I sat in my newly acquired apartment... on the bedroom floor, actually... and stared at it in the dark...He was so, so, SO perfect. Miraculous, even!
I cursed the snow under my breath as I forced myself to not even close my eyes long enough to blink.
My kid brother was a dad... and on a tiny little cell phone screen in the dark was a picture of my brand new nephew, Caleb.
He laid in a hospital nursery clutching a teeny tiny plush Mickey Mouse I'd bought him whilst at Disney World a few weeks earlier.
His skin looked like it was the same color as if someone had made a cup of watered down hot cocoa and stirred in some crushed rose petals.
He literally took my breath away.I couldn't wait for the snow that was keeping me in Salina to melt so I could scurry down to my car, suitcase in hand, and drive to Wichita to finally meet him. I'd been waiting for this baby for what felt like an eternity!
He was the reason I was living in a new apartment in Salina, Kansas. After three years spent getting acquainted with sleep medicine in San Antonio, Texas I had passed my sleep registry exam. No sooner than I had taken my test than my brother and sister in law had phoned to tell me I was going to be an uncle and I began looking for a job back closer to Wichita.
This was something I never expected to find myself doing as anyone who knows me is aware of just how very much I despise Kansas.
But as a registered sleep technician looking for a job in a state where few are to be found I took solace in the fact that my salary would likely afford me the luxury of a travel budget. I figured I would live and work in Salina during the week and on the weekends jet down Interstate 35 to be with family - be with my new little baby nephew.
Once every few months or so I could purchase an airplane ticket somewhere (anywhere!) and escape the despicable state that - in all honesty - I would never live in or even visit if not for family that lived here.
The first time I ever saw him he was already well integrated into the little house on Van Dale after arriving home from the hospital.
My sister in law welcomed me into the front door of their house and we all talked in hushed tones as she instructed me to sit down on their couch. The blinds were drawn and a single lamp just barely illuminated the living space. It all felt as though I were entering into a very holy sanctum where for the first time I'd meet a new little soul who, unless the conditions were just to his liking, may burst into a fit of angry tears and reject me forever!
I didn't want anything to go wrong with our first encounter. I wanted it to be perfect so as to ensure our relationship from the very first instant would be one he would trust, enjoy, and count among his most cherished possessions. I sat quietly and waited and soon enough Alicia came out of the nursery carrying a small little bundle with mittens on his hands and a cap on his head. She lowered him down to where I sat on the couch and transferred him to my arms from hers.
I looked at him; He looked at me. I was flabbergasted that such a tiny little guy had so much focus and capability to hone in on who was holding him. He was practically as light as air but so warm... like a hot water bottle almost!
I know I must've looked goofy to him, smiling like an idiot. He soon closed his eyes and yawned, indicating that he was bored with me. As he drifted away into slumber I softly sang to him... "There is sunshine in my soul today, More glorious and bright... Than has flowed through any earthly portal...'Tis Jesus in my life... Oh, there's sunshine, blessed sunshine...When the peaceful and happy moments roll... When Jesus shows His smiling face there is sunshine in my soul."
I remember thinking on that cold, cold January Saturday that even though there was a ridiculous amount of snow on the ground underneath a dark sky outside that there in that living room there truly was nothing but sunshine as I held my baby nephew for the first time. He really was perfect.
And he made it all worth it... the move back to Kansas, taking on a job that as I became more and more familiar with presented a fresh batch of unique challenges working under what can only be described as a tyrannical supervisor.
And, of course, there was Salina itself... This was to be my community now - my home... It was a far cry from the gay affirming metros of San Antonio or Austin.
As I said, before making the move from Texas I had vacationed in Orlando, Florida for a week with my Mom around Christmastime. One night while riding a water taxi from the Boardwalk Resort to Epcot after dinner my Mom asked the boat captain how many people were employed by Disney World. I remember my head whirling as he replied "Oh, around 60,000." because that was approximately the same number of people who populated the town I was about to move to and begin working in.
Smalltown life was going to be something that was going to take time to get used to... and if I found community in Salina, Kansas I was prepared to live life largely in the closet as I didn't imagine I was going to find too many people too eager to befriend an individual who claimed to be both gay and Christian.
The internet was of utmost help to me as I acclimated to Salina. Not only was I able to research churches by way of GCN's sister website (welcomingchurches.com) but I was able to get a feel for what the gay climate actually was in north central Kansas. I was surprised to learn of other young, gay, out guys in Salina and even made friends with one that lived right across the street from me.
