The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom, a light has shone. You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing, as they rejoice before you as at the harvest, as men make merry when dividing spoils.

For the yoke that burdened them, the pole on their shoulder, and the rod of their taskmaster, you have smashed, as on the day of Midian.

For every boot that tramped in battle, every cloak rolled in blood, will be burned as fuel for flames.

(Once again, that one sentence actually gave me chills as our deacon read them. I’m still pondering the words.)

For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests.

They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace. His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over his kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever.

A child is born.

Want to have a little fun with someone who fancies that they know their Christianity, Christian history, theology, Bible, and so on?

Just ask them who the greatest man in the Bible was.

Jesus?

Wrong.

Really! Jesus was a man, yes, and all man, and human – or he could not have died. But he was also divine, or he could not have risen again; think about it. Unique to all of creation and beyond, Jesus has two natures: the divine and the human. Christianity’s understanding of this was clarified in the fifth century. I’ll spare you the heavy theology on the hypostatic union, the Council of Chalcedon (and the first Nicean Council), monophysitism, arianism, modalism, and other issues – suffice it to say that this was settled over 1,500 years ago. You and I are humans, the dog over there’s a dog, a planet’s a planet (unless it’s Pluto): each has its own, single, defining nature. But Jesus has two.

So, no, Jesus was not the greatest man in the Bible because he wasn’t only a man.

Moses? Good try; no. Elijah? Jeremiah? Jonah? Adam??

Heh-heh. Nope.

If you trust the authority of Jesus as a teacher (as he was addressed in his own time; the word in Hebrew is “rabbi”, or even “rabboni”; I believe the Aramaic word is the same), you have the answer. Look up Matthew 11:11 – if you’re a Protestant, you’ve got the page marked and the words underlined. If you’re a Catholic, just look over that Protestant’s shoulder, since you probably aren’t sure where to find Matthew.

Right there it is. Jesus says, “Among those born of women, there has been none greater than John the Baptist.” As I’ve said in many a previous posting, you wanna call him a liar?

Today the Church celebrates the birth of John the Baptist (officially, “The Solemnity of the Nativity of John the Baptist”): half a year before Christmas. What does that have to do with it? Well, this is because Jesus was conceived when Elizabeth, John’s mother, was six months pregnant with John.

So for this week (and maybe a bit longer), the header here is a detail from Fra Angelico’s fifteenth-century painting, “The Naming of John the Baptist”. (Likely when you read this, though, I’ll have changed the header image again.)

Anyway, I propounded on Elizabeth’s pregnancy (among the usual array of other topics) back on Mothers’ Day 2007, so I won’t repeat it here. This painting, now, corresponds to the scene that followed after John’s birth (you can find in Luke 1:57-80), where Zechariah (Elizabeth’s husband) has wised up after nine months of being struck deaf-mute. He’d literally had the fear of God thrust on him by scoffing at an angel’s announcement of Elizabeth’s unexpected pregnancy, so now quite obediently he does exactly as that angel had commanded, and writes down that his son must be called John.

With his tongue loosened back up and ego refreshingly long-since humbled, he breaks into a sweet, inspired prayer that beautifully parallels Mary’s own canticle, the Magnificat. My guess is that he never lived to see his son’s ministry as a preacher in the desert, but there can be no doubt that he drew great comfort in knowing there was a clear and beautiful destiny that would unfold for his son… who, in growing up under God’s “tender mercy” (I like that phrase), would “guide our feet into the path of peace” as the greatest man ever born.

“Recently George Weigel wrote an article, and he said this in the beginning of his article: 

” ‘ The sexual and physical abuse of children and young people is a global plague; its manifestations run the gamut from fondling by teachers, to rape by uncles, to kidnapping and sex-trafficking. In the United States alone, there are reportedly some 39 million victims of childhood sexual abuse. Forty to sixty percent were abused by family members, including stepfathers and live-in boyfriends of a child’s mother – thus suggesting that abused children are the principal victims of the sexual revolution, the breakdown of marriage, and the hook-up culture.’… 

” ‘ Hofstra University professor Carol Shakeshaft reports that six to ten percent of public-school students have been molested in recent years – some 290,000 between 1991 and 2000. According to other recent studies, two percent of sex-abuse offenders were Catholic priests – a phenomenon that spiked between the mid-1960s and the mid-1980s, but seems to have virtually disappeared.’… 

” ‘ Yet in a pattern exemplifying the dog’s behavior in Proverbs 26:11 [he "returns to his vomit"], the sexual-abuse story in the global media is almost entirely a Catholic story, in which the Catholic Church is portrayed as the epicenter of the sexual abuse of the young, with hints of an ecclesiastical criminal conspiracy involving sexual predators whose predations continue today. That the vast majority of the abuse cases in the United States took place decades ago is of no consequence to this storyline. For the narrative that has been constructed is often less about the protection of the young (for whom the Catholic Church is, by empirical measure, the safest environment for young people in America today) than it is about taking the Church down – and, eventually, out, both financially and as a credible voice in the public debate over public policy.’ 

“This past Palm Sunday, Archbishop Timothy Dolan of New York – at the conclusion of the Palm Sunday Mass, …asked the congregation to sit for a couple minutes of patience, and then he said: 

” ‘ The somberness of Holy Week is intensified for Catholics this year… [by a] tidal wave of headlines about abuse of minors by some few priests, this time in Ireland, Germany, and a rerun of an old story from Wisconsin…. 

” ‘What deepens the sadness now is the unrelenting insinuations against the Holy Father himself, as certain sources seem frenzied to implicate the man who, perhaps more than anyone else, has been the leader in purification, reform, and renewal that the Church so needs. 

“The ‘Sunday Mass is hardly the place to document the inaccuracy, bias, and hyperbole of such aspersions, but…’ it is ‘the time for Catholics to pray for Benedict our Pope.’ 

“(The congregation responded with twenty seconds of applause.) 

” ‘No one has been more vigorous in cleansing the Church of the effects of this sickening sin than the man we now call Pope Benedict XVI.’ [And] That he is responsible for ‘[t]he dramatic progress…’ made by the Church, which ‘could never have happened without the insistence and support of the very man [who's] now being daily crowned with thorns by groundless innuendo. 

