Red Yarn & Loneliness (Originally Written November 2009)

When I was a kid my Mom & Dad used to get out of the house pretty regularly on weekends. There was forever a Sunday School class function to attend or dinner out with the pastor & his wife.

My Grandma Charles lived just down the street from us back then in the house my Dad & uncles grew up in. The only thing between her place & ours was my dad's machine shop, the community hall building, & a horse pen.

You could walk to Grandma's house in about five minutes but we rarely went over there. It was usually more often the case she would come to us... & it was just as usual that the times her red station wagon pulled into our driveway was on the nights when Mom & Dad were headed out for the night & needed Grandma to play babysitter.

Mom would send Dad down to McDonald's to pick up a gadjillion chicken nuggets for Neal, Grandma, & I to feast on.

Mom always had a way of timing things to the "T". I remember I'd be engaged in some mundane game of Hungry Hungry Hippos with Neal on the dining room floor & notice how fluidly Mom juggled multiple balls in the air as she readied for her night out.

She'd scoot Dad out the door & then in record time emerge from her bedroom looking like a million bucks & smelling like Cinnabar & winter air; the latter of which always drafted into Mom & Dad's room from the window on the south side of the house.

Mom would no sooner be putting on her earrings than two pairs of headlights would appear practically simultaneously in the driveway outside. Dad would come in, set down the fast food bags on the table, & then rush back to the door to take Gramma's arm as she stepped in from the cold blustery night outside.

"Perfect timing!" Mom would always say as she opened up the bags & divvied up the McNuggets.

They'd stay long enough to coax a dinner blessing out of my stubborn little brother, Grandma nodding approvingly, & then we'd each get a kiss on the cheek from Mom before she & Dad were out the door & onto their night of social interacting.

Grandma Charles was *not* much of a babysitter... & she was a flat out bore compared to the babysitter we had in our Grandma Page (who used to chase us around the basement wearing Halloween masks & let us stay up as late as we wanted munching Chex mix & watching cable).

No, Grandma Charles was a snooze... literally.

When she did take the time to plan activities for her nights in with us it was usually no more than instructing us to pop in some VHS tape she'd picked up at the local library... We'd have the thing playing for five lousy minutes before she'd transfer from the dining room table to the easy chair & fall asleep with Beaner, our mini dachshund, curled up in her lap.

I remember I'd try to sit still & watch whatever movie Grandma brought for us to view but as soon as Neal heard Grandma's first snores his attentions would shift from viewing the media on the screen to tormenting me.

I'd be in the middle of listening to Hugh Downs narrate some boring as hell educational program from the '70s when all of a sudden I'd be assaulted with every marble from the Hungry Hungry Hippos game box... Neal rolling on the floor laughing as he kicked his footed pajama feet in the air...

I'd usually chide him feeling it my duty to play the expected role of 'responsible one' but every now & then I'd decide if Grandma's library card didn't get her access to any better entertainment than documentaries about WWII warships that it wasn't *my* fault... & off Neal & I would go to entertain ourselves elsewhere.

One night this entertainment took the form of snatching a rather large ball of red yarn from Grandma's knitting bag. My teeth chattered & Beaner watched from Grandma's lap disapprovingly as Neal softly walked up to the bag & swiped it while Grandma slept.

"What're we doing with this?" I asked, once Neal & I had the yarn.

Neal just looked at me as if to say "Tsk... amateur!" & I watched as he tied the end of the red ball of string to the back leg of the dining room table & then began running all over the house with it.

The yarn crissed & crossed until it began to resemble something like the scene in "Entrapment" where Catherine Zeta Jones is pitted against a minefield of laser beams.

Neal rapidly painted the picture for me of how the game he had envisioned for us to play would work. The objective was simple. Get from one side of the room to the other without touching any of the string.

Had I a time machine, I would set it for 1990 & go back & ask my little brother how the hell it was he thought this crap up. I'm utterly convinced that something about freedom from parental supervision transformed him into a diabolical genius... the Koolaid moustache he usually wore only aiding to complete the image of a little kindergarten version of Hitler.

