August 4: More Noble and More Able, Putting Up With Me, Gurnee

Santiago admires the fish . . . 

"He is two feet longer than the skiff," the old man said. The line was going out fast but steadily and the fish was not panicked. The old man was trying with both hands to keep the line just inside of breaking strength. He knew that if he could not slow the fish with a steady pressure the fish could take out all the line and break it.

He is a great fish and I must convince him, he thought. I must never let him learn his strength nor what he could do if he made his run. If I were him I would put in everything now and go until something broke. But, thank God, they are not as intelligent as we who kill them; although they are more noble and more able.

I admire a lot of people and things.  I admire the moon on a clear night.  The sound of rain pelting my window.  Poems by Sharon Olds and Tracy K. Smith.  President Obama.  President Biden for being willing to take on the mess left by his predecessor.  My dog for showing me unconditional love every day.  And I admire my wife and kids for putting up with me and all my weird, neurotic, obsessive, depressive tendencies.

Today, I took a seven-hour drive with my family to Gurnee, Illinois, to make good on a promise I made to my son.  When he had his eighth grade class trip taken away from him by a school administration too worried about covering its own mistakes, I told my son that I would take him to Great America.  So, here I sit in a Gurnee hotel room with my son, daughter, daughter's significant other, and wife.

I didn't make this trip because I want my family to admire me.  Or because I love rollercoasters.  (I don't, by the way.)  Or because I had an extra $1000 lying around the house.  (I never do.)  I am in Illinois tonight because I love my wife and kids.  Period.  Love being with them.  Sharing pizza with them.  Going to movies with them.  Laughing with them.

All we have is today.  Right now.  I chose to live in this moment because there's no guarantee for tomorrow.  This point has been made very clear to me in the last day or so.  

Sure, I'm still climbing my way out of an unending blue funk.  At points during every day I cry, panic, cry some more, and feel overwhelmed.  But even in the middle of all of that, I know love.  Deep love.

Saint Marty's blessing today:  a new pair of Vans shoes.  (Hey, they are super cool.)

November 23: Seven and a Half Million Years, 365 Days, Silence

"All I wanted to say," bellowed the computer, "is that my circuits are now irrevocably committed to calculating the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything."  He paused and satisfied himself that he now had everyone's attention, before continuing more quietly.  "But the program will take ma little while to run."

Fook glanced impatiently at his watch.

"How long?" he said.

"Seven and a half million years," said Deep Thought.

Yes, Deep Thought, the greatest supercomputer ever made, has the power to answer the Ultimate Question, but he's going to do it in his own time, not anyone else's.  That time is seven and a half million years.  And then, Deep Thought goes silent for a very long time.

Humans have a hard time with supercomputers and Supreme Beings going silent.

This morning, as I sit in a crowded McDonald's typing this post, I am staring out the window at a spine of high land studded with leafless trees and scrappy evergreens.  Feeling a little melancholy at the moment, thinking of all the changes that have occurred in my life this year.  Most of those changes not of my own choosing.

Recently, I have said that I can't wait for this year to end.  These 365 days have been filled with upheaval.  Me, having to redefine myself and my life.  I'm not sure things will be much better in 2020.  In fact, I'm pretty sure there's a whole lot more change coming my way.  Jobs.  Family.  Loves.  That fills me with quite a bit of anxiety.

Of course, I know that there are no guarantees for the future.  Believe me, I know that.  What I am doing right now is thinking months and years ahead, using current trajectories to predict where my life is headed.  That's a pretty dangerous thing to do.  It doesn't allow for grace or God to step in and lend a hand.  For a while now, I haven't felt a whole lot of God's presence in my life.

Of course, I'm not alone in this.  Saint John of the Cross wrote, "Silence is God's first language."  Mother Teresa, for most of her life, lived in God's silence.  She said, "In my soul I feel just that terrible pain of loss--of God not wanting me--of God not being God--of God not really existing."  And Saint Therese of Lisieux commented, "God hides, is wrapped in darkness."  I guess I'm in pretty good company.  To hope for some kind of immunity from these periods of darkness would be unnatural, I suppose.  Would be me asking not to be human.

The trick is to avoid despair when God answers with silence.  That's the difference between saints and people like me (and maybe you).  Saints embrace that silence and remember that God is still right there, holding them up when they stumble and fall and get up and fall again.  I try to remind myself of this fact.  Daily.  Sometimes hourly.  It may seem kind of cliche, but, like all cliches, there's truth in it.  That's why cliches get repeated and used so much.  They cut to the heart of human experience.

So, here I sit, a living cliche.  Living through a dark night of the soul.  Struggling to find God in a hill laced with winter trees.  Feeling the sun on my face.  Maybe God is talking to me right now, and I'm just not listening in the right way.  That happens, too.  A lot.  I'm looking for one answer, and God is sending me another.  An answer I really don't like.  So, my head/heart/soul chooses to ignore it.

I'm not sure which is better.  Living in that ignorance or in God's silence.  Neither option is easy or comforting.  I'm fighting God with one.  God and I aren't speaking with the other.  I'm God's teenager, not getting my way, rolling my eyes, pouting, texting my friends about how unfair God is being.

If you want to find Saint Marty today, I'll be in my bedroom, lying on my bed, lights off, listening to Simon and Garfunkel songs.  Knock before entering.