” ‘Does the Church and her Pastor, Pope Benedict XVI, need intense scrutiny and just criticism for tragic horrors long past? 

” ‘Yes! He himself has asked for it, encouraging complete honesty, [and] at the same time expressing contrition, and urging a thorough cleansing. 

” ‘All we ask is that it be fair, and that the Catholic Church not be singled out for a horror that has cursed every culture, religion, organization, institution, school, agency, and family in the world.’ 

“Peter Kreeft, a convert to the Catholic faith – speaking of one of the reasons for becoming Catholic – said it is the opposition to the Church; that the Church, he said, is like a steel ball in the stomach: it refuses to be assimilated. And so that’s why we will find, in every age, opposition to the Church. 

“The Lord said: ‘Do not be surprised to find that the world hates you, because it has hated Me before you. If they persecuted Me, they will persecute you.’ 

“And we can think of some of the calumny that was directed toward our Lord Himself. In the Gospels, we find that he was accused of being possessed, of casting out demons by [the power of] the prince of demons. Others accused Him of being a glutton; some said he was a drunkard; He went to His death being called a ‘blasphemer’; some suggested He was a suicidal man who was going to kill Himself. 

“So we think of all these accusations that our Lord endured, and we should not be surprised that the Church – His [mystical] body – would also endure calumny. Not that She is not in need of purification – of course; She is made up of sinners; She is always in need of purification. But let us be fair, that there’s no organization in the world that’s not in need of cleansing and purification, and especially of this horrible atrocity of the abuse of children. 

“And faithful priests, who so generously and sacrificially give themselves for the good of others: like our Lord, they too must defend what is true against the present relentless media attacks – for the sake of the flock, lest they be discouraged. Yet there’s always an element, for any priest, of victimhood, of joining Jesus in Isaiah’s prophetic vision of Him in the [Suffering-]Servant Song we listened to this week. 

“And today we heard from Isaiah, Chapter 50: ‘I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; my face I did not shield from buffets and spitting.’ And on Friday, from Isaiah 53: ‘Though he was harshly treated, he submitted and opened not his mouth; like a lamb led to the slaughter or a sheep before the shearers, he was silent and opened not his mouth.’ Also from today’s Psalm [reading], 69: ‘The insults of those who blaspheme you fall upon me.’ 

“And so there will always be an element of victimhood, for the ministerial priest, but also for all of us – for all of us, who are members of the Body of Christ in being faithful to Christ. We, too, are going to endure some of the things that our Lord endured – in a less intense way than our Lord did (He is exemplar for all of us; He a model for all of us), but nonetheless the Church Herself is going to share in some of this too. And it shouldn’t really be such a surprise to us that at times we endure these things. 

“Peter Kreeft, again, says that this was one of the reasons that brought him into the Church, that he was always opposed, like a steel ball in the stomach of the world that refused to be assimilated. 

“And we can ask the question, ‘What can we do, now, to protect vulnerable children?’ Not just dredging up things decades-old – of course, it’s necessary for the Church to endure that for purification. But what can we do now? 

“The media is [sic] often at the forefront of being that instrument which is bringing these very things about. Because the media really should be that instrument that is helping to ennoble man, to help him to grow in virtue: virtues like fidelity, loyalty, generosity, charity, chastity, courtesy, respect, reverence. Purity is a reverence: it’s a reverence, Dietrich von Hildebrandt says, for the other; a reverence for God; it’s a reverence for ourselves. 

“This is what the media ideally should do, and what EWTN is striving to do: to inculcate virtue; to ennoble man, to help him to reach his potential, which is the good for the individual, and for the society as a whole. 

“But instead the media often feeds [sic] what is worse to man, and then reports that they have been shocked that people have been influenced. Freedom of speech, yes, but not without responsibility for the consequences that one sets in motion. We just can’t say or do everything or propagate it through the media without some responsibility for the consequences this is going to have in influencing people – and particularly the young. 

“So, what are we doing now, what are we doing today, to protect our vulnerable children? The Church is at the forefront of this as well, as She always has this concern for the faithful; She is the largest charitable organization in the world, including helping vulnerable children. 

“Last night I went to the US Department of Education’s website, their office for Safe and Drug-Free Schools, and the title of this article was about human trafficking: ‘Human Trafficking in the United States: a Fact Sheet for Schools’, referring to it as a modern-day slavery. 

“And it says: ‘What Is the Extent of Human Trafficking in the United States?’ And it answers: 

” ‘Contrary to a common assumption, human trafficking is not just a problem in other countries. Cases of human trafficking have been reported in all 50 states, Washington D.C., and some U.S. territories. Victims of human trafficking can be children or adults, U.S. citizens or foreign nationals, male or female. 

” ‘ According to U.S. government estimates, thousands of men, women, and children are trafficked to the United States for the purposes of sexual- and labor exploitation… primarily for sexual servitude.’ 

” ‘ Trafficking can involve school-age children – particularly those not living with their parents.’ 

” ‘ Sex traffickers target children because of their vulnerability and gullibility.’ 

“The U.S. State Department in [its] Trafficking in Persons Report, June 2009, estimates fifty thousand people are trafficked into and transited through the U.S. annually as sex-slaves, domestics, garment- or agricultural slaves; largely from Mexico [and] east Asia, but also other countries as well. And then, it is also reported that up to two million people worldwide are victims of this trafficking, primarily women and children. 

“So what are we doing now about abuse? This is what is important. 

“There is the International Catholic Migration Commission, founded in 1951 by Pope Pius XII – then to help migrants and refugees, and now [also to help] trafficked persons. It has helped to resettle 900,000 refugees; this group is often called upon by the United Nations and different governments to contribute her expertise in helping refugees. Because there’s where we find children at their most vulnerable: when they’re refugees, and often without an accompanying adult to help them and to protect them and to guide them. 

“They’re among the most vulnerable people on earth: they arrive at refugee camps alone, scared, and at times abused and exploited. Through the Safe Passages Program, the USCCB/MRS (so this is the Bishops’ outreach), children traveling without adult relatives and without legal travel documents are provided a safe haven, [and] receive appropriate child-welfare standards of care; it works with more than thirty diocesan offices. 