A local pastor emailed me as well and wanted to inform me of a "gay affirming" church in Salina where he thought I would find some friends and allies. "There's a woman there with a gay son who wrote a book about her family's journey to accept his reconciling his faith with his orientation", he wrote to me. A seasoned GCNer, I quickly recognized the elements of a story I'd heard a hundred times over. I had been involved with GCN long enough to have heard hundreds of similar stories to the one the pastor relayed in his email. I researched the church and was shocked to see that their website advertised a weekly Bible Study group on Wednesday nights for the church's gay and lesbian members to take part in. Really? In a town of 60,000???
The next Wednesday I raided my closet for what I thought would be the Salina, Kansas equivalent of a 'gay outfit' (didn't want anyone to have to wonder after all if the new guy at Gay Bible Study Night "was" or "wasn't" - lol) and threw on my favorite pair of brown shoes to go check out the "Friends of Trinity" group at Trinity United Methodist Church. After one visit I quickly decided that Trinity would be the place I would call my 'church home' while living in Salina... you know, on the Sundays I actually felt like *going* to church.
Church had left a bad taste in my mouth and I had decided that I really didn't feel as though I needed a place to go every week to prove to myself how serious about my faith I still was. But if there was a chance to have some involvement with some other people who identified as gay and Christian from time to time I certainly wanted to know where that place was and I wanted to have a presence there... and for all intents and purposes that place appeared to be Trinity.
So I got in the habit of going and was grateful for the opportunity to do so even though initially I didn't really feel much of a connection with the other people there... It wasn't until I'd been atending for about a month and a half that I ran across one of the members of the "Friends" group who just happened to be on Facebook at the same time as me.
"Shelly Martin has commented on your status" soon became one of the most frequently seen messages on my computer screen and regular trips to Carlos O'Kellys to talk about faith, orientation, work, and life in general soon became the norm.
Shelly and I had a few dates just us before her partner Ruth had a change in work schedule that allowed her to accompany us out on our Saturday night dinner excursions. It didn't take long before the two of them had full access to my heart and became my two most favorite people in the city of Salina. If I wasn't going home to spoil Baby Caleb on the weekends I was anticipating dinner plans with my Ruth and Shelly.
I also got to know the other members of the Trinity Friends Group a bit better. I became a big fan of the ministerial team at Trinity - Pastors Barry Dundas and Abby Cassman. I got to where on Sunday mornings I looked forward to sneaking in late where Kathy Olson and her daughter Grace had saved me a seat off to the left side of the sanctuary... and conversation with members Joseph and Judy Coachman as well as others in our weekly Bible Study became routine things I genuinely looked forward to on Wednesday nights.
But I didn't just hang out with lesbians and ministers in my downtime in Salina.
As has always been the case I sustained a crazy expectation in 2010 that it might be the year God would put me out of my misery and send a substantial, meaningful relationship my way. I remember thinking I found it on Valentine's Day.
This guy that I met online and had chatted up a few times accepted an offer to let me take him out to eat that evening.
We talked and laughed over chips and salsa (which strangely seems like the food of choice for me to birth relationships over since moving to Salina, come to think of it - lol).
He came back with me to my apartment to cozy up on the couch and watch a movie. I couldn't have cared less about the stupid flick we were watching. I just wanted to hold him close to me... feel his warmth... smell his hair. God, his hair smelled amazing.
After the movie ended I remember being surprised that he didn't make a move to break our embrace. He sighed contentedly and let me play him some music I'd written and recorded a few years prior. Not to belabor the point but the guy seriously smelled fantastic. I sat there and cuddled him while he listened to "Unrestrained". I thought I was living in a moment as close to the reality that I felt God had once promised me I would eventually live in as I could be... (long story, see my blogs from yester year for more info on THAT... lol.).
While everything felt right with "Mr. Valentine" (including the way he kissed) we both decided that while the night had been pretty damn romantic we probably didn't have enough in common to justify an expectation of a serious relationship.
Translation: He was 21. lol.
We eventually made a pact that as long as we were both still single that we'd be each other's 'go to guy' for holiday romance. lol. No one should be without at least a dinner date at the holidays, right?
My dating life went through a stretch of being little more than pursuit of similar romantic moments to be shared with authentic individuals over the following months.
I think in 2010 I, for the first time, began to date without expectations.
Every relationship I had attempted up until this last year I think I went into legitimately expecting to wind up partnered. Pretty ridiculous, right? But it felt like since God had put a desire in me to be monogamous and committed to someone that He had no right to put individuals in my path with whom that outcome wasn't a likely possibility. lol.
