I married young. I took the tender hand of a girl and led her into a life sorely lacking. I led her across paths of people with narcissistic agendas. I led her into frustration. I took her down a crooked winding trail in a blind effort to lead her away from poverty; yet stubbornly strove to maintain a vista of stingy, redundant landmarks. I brought her into a life without the opportunities many blossoming young women encounter. I delivered a lifestyle that lacked comfort. I delivered an existence bereft of the peace she longed for. I failed to maintain the smile on her face. I sacrificed the ability to ignite the sparkle in her eyes with my appearance. I – in short – became the fool to which I was doomed by the raging critics.
Would you have done differently? Honestly? Could you have done differently? Would you have let her go, despite knowing she was longing for someone to care for her - "someone with heart”? What does one do when his eyes have been opened to that kind of beauty; one closer and more intense than the short nights of his sweetest dreams? Would you have admitted you did not yet have the skills to offer her the best; believing the best to be the only equitable exchange for such company - or would you put away self-doubt, without reservation rise to the occasion, and - laying all on the line - take an oath to give all?
I spent an early Christmas at my father's house. His wife pulled out old pictures of my own smaller family - my branch prior my two youngest boys - and asked if I would like to have them; she had heard me mention that I lost possession of many of the older pictures in the split.
My jaws gaped as I laid eyes on the photographs of our early years. These, I now viewed through a filter of maturity and experience - and I hope wisdom. The two "babies" dressed as adults in the photo were almost just that - BABIES! I felt my heart throb as if clinched by an invisible hand; one that moved slowly upward over my shoulders, deposited a dull ache, then ran up the back of my neck to the backs of my ears. It settled there, radiated across my temple, around my eyes, and down across my cheek-bones. It funneled white noise through the ear canal of each ear and across the tympanic membrane, finally, delivering a subtle ringing against the whoosh, whoosh of blood pulsating through my head - stiffening the nodes in my neck like adrenaline preparing me to encounter something horrific.
Then, the spin began. The rotation of questions racing through my mind as my spirit screamed, "Oh GOD! We were so YOUNG! SHE was so young! What have I done?" The despair would leave me prostrate in sack-cloth and ashes in ancient days - contrite and pleading in tears for mercy.
Yes, I was very young. Most of those who had traveled further down the road of existence told me I was too young for such responsibility. Are the majority always right, though? Was it presumptuous of me to swear - that if I did turn out to be as young and incapable as they esteemed, I would not walk away? It seems sometimes people truly want to hear, "I was a miserable failure, but young", not, "To this extent I pledged myself. I'm not done yet".
At a moment between our wedding and the present, a diminished first person connection with the young-man in the picture was assured me. This, by a nearly fatal cerebral impact with a car - cushioned only by my passenger-side door and the interior of my skull. It muted the sharpness of my long-term memories. Looking at the kids in the pictures were like looking at acquaintances, yet in this instance, the emotions came as powerful as those from a well-developed chick-flick. I have always felt love for the people in the photo.
I have asked myself the questions time and again, "Where did I screw up? Where did I ignore signs? Where did I go left when I should have gone right - or where did I exit when I should have stayed the course?".
Of course I should have checked for elderly ladies running red-lights; that is not a question I have to mull over and over in my mind. It is without a doubt a mistake with catastrophic implications - a moment of potentially agonizing human error which I've let go of and left in the past. I'm thinking about possible flaws in my character. I'm thinking along the lines of the choices initially with more subtle results - well, I don't know that the shortcomings are so subtle; those seem to be wrapped in neon signs with blaring foghorns. Any results that may be small victories, though, are more invisible than they are small ... I hope. I do admit, however, that the steps up to "bigger and better" have been so dwarfed by the task that - if they be - seem to be quite undetectable.
It may be possible that I have lived a life of selfishness, marked with monumental moments of self-indulgent madness - that I am living a delusion of grandeur. Is it not also possible, however, that I looked at the tools given me, honestly; that I took ample time to understand - as accurately as I could - what I was dealing with, leaving nothing to an irresponsible game of chance? Is it possible that these are simply the colors that will make this family - this work - truly a masterpiece? Is it possible that this is giving myself and others a clearer definition of family: that it is something knitted in the soul - a bond that perseveres titles and legalities. Might it be possible that - on my death-bed - I will look back across the years ... and offer nothing but gratitude to the Creator for allowing me to be a part?
As in most cases - if not all - in dealing with fallible humankind, I'm sure every factor is a reality to an extent. The answer as to whether I have taken the high-road or the low-road lies more in my motives, and willingness to accept Truth in my daily encounters with Him. I hope one day my love for my children and their mother will be validated. That they will see my actions not as having given up on them, rather as giving them the freedom to make decisions - including mistakes - without my love for them wavering: contingent upon their adherence to my will ... or this fallible man's interpretation of their actions.