“There is, on the Bishops’ website, the coalition of Catholic organizations against human trafficking, some twenty groups: to provide safe haven for such people; conducting prevention projects; providing national training; meeting with government officials. 

“What are we doing, now? That is the question that is most important and most pressing for our young, vulnerable children today. The Catholic Church is at the forefront of seeing this both in our own cleansing and evaluation, but also in assisting those that are most vulnerable today. 

“Finally, I’d like to close with a quotation from Louis Lavelle, who was a prisoner of war during World War I, and a French philosopher. And he speaks about the grace of hatred. He says: 

” ‘ No one realizes his life alone, but only through the mediation of others. I need the reassurance and help of friends, but I need men’s hatred too. It tests me; forces me to become aware of my limitations; to grow, to perform a work of ceaseless self-purification. It makes me more faithful to myself, protects me from all temptations to take the easy way to ‘success’. It compels me to fall back on what is deepest, most secret, and most spiritual in me, where those who hate me are powerless to hurt, where they meet no object into which to fix their claws, and nothing they can destroy. They recognize in us someone who has begun to be sufficient unto himself. The world hates all those who are not of the world; it hates all those who have access to another world, in which public opinion counts for nothing. For here, every individual is sufficient unto himself; in this world, reality is interior, and invisible; appearances melt away; public opinion has no weight.’ “

For I know my offenses;
           and I see my sins always before me.
I have sinned against You alone,
           and done great evil in Your sight.

You are just in your sentence,
           blameless when you condemn.
For I was born guilty,
           and conceived as a sinner.

Yet You insist on sincerity of heart,
So teach me wisdom in my inmost being;
           cleanse me, so that I may be pure;
           wash me, making me whiter than snow.

Let me hear sounds of joy and gladness;
           let the bones you have crushed rejoice.

Turn Your face away from my sins;
           blot out all my guilt.
Create a clean heart for me, God;
           renew a steadfast spirit in me.

Do not drive me from Your presence,
           nor take Your holy spirit from me;
Restore my joy in Your salvation,
           and sustain a willing spirit in me.

I will teach the sinners your ways,
           that they may return to you.

Rescue me from death, O God, my saving God,
           that my tongue may praise your healing power.

Lord, open my lips;
           my mouth will proclaim your praise.

For you do not desire sacrifice;
           and would not accept a burnt offering.
Thus my sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit;
           do not spurn a broken, humbled heart.

So I stepped out onto the deck, ignoring the baying mastiff next door, and was able to get a shot or two toward a nice panorama… when the batteries gave out. Oh, well; here’s one of two photos – and you almost can see that snow’s falling.

Yes, those nice pines are just outside our fence; there’s a great linear park running for several blocks here, and almost any season it’s beautiful.

(On a side note, all is well with friend Gwynne; she’s still working hard at getting hard work, while entertaining her friendly fuzzy felines. Since I last posted here (rather troubling to read, too), she I have gotten together a number of times here, there, and elsewhere just to hang out and walkie-talkie, plus enjoy the occasional obscure movie. And we did manage to make a low-budget day-trip this past summer to an East Coast resort-town, with some plans (well, fantasies for now) of further forays. And there’s more to say in her regard – even pictures to put up here – but just no time or space or sequiturity for it just now.) 

So, yes; all’s well – your Aging Child here has been busy (and occasionally unemployed!) since early this year, and I still am. An old girlfriend (she’s not that old) of – and I still find the span too huge to grasp – over thirty years ago tracked me down via the web, and we’ve been tossing the occasional note back and forth. No, there’s no personal interest; I’m still fully intent on donning the white collar, or at least a good hoodie. But it’s good to have a connection with that somewhat wilder, looser (and frequently stupider), and more-innocent period of my life. 

We’ll call her – oh, I don’t know; let’s try “Keiji”, even though she’s technically not 100% Japanese. 

This weekend, Keiji forwarded me a rather inspirational piece: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Keiji S
Sent: Sunday, November 29, 2009 10:40 PM
To: A. Gene Childe
Subject: Fw: Revelations 3:8 

I thought you might like this Keij 

—– Original Message —– 

Please read

Revelations 3:8 

When God leads you to the edge of the cliff, trust Him fully and let go, only 1 of 2 things will happen, either He’ll catch you when you fall, or He’ll teach you how to fly! 

The power of one sentence! God is going to shift things around for you today and let things work in your favor. If you believe, send it. If you don’t believe, delete it. God closes doors no man can open & God opens doors no man can close. If you need God to open some doors for you…send this to ten people.  Have a blessed day and remember to be a blessing.

 You probably get plenty of emails like this, too. Don’t let them bug you; some folks are so enriched in blessings that it just overflows. This one so hit me at just the right time that I had to pass it along to fellow-friends who appreciate the regular uplift, too, and prefaced it with this: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Aging Child [mailto:AGeneChilde@YouWho.com]
Sent: Monday, November 30, 2009 12:47 AM
To: ‘List, Mailing’
Subject: RE: Revelations 3:8 

Happy first week of Advent, everybody! 

Revelation 3:8 includes the passage, “I have left an open door before you, which no one can close“… which resonates very well with the classic inspirational line of “If He leads you to it, He’ll lead you through it”. 

The hardest thing is simply to trust as we step out into space… the second-hardest is to willingly turn our lives over to Him so he can lead us to the cliff (with wings or mattress), or to the door. And the third-hardest is to consciously make sure that we aren’t leading ourselves to a door, a precipice, that He doesn’t want us to pass. 

“Jesus, I trust in you” is a phrase and devotion I took to heart years ago… yet still find so terribly difficult to live by. Still, it’s carried me through some  particularly tough moments, and I’m counting on it to continue doing so. 

This kind of trust, for most of us, is something we consciously have to venture, again and again, over and over. But it’s the regular (yes, and repeated) prayer and meditation, and our own acts of mercy and forgiveness, that can attune us more closely to what our Lord’s will is for us. 