The game of "Don't Touch The Yarn" rapidly evolved... getting to the other side of the room proved to be entirely too easy.

Next added was the challenge to do it backwards.

Before all was said & done the lights were turned out & flashlights as well as two of my Dad's motorcycle helmets were incorporated as Neal & I *raced* to see who could complete the course first.

...at one point Beaner came in & was (unwillingly) added as the third competitor.

Neal & I laughed & wailed the night away as Beaner barked her concern - all up until the sliding glass door opened & the scent of Cinnabar & cold winter air again filled the room.

Mom flicked on the lights and Neal & I found we were too entangled in our red yarn obsstacle course to run & hide.

"What in the thunder is going on in here?" Mom would shout.

Then began the fruitless endeavor of attempting to explain to Mom why tying red yarn to every loose end in her dining room was actually a *good* idea.

"So you tie yarn to everything in sight & then what?" Mom asked, disgruntled.

"Then we turn out the lights & go through it backwards!" Neal exclaimed, proud of himself.

"Run through it backwards?!?" Mom would say, looking at my Dad with arched eyebrowss before asking, "...and where is your Mother while all this game play is going on???".

She'd no sooner ask then Gradma's snores would become audible from the next room.

"They're just kids, Paula." Dad would say in an attempt to calm my Mom down.

"Which is exactly why someone is supposed to be keeping an eye on them!" Mom would rebuttle.

I'd set to work untangling Neal & listen to the rest of the night play out as Mom would retreat to her bedroom & leave Dad to wake Grandma & 'thank' her for her babysitting services.

Here I am twenty years later...

I threw on a long sleeved thermal tee tonight & warmed up a bowl of chicken noodle soup for a bedtime snack.

The pilot light on my furnace is out so I guess it must be the cold autumn air that got me reminiscing about winter nights with my brother stirring up trouble in our footied pajamas.

That & also a conversation I had recently with a friend who is agnostic.

I used to think agnosticism & atheism were the same things but turns out that's not the case.

While atheism is a belief that God doesn't exist at all the picture I have recently had painted for me of agnosticism is that it's a belief system that God does, in fact, exist but does not interact.

Like a drowsy Grandma in an easy chair He slumbers away while all His creation runs amuck with red yarn.

...&, to cite my Mom, it's concerning because we're all 'just kids' & someone really *should* be keeping an eye on us.

We get tangled & instead of preventing it or helping us He just lets it happen... often leaving us to suffer the ramifications of exercising our beloved free will.

I don't know that the agnostic viewpoint suits me... certainly there are times when God does not intervene when we wish He would but there are other times when I believe intervention to merely be delayed.

The way it has been for me the last three years or so...

Since 2006 I've been working hard to make something of myself that would allow me to be able to financially prosper... help provide for my family in these tough economic times & also allow me to allocate more funds to my own personal goals of songwriting, blogging, & donating what I can to ministries I believe in.

Many have been the times I've felt tempted to accuse God of not being there... of not interacting... of being a bystander content to watch me get all sorts of tangled up in the webs I'd weave.

I'd ask Him, with a heavy heart, "God where *are* You?".

When I miss my family?
When I'd have a one night fling?
When I'd need Your strength?
When the guy I made my everything cheated on me?
When I had to resign from my job due to a bad situation?
When I lost so many friends as a result of trying to do what was right for me?
When I failed my registry exam?
When I couldn't afford more than a peanut butter sandwich & a bag of popcorn for dinner?
When I couldn't find a church & just wanted to be in fellowship with other Christians so badly I literally hurt?
When the first date with the new guy I'd built up in my mind ended up revealing him to be a complete jerk?

Where were you, God?

It feels like I've been asking Him that nearly every day since I moved to Texas in '06.

...& the last few weeks He's been reaffirming that He's not only *been* here - He's been INVOLVED the whole time.

First I passed that darned registry exam I never thought I would pass.

