Two Paths

I can still remember my first day of high school at Woodstock Academy in Woodstock, CT. I remember getting very little sleep the night before. I remember have a nosebleed when I woke up. I remember sitting in Dr. Smith's senior English class for a full 15 minuets before having the stones to stand up and walk out!

I also remember my actual freshman year English teacher, Mr. Bob Kirk. I remember how he announced that instead of following the usual curriculum for 9th grade English, grammar, we would be studying American Lit. I remember how on the first day of class he broke down in tears as he told us a story about a "first day" that he had, namely his first day as a soldier in Vietnam. That story is still so vivid in my mind some 15 years later...

Something else I remember about Mr. Kirk is that he was the one who introduced me to Robert Frost. Frost is probably best remembered for his poem "The Road Not Taken," first published in 1916. The text follows:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I don't know why, but every time I think of this poem now, I'm reminded of the two paths that another work of literature speaks on, namely, the Gospel of Matthew. Recording the words of Jesus, Matthew writes that there are two paths, one narrow that leads to salvation, and the other broad, leading to destruction.

So few, happening upon the narrow road choose to follow it. In the words of Robert Frost, I-I took the one less traveled by, and that has indeed made all the difference!

She wanted me

To know my oldest daughter is to look back into my own past. We are so much alike, sometimes I wonder if all that separates us is an y chromosome and 26 years.

Also, because we are so much alike, we tend to clash at times. We went through a phase not long ago where I would come home and rather then meeting me at the door, she would cry and tell me to go back to work! It bothered me for a few weeks, but then I remembered that I can be the same way. Allie simply does not like her routine interrupted. Needless to say, however, she is a mommy's girl.

The fact that I always wanted to be a Dad for as long as I can remember, and the fact that she is our first born makes that tough at times. I want so badly to be her big, strong hero. I have that relationship with her little sister, and though its not the same with my son, he and I will have tons of fun together. I live for the moments when Allie lets me into her circle...

My family has been struggling with illness. Just two nights ago Allie was complaining of an ear ache. We took care of it as best we could that night and put her to bed. Around 2 AM came a cry from Allie's bedroom, and much to my surprise she didn't cry for her mother, but for me.
One of the sweetest words for me to hear is Daddy. Of course I rushed to her aide, and for the next ten minuets was allowed into that circle. In that short expanse of time, all the frustration and work that is sometimes our relationship became null and void, because I was her hero, her protector, her comforter, her Daddy...

The Gift

I have been truly blessed by God. For some reason, God has given me a large capacity to care about others, some of whom I barely know. Perhaps its the Spiritual Gift of Mercy. I don't really know.

I think one of the hardest things to do is to watch people that you care about make bad choices and not be able to stop them. Perhaps allowing them to fail is what I mean.

I think of the students that I've had in the past. Mostly girls who've gotten into trouble with boys. For example, I had one student who jumped from one bad relationship directly into another, and then, despite how much I loved her and wanted the best for her, she got pregnant.

I had another student get expelled for drugs, and he was a good kid, just made poor choices. Ironically the same officer had arrested this student's father mere days before placing him in cuffs.

A girl I worked with years ago just couldn't stay away from this one guy who was bad news. She ended up as a dropout, drugged out kid who had so much potential. Last I heard she had yet to build on that potential...

Its not to say that God doesn't take our worst and make things better. Thank God He is constantly making lemonade from my lemons. But its still so hard. I think one of the reasons that he allows me to feel this way about people is so I can have just a glimpse of what it must be like for Him.

Time and again I've broken God's heart. He love me infinitely more then I will ever love anyone, my children included. Yet He stands by and lets me fall on my face, only to pick me up, dust me off, remind me of his love and sends me on my way. And then, like clockwork, I return to my sin.

Sin is our taskmaster. Its ridiculous really. We've been made free and yet we return daily to our burden and willingly subject ourselves to the pains of sin. I can't imagine the plight of slaves in the American south, how happy they must have been when the War granted them their freedom. How foolish it must have been for those who had grown so psycologically attached to their slavery that they returned to it despite their freedom.

God is so gracious. I pray that he continues to be so with me. I also pray that as he pours this love for others into me that I am able to stand it when they slowly kill themselves through bad choice after bad choice.

On second thought, maybe this gift of love is really a curse in disguise. I am faced with the fact that I will die a thousand-thousand tiny deaths in my lifetime due to the paths others will choose to take. God help me to bare it! Help me to help them, and to be more like you, loving, patient and gracious with them as you are with me. I'm sorry for the hurt I've caused your heart. Please forgive me. I love you.

Amen.

My Favoirte Word

I love words. They are so versatile. Whether its describing a baseball game, telling a story, being sarcastic, I love words.

My favorite word, however, is "daddy." Since the first time my oldest child used it directed at me I fell in love with that word.

When I think of what that word means for my children, I'm both humbled and excited. I'm humbled because of the depth of my responsibility. I need to provide from my children. I need to spend adequate time with them. I need to love them. I need to shape who they will be in the future. I need to discipline them. The list goes on and on, and can be overwhelming.