We don’t have to pass this message on to ten people – or a hundred – to receive God’s blessing… His blessing is a grace, and so is given to us freely (and often quite undeservedly). Yet it does help, still, to bear a genuine kind of witness to the faith which guides and saves us. 

So, even more than merely forwarding an email, say a prayer for somebody, especially someone you haven’t prayed for lately. Pray for ten people. Whom do you like the least? Say a prayer for them. Likewise for someone who likes you the least. 

And do something for them, most especially in this just-beginning season where we celebrate our Lord’s arrival: give something to the poor, the needy, the shut-in, the alone, the forgotten, the hurting; be His instrument, even if in just a little way. We must be His hands: whether hands to aid those who need to know and feel God’s love and compassion, and hands to fold together and pray. 

Love,

Gene 

Among those on the list were longtime friend – and political opposite (to the point where I may well have ground my molars flat over some of her viewpoints) Ms. Anon E. Mouse… no stranger to this blog. She responded – and with less-than-happy news: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Mouse, Anon E. [mailto:AEMouse@SOL.com]
Sent: Monday, November 30, 2009 11:23 AM
To: Aging Child
Subject: RE: Revelations 3:8 

Good morning Gene, how is my good friend?  Thank you for sending me this message.  My email “forward” friends seem to know what to say… [My husband] and I separated in August.  At first I was alright but with other things happening, it’s gotten harder and harder to maintain, plus I was never emotionally all right around the holidays.  But I do have my two boys [i.e., her dogs], Quincy & Taz and just to remind you I’ve attached a couple of pictures.  They’re the loves of my life. 

Hope things are going well for you.  Are you still at your two places of employment?  I will continue to send you emails for the controversy J  You’re liberal, I’m conservative but we’re friends, I think even if at times we don’t agree.  I apologize for not being able to check Snopes or other sources I just can’t always, but I’ll leave it to you to correct the error of my ways. 

Take care, Always, Anon 

Though too often I’ve banged some rather impressive head-sized dents in the wall here over her politics and stances, this word from her brought up a very different hurt on her behalf; I wrote back: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Aging Child [mailto:AGeneChilde@YouWho.com]
Sent: Monday, November 30, 2009 5:05 PM
To: ‘Mouse, Anon’
Subject: RE: Revelations and Transitions 

Good afternoon, Anon: 

And I’m so sorry to hear about you and your husband! I have to add this to my prayers… and I think you know also that one of those tough things for you to do – and you very well may not be ready for it yet – will be to pray for him; you’ve already got the rest of us praying for you (and with a further reason, now, too). 

But right now it may very well be a matter for you more to just continue keeping one foot in front of the other. Each step leaves a little piece of the hurt behind you, and the piece of hurt that you carry with you… also grows smaller, until it’s barely a grain of sand (a large and painful grain, sometimes, but still…)… at which point it starts becoming a pearl – by the same and likewise clichéic process that makes diamonds out of lumps of coal. 

And speaking of lumps of coal: don’t let the Christmas/holiday season bring you down this year. Yes, there’s one less gift under the tree, and one fewer stocking by the fireplace. But – third cliché in two paragraphs – we need to take to heart, and keep it there, the reason for this season. It’s not about equinox or eggnog, snowmen or cinnamon-stick; it’s all caught up in John 3:16: For God so LOVED the world… 

That is the love that is real, that sustains us, that draws us; it is the love that does not fail, always forgives, does not leave us, and waits patiently for us those many times we allow ourselves to turn aside. The best image to carry (while not forgetting His terrible death on the cross) is that of the little child on His lap, in His arms. This is us… and not just how He calls us to be, but actually where He calls us to be. 

Whitney Houston wasn’t quite right; what she sang about was only the second-greatest love of all, at very best. The greatest was – is – the love that was ultimately to die for us, and rise for us… and which we celebrate each December (and must not forget) as the love that came to us as a helpless infant, dependent Himself on the love and care of others… one day to teach us, too, of great and supreme love. 

It is at the heart of the Season, under the star, in the manger, and within our hearts. 

Regards,

Gene 

Friend Augusta responded Saturday evening to the email that catalyzed the previous posting here, and weighed in gently on the heart-churning issues that have been occupying me: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Augusta Lovelace [mailto: AgustaLovelace@CondeNast.net]
Sent: Saturday, February 14, 2009 9:02 PM
To: ‘Aging Child’
Subject: Re: Hi, Augusta!  

Hi Gene, 

I was very happy to hear that your Mother is leaving rehab within a short time. That is wonderful news. It will probably be an emotional boost for her to be with your sister and get back to a somewhat more “normal” routine. I know when my Mother had been hospitalized and then came home, her whole demeanor changed. It was as if she took a deep sigh as if to say “ah, I’m home”. It did wonders for her to be in familiar surroundings with familiar people. 

Your brother Sarge will be in my thoughts and prayers. What a difficult position to be in. I feel sorry for his wife especially speaking very little English. She is fortunate to have all of you there to help and support her. I wish more people understood and appreciated the sacrifices that our military make. 

As far as the job hunt goes, I certainly hope that you find one soon. It is a difficult time to be searching for one. As i’ve said before, finding a job is like having a job. It takes so much effort. 

Now as far as your “rekindled” friendship with Guinevere. You sound as if you are stressing out more about that, than your job hunt. You are so fortunate – finding her again was a gift! As you have said, she has been through tough times in her life and for all you know she may feel the same way you do but is taking the practical route for the time being by following her head instead of her heart. “Oh ye of little faith”. Have patience – be patient. Many life-long relationships started out as friendships. I never knew of a kind and decent man ever running a woman off. 

As far as you being conflicted with your thoughts of becoming a priest, friar, etc. that is another whole ball of wax. I think that would take some soul searching. Although I believe there are many ways you could serve your “fellow man” that would be just as effective, if not more, than becoming a priest, friar, etc. “The color of the package has no bearing on what’s inside”. If the desire is there it won’t make a difference if you are dressed in robes, a suit and tie or bermuda shorts and a tee-shirt and if the desire is there – you will find a way – and who knows, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have a partner along side of you to take the journey. I believe Guinevere came along in your life at this moment for a reason – maybe someone has a bigger plan for you. I say we all need to enjoy what is in the here and now – it will give us some wonderful memories to talk about when we’re old and dodgy. 

