The Yellow Folder: on Legacy and Mortality

In case you're not in the know we are having a baby boy pretty gosh darn soon, give or take 7 and a half weeks.  To that end we had our first baby shower this past Saturday, and this blog has its origin in that moment as much as any other.  I was frankly surprised when I found out that my mom and sister would be attending the shower, I figured they would buy us stuff, but didn't expect them to actually attend the shower.  My sister now has 4 kids, one just a few months old and figured that they would keep them from coming.

[my mom and step-father live near my sister to help out, hence why I figured neither would show]

But, they decided that they would be able to come, and we were both glad that they did.  Among other things, my mom got us a glider rocker, which I had been wanting, but I was not hopeful that anyone would buy it.  Mom also brought me a yellow folder with some various papers in it.  Obviously, this is the yellow folder of the title, so what was in this folder you may be wondering?  Well, first a step sideways.

Side Step

As I said, a baby boy will soon be gracing our door with his noises and smells and needs and gifts.  I am extremely excited to meet my son, I am extremely anxious about wanting to be a great dad, but most of all in recent weeks I have been extremely concerned with what kind of legacy I am handing down to my son.  I look back at my life and wonder exactly what I am going to hand down.  I have had high points and successes along the way, I can't nor won't deny that, but I also know the mistakes that I have made, the health issues I have had, the dark places I sometimes have ventured into, spiritually, emotionally, physically, and I begin to worry about Henry, begin hoping that he follows only in the good steps and keeps away from the bad ones.

It's funny in a way because growing up my mom would always tell me and my sister about her mistakes in order for us to choose a different path.  It's sad in a way because combined me and my sister made almost all of them.  Which makes me wonder, how much of life really is nature and nurture?  Which leads me to wrestle with the dilemma of 'how do I lead/keep Henry on the good path?'  I look at people in my own, small church and see many families who are continually in prayer over their children and the paths that they have chosen, praying that they will come back to the faith they once seemed to know.  How do I, as a man and a pastor, adequately help Henry to grow in stature among people and God?

If I am honest I am not the best pray-er, I talk to God but I don't have a set time or place, I don't have space carved out for prayer, but I have found myself pleading to God recently that I will know which path to walk, which words to say, which stories to tell, so that Henry a) doesn't make my mistakes and b) is allowed to make his own.  I want to teach obedience and grace, to teach faith and questioning, so that he understands what God's love and ultimately my love mean.

Step Back

So, the yellow folder.  Inside the yellow folder was a plethora of things.  Some unneeded tax forms from way back in college.  Some random recipes, some of which I have already, some of which I hate.  An attachment guide for a Kitchen Aid Mixer that my mom gave us last year.  My immunization records.  A few pictures.  2 news-clippings from high school when I was selected to see the city government in action, I went to the sewage treatment plant. I remember two things distinctly, a) inside it didn't smell at all and b) there was an issue of playboy in the bathroom.

Also, a certificate of baptism from when I was 8 months old.  My six year old fingerprints.  My high school commencement bulletin.  A Presidential Academic Fitness Award.  A letter saying that I was eligible for Indian Creek Schools Gifted program A piece of paper that mentions how I was eligible to participate in the Johns Hopkins Mathematics and Verbal Talent Search, and one piece that says that I did participate.  I read 'To qualify for the Talent Search, a student must have scored in the 97th, 98th, or 99th percentile of national norms in a single area (mathematics, verbal, or composite score) of a standard aptitude or achievement test.' I scored in the 99th in math.

So on the one side I had a bunch of papers that talked about my life, about a few things I did, about what I was immune from, about how smart I used to be, about how much potential I once had.  I wish I had realized what it meant then that I was so good at math, maybe I would have worked on that a little more, instead of allowing one jerk teacher to kind of take my joy of math away.  I barely remember the words sign cosign and tangent, let alone am I currently able to tell you what they actually mean.  If I had known, maybe I'b be an engineer or a banker, making lots of money, maybe I would be a different person in a different place.  I am perfectly fine with my place in the world right now though.  My young self may have loved a life in numbers but my current self likes a life in the midst of people.  I would rather be giving hope to people than giving them a bill or a foreclosure or a new car.

So, that was the right side of the folder, now the left.

In the left pocket there was...a declaration of my parents marriage.  A ceremonial program for their wedding.  My dad's registration card for selective service, which oddly enough looks in better condition than mine.  A card that certifies my dad's honorable discharge from the Air Force following a four year service as a 'basic airman' where he received a National Defense Service Medal.  According to Wikipedia it is a medal commissioned by President Eisenhower as a 'blanket campaign medal' for those who served honorably during a time of 'national emergency.' My father would have been in the first group to receive this medal for duty during the Korean War.  It has also been awarded during the Vietnam War, the Gulf War and the War on Terrorism.  I have no clue where that medal may be today, perhaps my grandma has it or maybe my half bro Billy.