But I'm excited too. I'm the first man my daughters will fall in love with. I'm also the person who will be my son's first friend. I'm the person who gets hugs at the door when I come home and kisses when I leave. I'm the person who wrestles and tickles and cuddles and plays.

I also think of the word "daddy" in terms of our relationship with the Heavenly Father. In the book of Romans, Paul says that God is really our "daddy." While He is the creator of the universe, and an awsome, powerful God, He's still our Daddy. We have the ability to have an intimate relationship with Him. And he provides for us, spends time with us, loves us, shapes us, disciplines us, cuddles us, and nurtures us.

I for one am glad that I was given the chance to be a daddy, but even more than that, am greatful that the relationship that I have with the Lord is summed up by my favorite word...daddy.

Victim...Perhaps

Victim. It’s such a harsh word…victim.

What’s harsher than the word victim is actually being one.

When I was 9, I was a victim. For 6 long months I was abused.

You know, it’s amazing how much a person is shaped by what happens to them, especially when they are young. The experience of being molested is still fresh in my mind, though over the last 20 years or so I’ve grown numb to the pain. And yet strangely, I wouldn’t go back in time and change what happened.

That may sound VERY odd. But I think what happened to me is the chief thing that makes me so compassionate towards broken and hurting people. I’ve had the privilege to be a councilor to people with similar experiences as myself. Some of those been haven't been abused, but still have had tough lives.

I think of the girl living with the memory of her father who killed himself because he believed his daughter no longer loved him. I think of my friend in high school who was raped just before I met her. I think of the young man that I knew whose step-father had molested him. I think of the young woman who had an abortion.

I have been a part of all of these peopels lives, and though only one actually knew about by own experiece, I was able to be a part of their healing, at least for a time.

I think back to the biblical story of Joseph. He was sold into slavery by his brothers, and was eventually used to save not only his family, but the nation of Egypt. What man had meant for evil, God meant for good.

Well, while I’m no Joseph, and I won’t be used to save a nation, I know that God used this horrible experience to allow me to help others. And that is healing in its own right. Even just typing these words is therapeutic. Being a victim of abuse is not typically something that people share about themselves, especially men. It seems weak, shameful; but it just is what it is. I mean, how would you even broach that? “Hi, I’m Mark, and I was abused as a child, it’s nice to meet you.”

I don’t want pity. I don’t want to be understood. I certainly don’t want to be treated differently. Being a victim is simply part of who I am.

Victim. It’s such a harsh word…victim. Perhaps a better word is survivor. Yes, that’s what I am, a survivor, and so much more. I’m an overcomer. I have risen above my circumstances and overcome.

Grace vs. Justice

The message in church today was about the woman caught in adultery (John 8). It got me to thinking just how gracious our God is. The Law of Moses demanded the death of this woman, but Jesus did not condemn her.

Its amazing how patient our God is. He allows us chance after chance after chance to do the right thing, knowing that we will fail time and again. Yet His justice must be satisfied. The woman who had comited adultery needed to pay for her sin, yet she could never satisfy the demand over an eternity. So Jesus paid for her sin himself.

He hung on a cross, naked, beaten and deserted. Even His own Father left Him. Then, He died. In that instant her sin was truly paid for.

As was mine.

What's been bothering me.

I have been bothered lately by the changes that have taken place in my life over the last 2 years or so.

Don't get me wrong. I am a Christian, and as one, I firmly believe that the Lord leads and directs the lives of His children where he wants them to go...

So why am I bothered by where I am now. Well, its certainly not b/c of where I've landed. I have a great job, great friends and a growing sphere of influence.

Its more that I've been pining for the past lately. For the past three years of my life I have been a teacher. High School Bible. I don't miss the job, just the kids. The good ones, the bad ones, the unlovable ones. I miss the relationships that were so strong, and now are near non-existant.

Its not that I think my students have forgotten about me. If I made a difference in their lives, they will never forget about me. I can remember about every teacher I had, from Mrs. Olsen, my Kindegarden teacher, to Dr. Coley, my Master's of Education teacher. They all had an impact either positive or negative.

What I miss is being in the lives of my kids to help them go thourgh the tough times and to share in the good times. I miss being a hero, a friend, a role model.

I miss Whitney, Eddie, Mary, Jaimi, Ethan, Matt, and Dawn. I miss Joey, Brandon, Brittany, and Chealsea. What's weird is that I know they would have graduated anyway. Its not like they would have been there forever. For what its worth, I'm dreading (in a small way) my own children growing up and leaving the nest.

Maybe its needing to be needed. But then I come to my senses and realize that God has me here for a reason, and where I am is only temporary (I think.) The great apostle Paul met some people on his travels only once, and he would only write to them a handful of times. God moved him on. I'm greatful for Mrs. Tracy who used him as an example for my life. I changed schools b/c God wanted me in a different place. I'm in a different place altogether because God wants me here now.

But still...I hope that I'm not forgotten...