So now that I have forced my little “philosophical tidbits” on you, I will close for now and hope that you just enjoy the time you spend with Guinevere and let the relationship slowly evolve. Exhale! 

Talk to you soon, 

Augusta 

Guinevere and I had spoken that evening, and our short conversation lifted the great weight. Augusta‘s email supplemented the peace further; I wrote back: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Aging Child [mailto:AGeneChilde@YouWho.com]
Sent: Sunday, February 15, 2009 12:42 PM
To: ‘Augusta‘
Subject: RE: Hi, Augusta!  

Good afternoon, Augusta: 

And thank you for your kind words and support for the many things pulling hard at my heart and attention lately! 

Yes, Mother‘s certainly been itching for as much of a return to normal as possible – and the possibilities themselves, speaking of which, keep looking better. Her spirit is very upbeat; she has darned few “down” days, and has buoyed us nicely, as we can clearly see we’ve been doing for her. The change of scenery to something even more homelike than the already-homelikeness of her rehab facility… will bolster and encourage her (and us!) even further. 

My brother: Sarge was in greater danger in 1991 when he was over in that neighborhood (mostly Kuwait and Saudi Arabia) during Desert Storm. It was tougher on us then, since it was much harder for him to get word out to us (and harder yet for us to get a note to him). Now he has occasional access to email (long lines, but this is still so much better than before), and reassurances can flow much more easily… both ways, too. 

With a sudden, dizzying flurry of interviews, plus some upcoming shorter-term assignments already committed to, things are looking better for me jobwise – at the very least, several good possibilities are much more closer in reach. And every interview, even at very worst, is still real-world practice for the next, giving me opportunities to further refine how I present myself and sell my strengths to those companies that definitely need them. 

And re Guinevere… well, I was writing after a troubled night of lost sleep, and a heavy, unshakeable dread that my opening up to her that evening might have cast a doubtful light on my motivations for appreciating and valuing our friendship. (I hadn’t meant to unload on you… so thank your for those “little philosophical tidbits“!) More than once in my life I’ve put my foot (or heart) in my mouth at a particularly vulnerable moment, and suddenly found myself, head still spinning, standing in the ruins, alone. 

So the heavy depression – despair, almost – surrounded and enwrapped me so much of the day, and this is the shape I was in when I wrote. But that evening, while I was visiting with my mother, Guinevere called (I am so glad for cellphones lately), and we chatted just a couple minutes. She talked with my mother a little – they’d charmed each other gently and sweetly at Guinevere’s visit up her last Sunday – and remarked in amazement at how more clearly my mother was speaking even than just last week; she was really touched. 

That simple, two-minute call lifted my spirits tremendously, simply through its very mundane nature (other than my mother’s particularly delightful share of it, of course), and that it was a not-in-so-many-words reassurance that all was/is well. 

Sometimes it’s the little things. 

I’ve felt greatly relieved, and so much better and at peace, since then. Inside, I’m also very carefully and delicately seeing what ways I can very gently detach some of my more vulnerable feelings, ones that can stand in the way of simply enjoying the relationship as it is, absent and ignoring the attraction. Small steps, little things… and hands folded. 

Thanks again, Ada, and have a great remainder of the weekend, and upcoming week! 

Gene 

To my astonishment, gadfly “Eric“ had for some unfathomable reason actually read the posting; he’s as kindly, loving, empathetic, and sympathetic as always; I’m doing him the kindness of not including the Who-Is and email address my blogserver provided on him: 

It’s entirely coincidental – really – that I post here on Valentine’s Day a pair of emails dealing with a deep struggle of my heart, one that’s had me terribly engaged and distracted, battling even tears and genuine, hard depression. 

The intimate, one-on-one love between man and woman is a beautiful treasure that comes too rarely into one’s hands and life, and seemingly too easily dribbles out before we can clutch it to the heart and appreciate it for all its worth. I’ve been there, I’ve done that… and gave up on it with true regret over five years ago. (Meaning, of course, that I’ve stopped dating and am celibate, not that this is anyone’s business but my own.) 

Something also of great value, even more underrated and overly ignored, is simple friendship, especially of the deep, buddy-sort: a freeness to speak honestly, with little or no sugar-coating; a non- self-consciousness over dorky laughter, even the occasional accidental release of inner digestive gases; mentally, emotionally, and even physically leaning on each other as may be needed or just happen to happen; and just simply finding good, relaxed (yet rewarding) company in the other. 

It can be real eggshell-walking when this kind of special, too-rare friendship spans the gender-divide. Yet the comfort to the heart can also be especially deep.

Online-friend Augusta emailed me yesterday; I haven’t been in touch with her, and she wanted to catch up: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Augusta Lovelace [mailto: AgustaLovelace@CondeNast.net]
Sent: Friday, February 13, 2009 7:33 PM
To: ‘Aging Child’
Subject: Hi A. Gene

Hi Gene, 

How are you?  How is your mother.   

We are all fine now but everyone has been battling the stomach virus or flu-like symptoms that have been going around.  Hopefully at this point, everyone seems to be feeling all right.   For awhile there I was starting to feel like Florence Nightingale.  I was glad to see everyone finally feeling better.  No sooner did everyone get over their illnesses and my sister and brother came up to visit.  My brother had to come back up again to take care of some business so they came up yesterday and left today – whew!  I’m tired.  So now that it is calm and quiet I am spending a little time getting caught up on e-mails. 

Hope all is well with you and yours, 

Augusta  

In my response, I found myself unloading as well about this very personal issue, which I’ve thus far kept nearly fully private; I bcc’d friend Spartacus because he’d e-peeked in on me a few days ago, concerned about my near-silence of late, and he deserved to know the latest: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Aging Child [mailto:AGeneChilde@YouWho.com]
Sent: Saturday, February 14, 2009 10:36 AM
To: ‘Augusta‘
Bcc: “Spark” le Klaus [mailto:SpartaCuss@Yabbadoo.com]
Subject: RE: Hi, Augusta!  