Second, He took me on a journey to help me embark on attaining forgiveness I've long been wanting to grant towards many people from my days living in Austin.

And most recently He did something I never expected...

He gave me a way to finally go back home... not only that but He showed me that home is where I actually want to *be*.

I used to swear up & down that I hated Kansas. Truth be told, I still do. lol.

But with my first nephew due to be born in a month or two & my being lonely for family worse than what I EVER remember it being I realize - I'd rather be somewhere I hate & have access to people who love me than somewhere I can merely *tolerate* being & without them.

Last week God debunked agnosticism in my life when He took the reigns & just started racing me towards an exciting new future - in Kansas! Who'da thunk???

I was flown up to Wichita by a hospital in Salina to interview for a job for a registered sleep tech & landed it!

Now out of nowhere I have three weeks to get my apartment emptied & to move so I can start working up there before month's end!

So... believe what you will but if you're asking me if God is uninvolved... well, I'd have to agree that a lot of the time it seems that way...

But just when you're so tangled up in red yarn & loneliness that you think you won't ever be free to eat chicken McNuggets again He'll show up - like Mom with scissors & smelling like Cinnabar.

...and He'll cut you free so you can have your ten millionth undeserved new beginning...

The Psalm says it best: "One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard - That You, O God, are strong. ...and You, O God, are loving".


Turn on the lights. It's time to stop playing games & let love & strength remove what binds you.

Savior (Originally Posted August 2009)

 I used to fall asleep to this song, called "Savior".

I used to finish writing in my journal, open up a bedroom window to let in the breeze, & pop on earphones that played only the tunes of Wichita's KTLI Light 99FM.

This song was a favorite of mine in those days. It's by Michael English, one of Christian contemporary music's fallen angels.

I randomly heard it again the other night for the first time in fifteen or so years & was surprised that I remembered the words well enough to sing along.

My favorite phrase in this song is "...the world cries out for love somehow".

I remember as a pre-teen looking up at my ceiling fan whirring & spinning above as those words were sung in my ear over & over again at night.

If there was truth to that assessment then, there certainly is even moreso now.

I've come to understand, however, that as a teenager I lived in a world where those cries for love were not being met with the angry shouting that respond to them today in 2009.

I used to feel that when I went to church on Sunday that anyone could come to the altar at the end of the service. The congregation would rise & prayerfully sing a round or two of "Just As I Am".

...and if in that moment you felt your heart coming to terms with the reality that it too was 'crying out for love somehow', you would go forward & were not denied access to that Love.

Love & redemption used to be as simply attained as kneeling down & asking for them.

Not anymore.

These days Love is so obscure.

People have pretty much figured out that it can't be found in churches anymore, either.

It's like when WalMart stops carrying your favorite flavor of Fruit Roll- Up... & you go through about a month of this inane little routine where you *still* walk down the aisle where it used to be stocked just to see if it might be there... but it never is... & when you ask the stock boy what happened to it he non-compassionately tells you "RipTide Raspberry just wasn't selling. It's been discontinued."

That's what the church is telling people today when they go crying out for love in their midsts.

"We're sorry, but Love has been discontinued."

Some people accept this answer. They go on living their lives still craving a love they once heard rumored was available to them... they still cry out for it... but they don't let themselves believe they'll ever be recipients of what they so desperately pine for.

The minority that's left is a valiant breed.

...& if I may be so bold I'd like to think of myself as being one in their ranks.

They're the ones who don't take 'no' for an answer.

You tell them your store is out of RipTide Raspberry Rollups & they'll make a bee line for Big Lots *convinced* there's still some of those suckers on a store shelf out there somewhere!

Today, this minority has taken their search for a love they're still sure *must* exist to a new frontier.

We punch a time clock for eight hours a day & then hurry home to continue the search for love... online.

We used to, in this country, finish our workday & head home to relax in our easy chairs until it was time to congregate with family around a dinner table complete with pot roast & freshly buttered rolls.

Now it's straight home where our families are lucky to hear a 'hello' out of us before we're off to hole ourselves away in our rooms at our computers sending out our modern day cries for love...

