She no longer had the maternal obligations to care for me as her child. Beginning that day, she was free to re-establish our relationship in any way that she desired. We grew beyond parent/child into friends in the years that followed.
I could ask Cosmo for advice that I never could have sought from Mom. I wanted Mom to think that I was independent, strong and in control so I was careful what I revealed to her. I worried that she would dampen my enthusiasm to pursue dreams that were beyond my reach. I never wanted Mom to worry that I would get hurt.
I could be transparent with Cosmo though. She understood that I wanted to see if I could fly, even if it was just for a moment and the inevitable crash was coming. Cosmo could warn me without being as suffocating as a Mom.
Cosmo shared dreams and ambitions with me that would have seemed silly for a Mom. Cosmo could tell me about the challenges she faced dealing with family and friends that Mom would have felt uncomfortable sharing with her kid.
But in times that I felt defeated and needed someone to hold me, I always knew Mom would still be there.
When she passed away, I lost two people. During her eulogy, I may have called her Mom but did so with a wink in her direction that reminded us both that she would always be my Cosmo.
My age of Cosmo has arrived. Although Josh, Erin, and James will probably never call me that, I hope they can start to see me in a new way and that we can release each other from roles that made yesterday a success.
I hope that Josh can free me from father-in-law stereotypes. I hope that Erin can release me from an outdated role as the leader of a family that has now evolved. I hope that James will never feel confined by the expectations of being a younger version of me. Each of those throwbacks fit like a pair of outgrown shoes.
I hope we can build a different life together that is based on who we are today. Each of us are entering new challenges every day and are better prepared together. At least I know that I am stronger with them around. They are gaining wisdom and life experience and are the kind of people I try to surround myself with. Tomorrow has great things in store and I want to do it with them. Not as a Dad, but as a Cosmo.
I hope that their dreams are big enough to include space for me to be generous with them in a way that encourages those dreams instead of “managing” them. I’m going to do my best to stop seeing them as the children they once were and embrace them as the leaders they have become. I hope they can appreciate how much I want them to save a space for me in their increasingly hectic lives.
I am so excited for each of their victories. As they expand their worlds, it doesn’t have to mean that my world shrinks. In the kingdom, there is more than enough room for us all. Our relationship will evolve as circumstances change and we value each other as God sees us, and not just as we are used to seeing each other. Then it will be even better than it was before.