Good morning, Augusta: 

All’s well, overall. Mother may be released from rehab within another week, most likely for a time staying at my sister’s home (not as many stairs to contend with, day to day) before coming back home here. This is great news – the rehab folks let me know yesterday, and not everyone in the family even knows yet; I still need to get the news out. 

My older brother, Sarge, went off to Iraq with the Marines at the end of last month, one-year duty. His new wife speaks very little English (Korean only), and so my sister and my other brother and I take turns dropping by their home once a week to help out with errands, bills, maintenance, and so on. I do worry about Sarge; he assures us that he’s in a safe, cushy desk-job far from any of the dangerous areas, but of course we’ll keep worrying – and praying – until he’s back home again next year. 

Besides for my brother, and for my mother, I’ve been doing heavier praying for my own job-hunt, and am seeing God’s grace and compassion yielding a good several interviews lately, including one yesterday. For the last few weeks I’ve been working evenings and weekends (the shifts I’ve desired least) with a relatively easy job doing research surveys over the phone. The pay is low, but it’s still money coming in to pay for groceries and the car… although just barely, if even that. I’m grateful for it (probably not enough, I admit guiltily), and also look forward to not being as dependent on it – i.e., these interviews yielding a full-time, daytime job at a much higher wage. But nonsensibly dread almost every shift. 

Further personal stress comes from a new, very heart-warming relationship I hadn’t expected and am now inwardly finding this heart of mine in some ways seriously chewed up over. Guinevere and I had been gentle friends back in the early nineties, at a very different and extremely difficult time in our lives (and briefly a bit more than friends), before falling out of touch when I transferred out of state in 1993. I’d always worried how life had turned out for her, and with some persistence found her online in 2005 and briefly emailed with her, before losing touch again. 

Late last year we reconnected again via email, and met up again to say hi, the first we’d seen each other in nearly seventeen years. There was an immediate warmth and delight there as we sat in Pizza Hut talking; I gave her a book of hers she’d loaned me way back when (and I’d been holding to return to her someday), some music, and a magazine I’d tracked down and bought for her in Germany in 1993 and never gotten to give her (again, always hanging onto for her). 

It seems we’ve found a nice friendship – more new than renewed, I personally believe; we’re both rather different people now, though the younger two-of-us still occasionally peeps out of our eyes, I think. I’ve visited her at her home in [a large nearby city] three times now (including yesterday evening), and she was up here last Sunday for a stroll through some of the nicer parts my own town, and to meet my mother (and bumping into my younger brother). And, yes, all has been G-rated. 

The stress I mentioned, though, comes to me from finding that one wide facet of my thoughts and feelings for Guinevere are much deeper than friendship-only, even while I know there is also a genuine friendship and respect for her in my heart too. She herself, owing to a particularly rough life and ongoing challenges (unemployment, and some other issues she’s only been able to mention indirectly), is likely capable only of friendship-level feelings and responses. 

It’s not that we’re looking at a huge imbalance between us; it’s more like an extreme struggle strictly in me at times, wanting to preserve that friendship against anything that might make it more vulnerable (e.g., going deeper – or just trying to), rather than strengthen it further. My struggle is to keep a lid on these deeper and more intense feelings in me, since I deeply value Guinevere’s blunt honesty and candor, and so badly need that in a friend, and am genuinely frightened of losing her/our friendship through motivations that would be merely superficial, self-serving, and stupid. If I try to direct us into taking that path, it would put an absolute lie to all the focus and motivations I’ve permitted thus far, and – again – would cost me a relationship utterly unique in my life today, let alone for most of the past twenty years. 

I didn’t plan on this attraction, never engineered or deliberately fed it (I think)… and have not found myself so attracted, either, for nearly those same twenty years. I keep it reined in, yes, with some difficulty… but there seems little more I can do about it – certainly can’t kill it, and it’s not likely to starve or fall into a coma anytime soon. This is very far out of my recent experience, and I am very, very close to being in deeply over my head… at least in over my heart.

And the struggle has an added, heavier dimension: indulging my deeper feelings for this good, sweet, fun, and patient (and spiritual) woman is totally at odds against my prime motivator for many years now: to turn over the rest of my life to serving my faith and my Church, either as priest or professed/avowed religious (i.e., monk/friar). That’s the selfish-versus-selfless struggle: be a little something for many people, versus just try instead (with a lousy track record, and rusty skills at best) to be something for one person… and with no guarantee at all, and the frightful risk of ruining something new, treasured, and unexpected. 

The only resolution, of course, for all of this, is for me to keep that deeper interest banked, and simply enjoy her company when we’re together. (And my heart wrings its metaphorical hands over how long before the next time I see her.) There’s nothing wrong in valuing a friendship, nor even in there being much deeper feelings and desires for this person, so long as they don’t control, don’t overburden, don’t distract, don’t detour me – nor us. 

There’s the crux of it for me. I’ve lost hours of sleep over these feelings on more than one night (including last night), and at times find myself deeply depressed and helplessly/hopelessly vulnerable. Much of this I must keep to myself (Guinevere and I did discuss a bit last night, and last Sunday), since I know it would put an unfair burden on her, and on our friendship… given especially that her level at comfort – and her understandable concern over how much even of my friendship-feelings may derive from simple loneliness, and a desire to seize hold again of something from my/our younger days (not true, by the way) – is much more fixed and content at the friendship-side of it all than my innermost heart is. And, in cold, hard, fact, this friendship is new, and so still has much of that just-hatched, new-colt fragility throughout. 

The inner stress and struggle have sapped me a good deal, and lately have been affecting my other outer expressions of inner self, such as my writing (both blog and novel), and my focus on my future: mapping out classes to take once the income is coming back in, detaching myself further from this world; also even on some stuff around the home (painting, winter garden-maintenance, etc.). 

Even gathering info on your ancestor’s German stamps has been almost impossible to put some needful focus on, so I can get them identified and back to you for his album. I do apologize for that (they’re still here on my desk; I will get on them as soon as I can give them the attention due)… and for how needlessly long this email’s gotten, too. 

So let me close for now by asking that you keep my mother and brother in your prayers, and me – and Guinevere, too. We each need it, and all. 