This year God really taught me as I dated that real life is not a Meg Ryan movie. One romantic dinner with a movie and a cuddle session afterwards is often times just that... "Happily Ever After" typically isn't the instantaneous aftermath of one date. Nor should it be... Heck, nor do we really want them to be!
Thus, I took myself a tad less seriously last year... and it felt great. lol. Not that I was out sleeping around. No, my love life just became this thing that was directed by an intense desire for genuine romance and connection - even if only shared briefly... and for the first time ever I don't think there was any pressure to make it about more than just a kiss... a kiss came to mean more to me than what I think it ever has as I dated last year. And guess what? Making a resolution to let dating just be "fun" didn't result in what I feared it would. I didn't become a fish net stocking wearing ho-bag with hash marks carved into the headboard in my bedroom. lol. Nope. The only thing that changed was that my blood pressure went down, my eyes became less routinely tired looking and bloodshot, and my anxiety levels tapered off... Label me as you will but taking my dating less seriously in 2010 was in retrospect a good decision... one I'd bet I even have God's applause for having made.
In July I went camping with friends up north and got what was undoubtedly the "Kiss of the Year". lol. Guys with dark eyes, dark hair, and dimples - forget it! lol. He knew he had my number, I think, from the moment I first strolled up to him and initiated conversation. lol. It was only a matter of time.
The last night of our camping excursion he and I went for a stroll together... talked about Jesus and what it was we both really wanted from Him. It started raining on us and we realized we were too far from our friends at the bonfire to make it back to covered shelter before it was going to really start pouring so we took refuge on top of a small wooden picnic table under a gazebo-esque structure in the woods.
I joked with him how very "Sound of Music" I found the whole situation to be and we lapsed back into conversation effortlessly.
Soon I was sitting closer to him than what I had remembered and told him that I wanted to kiss him. He was game and when he leaned in and our lips touched it was everything I'd thought it would be. lol. Like I said, "Kiss of The Year" hands down. ( Not hard to do since the only other one had been from a 21 year old; a guy young enough that it was impressive that he was potty trained and could use multi syllable words - lol ). And he appeared to enjoy it too. lol.
We text messaged back and forth for a few weeks in the throes of a pathetic high school summer camp crush before a laugh ridden conversation one night. We both deemed it to have been an intense moment neither of us regretted but that had been way too perfect to jack up by trying to create a long distance relationship out of. lol.
After the CampOut in July with my PA buddies I sorta let myself get adopted by the MidAtlantic GCNers. Nobody really asked me to join their ranks but nobody insisted that I keep my distance either so it just sort of happened. lol. I think God wanted it that way to be honest.
I spent a great deal of time in 2010 trying to attend a very specific seminar related to work. When I finally was able to find one to attend that I could afford and that wasn't in danger of being cancelled at the last minute (whole 'nother story behind THAT statement!) it just so happened to be in Baltimore, MD.
The weekend after the seminar was held I snuck away to New Hope, Pennsylvania with my friend Robert in his "Cube" and took in the sights and sounds of a vibrant little community I won't soon forget. I was glad that God had given me such a perfect weekend surrounded by friends because when I returned to Kansas it was to finish out an autumn filled with much stress, disappointment, sadness, and desperation.
I had been watching an episode of CougarTown on Hulu in my hotel room that last day of my trip to Baltimore. I was balancing my laptop on my knee and decided I could safely reach the bottle of Sprite on the night stand without actually having to rise from the easy chair I was sitting in. Accident prone as I am, I should have anticipated what happened next. My laptop went crashing to the ground and the power cord adapter snapped clean off. I'll admit it. As someone very reliant on internet usage I panicked. I realized that once my battery died I'd have no way to charge my beloved little HP Mini back up and resume surfing.
What I thought was going to be an intolerable period of a few days without internet turned surprisingly into three months and change. lol. Again, I think God had everything to do with that because it was right around the time that a whole slew of news stories began to break chronicling a crazy onslaught of teen suicides committed by gay and lesbian individuals. I had a lot of guilt and depression to contend with during all that.
On one hand I felt like God knew that I wouldn't be able to handle turning on my computer to see story after story of gay kid after gay kid found swinging by a noose from the ceiling. On the other hand, there was one suicide that happened during that unforgettable late autumn that struck particularly close to home.