What we used to look for on the floor at the altar we now look for on match.com for $40/month.

We post a status update on facebook & fool ourselves into thinking that if someone cares enough to read it & leave a three or four word comment on it that we are loved & held in high esteem.... that our need is met...

But really, it's not.

If it were we wouldn't continue to flock to every new social networking site that pops up & begin our immediate quest to accumulate as many friends as we can.

Don't get me wrong... there's nothing wrong with any of it. I certainly don't believe someone who keeps their laptop open on facebook several hours a day to be a 'sinner'. Heck, if that were the case (to borrow a line from Paul) I would certainly be the 'chief' of sinners!

But I worry sometimes that those determined sojourners who flock to the internet in search of real community... real love... of whom I count myself a member have gotten distracted from their mission by tweets, twitters, & twitpics.

I guess that thirteen year old with his headphones on is still hungry for RipTide Raspberry Rollups & wonders if anyone else still is too.

I remember the world being a better place when love was accessible to people in a corporate setting.

Is that era over?

Will we ever find love & practice love in each others' midst again?

I know I hope so.

People ask me all the time about my stupid screenname on GCN.

It's "Vizionary" for those of you who don't know.

When I was a senior at Derby Christian School this sales representative came & spoke to all of us about to graduate & presented a sales pitch for class rings.

He gave us each a brochure with 'build your own keepsake' instructions.

First you picked out your birthstone, then the metal you wanted it set in. Next you affixed your school's crest to the center stone & began to look for emblems to adorn each side of the ring that would state something about your personality.

You could pick out a treble clef if you were musically inclined... a cross if you wished to commemorate your faith... or maybe a pair of praying hands.

I knew I probably wouldn't end up getting a class ring that early in the year but I looked at the brochure anyway & imagined what I'd like to get.

I selected an emerald set in white gold & for the emblem to adorn the side I picked out an etching of a setting sun. The single word code to indicate this choice on the order form was "Visionary".

I loved music growing up... & I loved writing... & I loved, loved, LOVED debate. But I really felt that that word represented me well.

"Visionary".

When I joined GCN some five years later I still had that word floating around inside the recesses of my psyche, I guess.

I remember thinking that if there was anything *worth* envisioning in this world it was a chance for people who had been told to hush up & keep quiet by the church to rally together & cry out for love somehow together... elsewhere.

I added a 'z' to the word for pizazz & haven't stopped 'envisioning' since.

I guess that the other day - when I heard the Michael English song referenced earlier - it was sort of a wake up call to me that I had let myself get too distracted.

While my 'envisioning' has been constant my faithfulness to act on what I envision has not been.

I suppose the point of today's blog is to challenge anyone who may find themselves reading it to assess if they too are guilty of becoming too complacent.

We can want all the good things in the world. We can want them badly. But wishing accomplishes very little in the grand scheme of things.

Those cries of the people around us looking for hope & looking for love - they haven't EVER gone away. Even if we've been so misguided as to think that they have whilst we distract ourselves telling half the world via facebook that we '...just ate a 'nummy sandwich.' lol.

I'm going to have a new little nephew entering this world soon.

I really hope he has a chance to meet Jesus.

Not Jesus the political pundit.

Not Jesus the hatemonger.

Not Jesus the terrorist, spewing end of the world propaganda in a frenzied whirlwind attempt to catapult us all into the apocalypse.

But Jesus.

The Jesus who sees you in your bed with your headphones on & answers your cries for love as the ceiling fan whirls overhead.

The Jesus Who forgives... Who changes what needs to be changed in us on His timetable & no one else's. The Jesus Who leaves what *doesn't* need to be changed the hell alone even if His followers insist He should do otherwise.

The Jesus Who loves us all...

The Jesus Who we used to come together to seek out & who I hope we will again.

The One Who answers all those who 'cry out for love somehow'.

The Jesus Who is...the Savior.

I believe He's out there. ...and like so many who are searching for Him He's just waiting to be found.