Always,

Gene 

And to a gentle followup question from Spartacus, I answered at even greater length: 

—–Original Message—–
From: Aging Child [mailto: AGeneChilde@YouWho.com]
Sent: Saturday, February 14, 2009 2:34 PM
To: “Spark” le Klaus [mailto:SpartaCuss@Yabbadoo.com]
Subject: RE: Girl, and Buoy  

This wrenching struggle I’ve kept almost entirely to myself (since it’s strictly confined to my own heart and will), sharing just a Readers’-Digest version with my mother – who was warmly charmed by Guinevere, and vice-versa, this past Sunday – and sharing also just some of the more difficult parts with Miss Guinne herself. 

This extreme sensitivity’s had me nearly at tears, now and then, these past several weeks… including while visiting with my mother this morning, and skimming off some of the choppy froth of these tossing waves to share with her.

She’d asked how yesterday evening had been (I’d brought “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” along to Guinevere’s for us to watch and munch popcorn over – and though I’d left at close to midnight, we – I – had as always stayed completely G-rated). And Mother even asked “Did you break up?” I forced a chuckle and told her there’s no dating to break up from, and that I’d probably be back down there (or Guinevere up here) again next weekend. (Maybe; last night Guinevere also said that next weekend’s “up in the air”. Far from comforting… but I’m not about to push.) 

Just because she’s recovering from a debilitating series of strokes doesn’t mean my mother’s blind. She saw how a couple times my lips pressed shut tight and I looked away as my eyes began to fill a little, and heard my voice needfully pause and catch itself. She sent me home right before lunch, and told me, “No more tears.” I hugged her there in her wheelchair, and kissed her fluffy hair. 

Spartacus, the tears and depression aren’t over anything Guinevere’s said or done. She’s been warm, welcoming, and friendly; honest and utterly BS-free where only sincerely open friends can be; she has a big sweet heart that will inevitably have her smooching the nearest fuzzy four-legged critter, whether her own or one passing by on the sidewalk, or even peering out a neighbor’s window. 

The ache feeding the tears (kept at bay, although that’s just barely upstream from here) is from the seemingly irresolvable three-way, entirely-inner struggle between a) cherishing this friendship I seriously need, plus holding fast to an unshakable commitment of my heart to take care of this unexpected gem of a rare kind of friendship and not wreck it; b) a staggeringly powerful yearning to cast down my inner walls and let myself simply fall in love with her… but quite obviously this would require the same of her (and she’s had too many emotional roughing-ups since childhood; and has in not-so-many-words gently explained that she’s in no emotional shape for anything of a beyond-friendship nature) – this yearning really wants to pilot me to where she and I would be/become everything to the other; and c) an unwavering (well, okay… near-unwavering) commitment of soul and spirit to continue detaching myself from the world – and relationships – and take on the tonsure or white collar, thus giving my heart and life away to all, not to merely one. 

“b” and “c” are of course absolutely mutually exclusive, and even “a” and “b” not at all necessarily hand-in-hand allies, since “a” requires a strong degree of selflessness, and “b” by its nature is a kind of selfish thing. Only “a” and “c” can work together with certainty, and these mark and define the path my intellect and soul want me to keep to. 

Brother; I’m so incredibly over my head and out of experience in this stuff! Azey (2003) never had firm hold of my heart, so we just fizzled out, though she was there when I needed help through my grief over my father; the girlfriend before her (oddly also a Guinne – well, Gwen – and same city, too, 1999) never got off the ground; before her, Lannie just outside the Poconos (1996) lived too impossibly far away, and also never had my heart; and before that, Pauli – Portia‘s mom – did indeed have all my heart at the end (1992), but it was too, too late… and that one will never stop hurting. And it was then – 1992-3 – that today’s Guinevere first passed through my life (including, admittedly some brief intimacy) when I was hurting badly enough to rationalize a little selfish reaching-out. I had no heart left to give her then, nor did I receive hers. 

Now this same heart of mine is almost throwing itself against the bars of my chest to get out to her, even though there’s no clear, discernable perch inside Guinevere for it to land on. Said heart responds poorly to reason, chafes at restraint. 

Again, this struggle is entirely internal – I’m not fighting her for her own heart, nor even (I sincerely hope) trying to make a case for the dating/love scenario. In fact I really have told her, when outlining (considerately keeping the toughest details to myself) to her a bit of what’s going on inside here, that I don’t want my being open/candid about this to be a thing of even the least pressure on her, that I’m only showing her what’s inside so she can know a bit more about me as I am today. 

One of the keep-me-awake-in-the-night thoughts/fears is that, deep inside herself, Guinevere may never get past a hunch (incorrect… but how do I prove it?) that the foundation of what I feel for her now – friend and crush (a feeling I guardedly admitted to) – is founded on a passing-though-needed friendship that back then had a patina of FWB I am rather ashamed to recall, other than lovely ivory skin, and a beautiful body the years since appear not to have badly marred. 

It may help me (but would it hurt the friendship?) to sit beside her and let the tears flow. I’ve cried in her presence already, although this was at emotion-saturated scenes in “Mr. Holland’s Opus” and “What Dreams May Come”. I don’t know. 

(Playing incessantly in the background – I really don’t need this! – is Robert Palmer’s 1991 cover of Marvin Gaye’s “Mercy, Mercy Me” – just the second half, where medleys into “I Want You (to Want Me)”.) 

Thanks, anyway, for the thoughts and wishes. I have to work on this myself, and thus deeply appreciate (and can definitely use) the bolstering. 

Gene

Update, 5:36 PM: I dashed over to Mother’s rehab facility after posting this blog, and sat with her a while — even mentioning what I’d put up here in this posting. Just before I left again, she looked at me and said, “It’s good for life.”

Topics had changed a couple times; I didn’t know what she was referring to now. “What’s good for life?” I asked.

She answered: “Friendship.”

And I nearly started crying.