In retrospect, I was in no way close enough to this guy to have been able to prevent it even if I *had* had online access in the weeks leading up to when it happened... but I guess I felt like had I known he was feeling down I could've at least remembered to pray for him.
He wasn't a GCNer. And, honestly, I barely knew him at all. He was this guy that used to video blog on YouTube a lot. I'd emailed back and forth with him a few times after he'd taped himself ranting about the church and how much he felt heartbroken that he wasn't welcomed in the congregation he'd grown up with. I told him about GCN, I know I did. But I guess he never found his way there.
In the weeks after my computer broke I wasn't online enough to realize he wasn't updating his blog. His sister eventually posted... not a lot of details... but enough to tell his readers/watchers that he, too, had taken his life.
She wrote that his mom had been too ashamed of him to approach the pastor of their church with regards to even holding a funeral for him. She had apparently said that since he had died without repenting of "his sin" that there wasn't anything about his life worth celebrating or memorializing anyway. She said that he was in hell and that she couldn't bring herself to bother planning a funeral that wasn't going to be a celebration of a soul finding it's way to Heaven.
I cannot even begin to tell you how profoundly reading those words affected me. In a flood of tears I realized that we here in modern day America are not as open and accepting as we think ourselves to be. So what? So we have successfully seen seven or eight seasons of "Will and Grace" make it to network television... So we've got gay pride parades happening in every major city every June and July... so what??? If at the end of the day we still have people being convinced that what they are is such a shameful thing that they're literally better off dead, who the hell cares?
I watched the impromptu "Memorial Service" that the guy's sister held for him online. I snuck down to the lab here at the hospital and sat in my chair in front of the only computer down here with unfiltered internet access as his sister and a few of his friends assembled in what appeared to be his dorm room, lit candles, and said a prayer. I don't cry over very many things but I cried that night. It felt like there was just more darkness surrounding that particular period of time last autumn than I could ever hope to see the veil lifted on again.
I didn't break down until I saw his sister break out a guitar and begin to sing a song I'd never heard but immediately fell in love with. I filed away as many of the lyrics as I could in my memory bank intent on hunting down the track to have accessible whenever I needed to hear it... as a reminder that I have a responsibility in this world as a person of faith... as a person whose journey to reconcile my faith with my orientation hasn't ended in his demise.
A few weeks later I still hadn't identified the artist of the song. When I would try to log back on to the guy's YouTube Channel I was met only with a message that "The page you are attempting to access is no longer available". It wasn't until a considerable amount of time had passed that my search for the song and the artist who was responsible for writing it ended.
I was with Ruth and Shel and another friend of ours named Stephanie at a Christian bookstore in McPherson when in between sips of chai I recognized it being played faintly on the over head system. I inquired about whose vocals were being broadcast from the lady with the big blonde hair do working at the music counter. She smiled and said, "Isn't this song pretty? I just love it. It's by Brandon Heath." I later learned while researching Mr. Heath that the name of the tune was "Love Never Fails".
I downloaded it to my phone and listened to it a hundred times over. It seared itself into me. It made me shed tears every time I heard it. Everytime I'd hear the line "Love still believes when you don't..." I'd picture the faces from the news stories of young men and women for whom belief had been so fleeting that it seemed to them they'd never lay claim to it again.
One weekend on a visit to Wichita I had my MP3 player on "shuffle" mode while Mom and I sat at the dining room table palying a game of Scrabble... The song that had taken such an aggressive possession of me began to play and I froze. I couldn't even move to reach over to retrieve the music player to silence it. I sat there and Mom watched as I pretended that my concentration hadn't broken. Like I was still trying to come up with a play in which I could make a Double Word score with seven tiles all of which were vowels.
Mom saw me (as she always does) for what I was... bothered.
Our game came to a halt and I stopped to share with her how profoundly affected I'd been by the continuous flow of news stories telling of so many gay teen suicides.
My family doesn't agree with the conclusions I've reached about being gay and simultaneously Christian, to be sure... but my folks, I have to say, do their damndest to love people even when others' theology results in their being pegged as 'stubbornly living in sin'. It's not the acceptance I wish it were but maybe in time, you know? For now, I'm just glad to have two parents who hear *my* heart at every turn.
God, it seemed, was doing the ol' switcheroo on me. I'd spent so much time since coming out of the closet taking dating and romantic relationships so painstakingly serious... and now after deciding that dating was a lot more fun when kept casual I realized that the focus I'd been giving romance was actually much more in demand where loving my fellow man was concerned!