I don't know that these questions will cease to assault my moments of quiet in this life-time ... although I hope they themselves will quiet. I believe, however, it is left for us to continue choosing to surrender to Love ... or to not. As for me, to this extent I have pledged myself. I'm not done yet.
Would you have done differently? Honestly? Could you have done differently? Would you have let her go, despite knowing she was longing for someone to care for her - "someone with heart”? What does one do when his eyes have been opened to that kind of beauty; one closer and more intense than the short nights of his sweetest dreams? Would you have admitted you did not yet have the skills to offer her the best; believing the best to be the only equitable exchange for such company - or would you put away self-doubt, without reservation rise to the occasion, and - laying all on the line - take an oath to give all?
I spent an early Christmas at my father's house. His wife pulled out old pictures of my own smaller family - my branch prior my two youngest boys - and asked if I would like to have them; she had heard me mention that I lost possession of many of the older pictures in the split.
My jaws gaped as I laid eyes on the photographs of our early years. These, I now viewed through a filter of maturity and experience - and I hope wisdom. The two "babies" dressed as adults in the photo were almost just that - BABIES! I felt my heart throb as if clinched by an invisible hand; one that moved slowly upward over my shoulders, deposited a dull ache, then ran up the back of my neck to the backs of my ears. It settled there, radiated across my temple, around my eyes, and down across my cheek-bones. It funneled white noise through the ear canal of each ear and across the tympanic membrane, finally, delivering a subtle ringing against the whoosh, whoosh of blood pulsating through my head - stiffening the nodes in my neck like adrenaline preparing me to encounter something horrific.
Then, the spin began. The rotation of questions racing through my mind as my spirit screamed, "Oh GOD! We were so YOUNG! SHE was so young! What have I done?" The despair would leave me prostrate in sack-cloth and ashes in ancient days - contrite and pleading in tears for mercy.
Yes, I was very young. Most of those who had traveled further down the road of existence told me I was too young for such responsibility. Are the majority always right, though? Was it presumptuous of me to swear - that if I did turn out to be as young and incapable as they esteemed, I would not walk away? It seems sometimes people truly want to hear, "I was a miserable failure, but young", not, "To this extent I pledged myself. I'm not done yet".
At a moment between our wedding and the present, a diminished first person connection with the young-man in the picture was assured me. This, by a nearly fatal cerebral impact with a car - cushioned only by my passenger-side door and the interior of my skull. It muted the sharpness of my long-term memories. Looking at the kids in the pictures were like looking at acquaintances, yet in this instance, the emotions came as powerful as those from a well-developed chick-flick. I have always felt love for the people in the photo.
I have asked myself the questions time and again, "Where did I screw up? Where did I ignore signs? Where did I go left when I should have gone right - or where did I exit when I should have stayed the course?".
Of course I should have checked for elderly ladies running red-lights; that is not a question I have to mull over and over in my mind. It is without a doubt a mistake with catastrophic implications - a moment of potentially agonizing human error which I've let go of and left in the past. I'm thinking about possible flaws in my character. I'm thinking along the lines of the choices initially with more subtle results - well, I don't know that the shortcomings are so subtle; those seem to be wrapped in neon signs with blaring foghorns. Any results that may be small victories, though, are more invisible than they are small ... I hope. I do admit, however, that the steps up to "bigger and better" have been so dwarfed by the task that - if they be - seem to be quite undetectable.
It may be possible that I have lived a life of selfishness, marked with monumental moments of self-indulgent madness - that I am living a delusion of grandeur. Is it not also possible, however, that I looked at the tools given me, honestly; that I took ample time to understand - as accurately as I could - what I was dealing with, leaving nothing to an irresponsible game of chance? Is it possible that these are simply the colors that will make this family - this work - truly a masterpiece? Is it possible that this is giving myself and others a clearer definition of family: that it is something knitted in the soul - a bond that perseveres titles and legalities. Might it be possible that - on my death-bed - I will look back across the years ... and offer nothing but gratitude to the Creator for allowing me to be a part?
As in most cases - if not all - in dealing with fallible humankind, I'm sure every factor is a reality to an extent. The answer as to whether I have taken the high-road or the low-road lies more in my motives, and willingness to accept Truth in my daily encounters with Him. I hope one day my love for my children and their mother will be validated. That they will see my actions not as having given up on them, rather as giving them the freedom to make decisions - including mistakes - without my love for them wavering: contingent upon their adherence to my will ... or this fallible man's interpretation of their actions.
I don't know that these questions will cease to assault my moments of quiet in this life-time ... although I hope they themselves will quiet. I believe, however, it is left for us to continue choosing to surrender to Love ... or to not. As for me, to this extent I have pledged myself. I'm not done yet.
You are amazing! I have sincerely enjoyed this.
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