]]> http://agingchild.wordpress.com/2009/02/14/its-a-heart-ache/feed/ 1 AgingChild http://agingchild.wordpress.com/2009/01/20/absolute-awe-and-a-giddy-giggle/ http://agingchild.wordpress.com/2009/01/20/absolute-awe-and-a-giddy-giggle/#comments Wed, 21 Jan 2009 02:10:53 +0000 AgingChild http://agingchild.wordpress.com/?p=832 ]]>

I watched President Obama’s (and Vice-President Biden’s) swearing-in and inauguration today with my mother, from the dining hall of her rehabilitation-center, where her recovery from last summer’s strokes continues. I don’t know when I’ve ever before had tears in my eyes at a world-historic event — at personal-historic, sure (weddings, funerals, and so on)… but not something like this. Man! There is a heady, giddy, numbing, eye-blinking thrill and anticipation about this, a goosebumps of witness to the stupendous transition this step into a new administration and era it is. 

But I’ll leave the commentary to the professionals; it’s been all over all your media, folks, and will be for a long, long time. Let me, instead, hang onto the lighter-hearted giddiness of it all, and turn to one of these professionals. Gene Weingarten’s weekly column in the Washington (DC) Post magazine has the great header of “Below the Beltway“; this past Sunday’s commentary carried the title of “The Wrong Address: An inaugural for the speech-impaired“. Let me stick my neck out and quote it in full, adding of course © 2009 The Washington Post Company. I’d link to it here… but the Post will want you to sign up for free membership to view the content; the link above is to Weingarten’s appearance in the St. Petersburg (FL) Times instead:  

WASHINGTON — Some people were unnerved to learn that Barack Obama has chosen a 27-year-old speechwriter for his inaugural address. I’m not. Obama could have made a much worse choice. He could have chosen me. 

My fellow Americans: 

Four score and seven years ago, Wilhelm Furtwängler became conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. I realize that’s a boring fact, but I wanted to start this speech with the “four score and seven” thing, and it turns out that 1922 was a really uneventful year. Sorry. 

Some of you may be wondering why I stand here today in a floral dashiki, the traditional ceremonial garb of the tribesmen of Western Africa. Well, you can relax. I am just messing with your heads. 

A better question might be why I have just taken the oath of office with my hand not on a Bible but on what appears to be, and in fact is, a banana cream pie. 

The answer: Change. I promised it, and I am going to deliver it — change in all facets of American life, including the humorless solemnity of our governmental and financial leaders. These are the same leaders who, while wearing somber suits and grave countenances and comporting themselves with utmost dignity, have, for the past many years, held all our heads in the toilet and flushed. 

So, change is good. Besides [sticking finger in pie, tasting it], I like banana cream pie. 

Today our nation is mired in a dreadful financial crisis. What I want to tell you is that we’re in this together. I want to tell you that but cannot do so in good conscience, because, let’s face it, I’ve just landed a four-year, $400,000 job with an awesome retirement plan. Plus, I’ve got two runaway bestsellers that earn more royalties in one month than the equity in your mortgage. In short, we’re not exactly on equal footing: I’m on a putting green, and you are on a carpet of marbles, ball bearings and lard. Good luck with all that. 

Rest assured, however, that I do empathize with your plight, despite what you may have been led to believe. During the presidential election campaign, some people got the unfortunate impression that I am an icy, aloof, emotionless intellectual who has difficulty connecting with the concerns of everyday people. Nothing could be further from the truth. As Ovid observed two millennia ago, “Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim,” words that still have great meaning to those of us with proper educations. 

During a similar financial crisis in 1933, Franklin Delano Roosevelt famously told Americans that we all had nothing to fear but fear itself. These were wonderful, inspiring words that no one thought too hard about, which was a good thing, because when you get right down to it, they were idiotic. Roosevelt was addressing people facing imminent personal financial ruin, yet his consoling mantra was basically the same as Alfred E. Neuman’s: What, me worry? 

I will not condescend to you that way. Me worry, and you should, too. Mostly, we all need to worry about the insanely unreasonable hopes that you have invested in me. You seem to expect me to reinvigorate the economy; repair America’s reputation at home and abroad; institute universal health care; lower taxes; save the polar bears; heal the sick; reanimate the dead; end the madness of robo-calls; restore the taste of the American tomato; eradicate the use of hand dryers in all public washrooms; find a cosmetic solution to the tragedy of teeth that look like Fig Newtons; impose enormous fines on the owners of trembly little dogs; outlaw the wearing of Crocs; publicly denounce Ben Stein for the objectionable, talentless, desiccated old fart he is; incarcerate persons who use the world as their ashtray; and introduce a constitutional amendment prohibiting, forever, the marketing of Windows Vista to the unsuspecting. 

I cannot promise you any of that. But I can promise you this: 

[presses the pie into the face of the Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court ] 

We’re going to have us some fun.

With our embarrassment of a president finally finishing out his last day in office, let’s take a quick look at his legacy, courtesy of friend Spartacus. (And I mean “quick”, too – I have an interview with big international firm in a little over an hour, plus some part-time work this evening and much of the rest of the week. Whee!) 

PS to George: Not only yes-we-can, but yes-we-did. Ave atque vale; populi jamdudum defutus est. 

—–Original Message—–

The George W. Bush Presidential Library is now in the planning stages.
 
The Library will include:
 
The Hurricane Katrina Room, which is still under construction.

The Alberto Gonzales Room, where you won’t be able to remember anything.

The Texas Air National Guard Room, where you don’t even have to show up.

The Walter Reed Hospital Room, where they don’t let you in.

The Guantanamo Bay Room, where they don’t let you out.
 
The Weapons of Mass Destruction Room, which no one has been able to find.

The National Debt Room which is huge and has no ceiling.

The “Tax Cut” Room with entry only to the wealthy.

The “Economy Room” which is in the toilet.

The Iraq War Room. After you complete your first tour, they make you to go back for a second, third, fourth, and sometimes fifth tour.

The Dick Cheney Room, in the famous undisclosed location, complete with shotgun gallery.

The Environmental Conservation Room, still empty.

The Supreme Court Gift Shop, where you can buy an election.

The Airport Men’s Room, where you can meet some of your favorite Republican Senators.

The “Decider” Room complete with dart board, magic 8-ball, ouija board, dice, coins, and straws.

The museum will also have an electron microscope to help you locate the President’s accomplishments.