Last autumn, after all those kids died... I realized that the people for whom the duty to love needs to be taken the most seriously are those who you'd likely never think of in terms of 'potential life partner'. You can't keep the command to love others as you love yourself a casual affair. There were consequences if you did - people would wind up dead on the news.
The hard part wasn't implementing a plan of action to love individuals in dire straits... Nope, over the next couple of months the hard part became loving the people who were responsible for putting those people in dire straits to begin with!
I happened along a conversation on Facebook not too long after renewing my call to love people that really challenged me. It was a conversation about, of all things, a football rivalry. In it, a young college kid was interacting with a Christian adult I actually know pretty well. He shot off some comment about how the older guy's football team of choice was "gay".
Alright, Nick. Cool it. He's a dumb college jock... probably isn't a Christian... probably not your place to school him on the impact of his words. To be honest, I sorta half expected the older Christian male already participating in the conversation to chide him.
What I didn't expect was to see said older Christian male shoot back with a comment calling the kid's sexuality into question. "Ever wonder why you're so quick to accuse so many people and things as being gay? lol." he wrote.
I came unhinged. My immediate reaction was one of "You fucker!"
It took everything I had to not light into the guy right there on my friend's facebook page... I wanted to say, "Yeah, you're probably right... this guy probably does throw around the word 'gay' as his insult of choice because he probably DOES have some latent homosexuality going on...Who's to say?? But one thing's for sure... if you're going to publicly call his sexuality into question (joking or not!) on a public website you better be damn sure he *isn't* gay... otherwise, your words may be the ones that push him over the edge. He may find himself thinking, 'Wow, not even Mr. _________ can look at people like that and see anything more than a group of people who deserve our ridicule... I wonder what he would say if he knew that I was actually struggling to accept myself as same gender attracted.' ".
And then after a few deep breaths I realized, there's not a one of us whose words don't have the capacity to result in someone shooting themselves in the head at the end of a particularly bad day. As fond as I am of sarcasm, I'm sure I've been guilty of commentary just as bad if not worse...
So rather than post a rant I submitted the following comment: "^Really?"... and then left it alone.
When I checked back later the older guy who'd gotten my ire up was posting asking how to delete comments from the thread in question. I guess my resolution to keep my irritation only subtly expressed if expressed at all was effective.
After all, nowhere in Brandon Heath's song did he describe Love as something that points the finger and exclaims "You fucker!" ...nor did I suspect did the passage in I Corinthians that inspired the lyrics.
Love's words were, in all probability, somewhere more along the lines of "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."
The irony of all this is that a few months prior I had ceased my online blogging routine in order to begin work on what I hoped would one day be the first manuscript I'd ever pen with the intent to publish; a collection of writings on surrendering anger called "Rage & Rainbows: The Gay Christian's Guide To Getting Pissed Off". lol. I ceased work on the tome five chapters in and it's still waiting for me to pick it back up one day when I'm a little bit more of an expert on the subject matter than what I currently am.
I guess the next big thing that happened in life after that was the day that Neal called and woke me up around 10:00 in the morning to tell me that my Grandma was dying.
We had all assembled at the nursing home the previous May for Mother's Day. My Dad cooked hamburgers on a grill out of the back of his truck and we hijacked the dining hall at the Clearwater nursing home for a family dinner/gathering just like all the ones we'd assembled for at Grandma's house every Christmas Eve when I was a kid. It's rare that my extended family all gets together so it'd been good that that day had been such a happy one.
The next time we were all assembled, as I said, was because it was time to say goodbye to our family matriarch.
I'd never been there when a grandparent had died before so I don't think I knew what I was walking into. When I got to the nursing home my Mom and my cousin Michelle and my Aunt Margie were all gathered around Grandma as she laid, mostly lifeless, in her bed. Neal and Alicia stood with Caleb off to the side and emotion unexpectedly overtook me as I realized how drastically different Grandma looked laying there just since the last time I'd been to see her. She would fade in and out of consciousness but managed to whisper "I love you" in response to anyone who would say it to her first while she was awake.
We sat there, all of us, mostly quiet until at around 8PM Grandma departed earth for Heaven mere minutes after we'd all sang every verse of "I'll Fly Away" that we could recall between us.
I don't know why but I offered to sing at Grandma's funeral the following Wednesday.
It was the day before Thanksgiving and I had rented a suit to wear (which, in retrospect, made me mad because my little brother was able to find one at a second hand store that I liked infinitely better than the one I had rented - lol.)