There were three more papers in the folder.  First my dad's birth certificate, certifying that my dad was born in Steubenville Ohio June 16,1934.  Also included in the folder was a obituary of my grandfather, a man who died 25 years before I was born at the age of 49.  The last piece was my dad's death certificate, certifying that my dad died on January 14, 1984, a little over two months before my 6th birthday, when he was 49.  Did you notice that?  Cause I did, I have always known how old my dad was when he died, but I never knew that my grandfather died at the same age.  That freaks me out a little.  I know its ridiculous.  My grandfather had a heart attack, my dad cancer.  But both at 49.  That's just 14 and a half years from now.  Henry would be in junior high, which I suppose would be 9 more years than I had with my dad, so that would be something at least.

I don't think that I am destined to die at 49, but I would be lying if I said I wouldn't be a bit relieved on my 50th birthday.  I would also be lying if I said that it doesn't make me want to appreciate the next 14 and a half, or how many years I have left.  I hope to live to a ripe old age, to be able to live to complain about all the aliments that my parishioners complain about.  I hope to see Mary's hair covered in gray or white, to see Henry graduate from high school and college and medical school so he can take care of his poor parents.  I hope to see his wedding day and be there for the birth of my grandchildren.  I hope all the things that a new parent hopes, because sooner or later death will come for me, just like it did for my grandfather and father before me, just like it does for everyone sooner or later, but that's tomorrow and right now its still just today.

Peace and Love,
Pastor K

My Confession

Don't think of me as an example, the only one is Jesus.
Don't think of me as a leader, the only one is God.
Don't think of me as something special, I'm only a failed stupid man
Don't think of me as a savior, I'm barely alive myself

I can't tell you the times that I have been pulled back from the brink of destruction.  I can't tell you how many times I've failed.  The number is so high I decided to stop counting.  I often pray that the Bible tells the truth when it speaks of God forgetting our sin, cause man, if God remembers, I'm not sure I want to go to heaven. I preach a gospel that I so often don't believe.  One of hope and strength and love and forgiveness.  One of acceptance and power and tears being wiped away, while I am often in the midst of crying.

I don't know how to be a pastor, I pretty much just make it up as I go, hoping to fool all those around me, and hopefully fool myself as well.  I've only been a husband for six years but already I've stopped keeping count of the times I've let Mary down, with words that I've spoken, or those I've kept to myself.  I promised words of honor and fidelity yet I get angry over stupid &#*% and choose my own good over hers so often.

I've been to college and I've been to seminary yet I have no discipline of learning, heck I pretty much BS'ed my way through both degrees.  I was a history and philosophy major in undergrad and hardly recollect what Plato or Aristotle or Abraham Lincoln ever said.  I took enough classes to get an M.Div. but instead have an M.T.S. because I didn't want to spend 400 hours in a hospital, because I can't stand being in them.  I've made promise after promise, to friends and family, spouse and unborn child and I am not very good at keeping them.

I've failed myself even more than I've failed anyone else.  I always believe I'll do better, and for awhile maybe I do, but sooner or later [usually sooner] I fall back to my old ways, oftentimes falling deeper into them then I was when I promised to stop.  I lack enthusiasm in almost every area of my life.  I worry that all I am doing is holding the hand of death as opposed to walking something back to life.  I worry that I'll never be the man that I not only want to be, but the one that the people around me need to be.

I don't have many friends, at least not the deep kind.  I have people I'm friendly to, and I am a good listener, but my own life is a blank slate to those around me.  They know what I do, who I'm married to, and that I am about to have a son, but that's about it.  I used to be better about opening myself up to others, but I think I got to a point where I didn't like who I was so I didn't want anyone to know who I was either.  It's simpler that way.  You don't have anyone knowing the depth of your depravity nor do you have to deal with people who say you're not that bad.

I've gained the view that we are all salvageable because I desperately hope that I am.  I've gained the view that God loves everyone, the sinner and the saint, because I hope it's true for me.  But I have an untold amount of views that would get me into trouble with my own religious establishment.  I am afraid to be honest.  I am afraid to share.  I am afraid to be courageous, because it just got Jesus killed.  I am afraid of the future and the present.  I am afraid that one day I'll walk too far away and not know how to reach the shore.  That I'll just keep drifting into nothingness.

I know that we all have bad days and weeks and months and years.  I know that we all get down sometimes, which is why I don't give up, why I keep hoping even when hope is difficult to find.  It's why I keep trying to love even in the times I don't love myself very well.  It's why I keep preaching every Sunday, in hopes that I could touch one life, mine.

If you're reading this I want you to know that I'm all right, I'm not morose or depressed.  I'm not suicidal or even thinking that way.  I am just confessing because I've been thinking a lot about the power of confession and how maybe the Catholics have it right, that sometimes we just need to get things off of our chest.  Already I feel a little lighter then I did when I started this post.  Already the day seems brighter, the darkness a little less tight, hope and love seem right around the corner, that's where I'm headed, hope to see you there.

Peace and Love,
Pastor K