It didn't matter, though. I could've been wearing anything and probably still would've felt every bit as judged as what I felt ascending the podium and taking my place behind the mic.
To be fair, I'm not sure how many people in attendance at Grandma's funeral were even in the know that her grandson was gay but I imagined a fair number of them probably had heard... "He's gay? The one that went to that Christian School housed out of the Baptist Church in Derby?! The one that got that college scholarship? That used to work at WalMart and then went to Bible College in Tulsa? Sue's grandson? Nick?!? Hugh and Paula's boy? Gay?!?! What a shame... he had so much potential."
Little old blue haired ladies say a lot of shit like that, I imagine.
And I don't know why I care(d). I don't have anything to prove to any of them. But I still trembled a bit as the music started to play and I stood behind Grandma's casket trying to eek out Chris Rice's "Untitled Hymn".
I chose it because the lyrics were about knowing & acknowledging Jesus at every stage of life... and I think that my Grandma not only strived to do that but birthed in her children and grandchildren a desire to do that too... My kid brother recently reflected with me over frozen yogurt and told me that he felt like our Grandma was one of only a few authentic Christians that he had ever known. It was with that in mind that I closed my eyes and sang that song.
I think I opted to just go somewhere else entirely during that two and a half minutes.
Back to the campgrounds where I'd spent time with friends the previous July... back to my minister friend Michael E. bidding me to carry my lighted candle with me up to the communion table prepared for us all in an open air chapel in the woods.
There'd been this lone ceiling fan whirring 90 mph in that sweltering little church doing its best to keep us all cool.
I remember that as I tried to carry my candle up to the altar to light the wick of the Unity candle that sat there in between the bread and wine that fan kept blowing my candle out. I was so embarrassed. It had to have happened three or four times and the communion service came to a complete halt until I was able to relight the wick of my candle and then determine a route up to the Lord's Supper Table by which my flame wouldn't be snuffed out by the fan overhead.
Singing at Grandma's funeral felt like that times 10,000.
Every pair of eyes, save a few belonging to some accepting family members, was a ceiling fan trying to snuff out the candle of the gay boy at the front of the sanctuary singing about the reassurance available to all who would "Come to Jesus and live".
I finished my solo and returned to my seat in the pew behind my brother, Alicia, and Baby Caleb.
His was the first and probably only smile I saw that day.
He grinned at me with eyes big and round and I couldn't help but think back to the lullaby I'd sang him the first time we'd ever met... "When *Caleb* shows his smiling face, there is sunshine in my soul."
I know, I know. Those aren't the words. But that day at Grandma's funeral I genuinely felt that Jesus probably showed HIS smiling face to me alot during 2010 masked as Caleb's smiling face.
And He also made a routine habit out of saying through my baby nephew, "Peace, I give you peace." It's just that when that particular message was being delivered through Baby Caleb it was in the form of an outstretched hand filled with drool soaked cereal and baby noises that, when interpreted, translated to "Cheerios, I give you Cheerios." lol.
I reached over the pew and, without a single word, indicated to Baby Caleb's mom that I wanted to hold him. He stretched out his arms, smiled, and permitted the transfer...
Throughout a very difficult December in which my work life became increasingly complicated I think I held Caleb - & all of my immediate family - ever closer... realizing the great capacity to hold onto Jesus simultaneously.
And the next thing I knew it was Christmas and Caleb and I sat on the floor ooohhhing and awwwwing over the twinkling lights on Mom and Dad's artificial tree.
And the year began to come to a close there on Christmas Eve much the way it had started.
Again I sat on the floor... in the dark... staring at my baby nephew who was still so, so, SO perfect. In the glow of red, green, blue, and gold lights being reflected off tinsel he was miraculous even.
"I used to write about *everything*" I whisper and concede to him amidst the hustle and bustle of the holiday ongoings. He looks at me with big, smiling, round eyes as if to say, "Why'd ya stop, Uncle Nick?"
"It's just never quiet enough for long enough to get all the details of what's happening clear enough in your head to resume telling the story."
I squeeze him and we navigate our way over to the table.
Alicia straps Caleb into his high chair.
Neal and Dad converse about his workday at the Turnpike Authority.
Mom brings platter full after platter full of food in from the kitchen and begs everyone to try the Red Hot Jello Salad she's made.
And I sit there taking it all in... realizing that life is a story I need to keep telling... be it full of sad moments, happy moments, or an equal amount of both...
Because when Jesus shows His smiling face there is sunshine in my soul... and the stuff that leads up to those moments will always be worth recalling in the end.
