Christmas ’14, Part 1 – A Wonderful Life?

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

 

What am I thinking about? Good question, at least that’s what I tell myself. It hit me, like most revelations I encounter, at the end of a 10K run. It was a cool, crisp fall Saturday, perfect running weather and I managed the twenty-two laps around the hard gravel track with little problem. I was in the zone, fluid, smooth, constant stride propelling me forward. I wouldn’t have noticed the six guys lifting weights until I was asked the time on lap sixteen. I didn’t even miss a breath; I switched from “lap mode” to “time” with a finger push on the Ironman watch and announced, “1:22.” The laps rolled: 2:05 pace; 7:50 miles; it was a perfect run.

The entire time out there I’m singing tunes in my mind’s eye. I’m running through “Let It Be” and “Rambling Man” and “Son of a Son of a Sailor.” There’s a whole playlist in my head and I hear it and summon it on these runs. The words are etched in my mind from years of conjuring them up when I needed just “that song, just those words” to make sense of so much senselessness in my life. I sang and I told God between mind tracks I was doing well; and, I ran. I finished, shirtless and pouring sweat even with forty-five degrees, and drank water. I began to cool down and chill quite soon. Hat and sweatshirt took care of that. Then, the thought.

“A Wonderful Life.” My favorite Jimmy Stewart movie; my favorite Christmas movie, my saving hope during that first ugly holiday away. That was all before … before the filing and the decree, before the letter telling me “I’ve met someone,” before the college graduation, the wedding, the proms, cross-country races, law school, graduation, and finally before the remarriage. “A Wonderful Life.” I mattered to her and our two boys. I mattered to family and friends. This was a short chapter in my life’s book, I told myself. And, I had hope. No matter what would happen out there, eventually it would all work out.

The run ended, the cool down lap walked, and the thoughts began. Everyone was better off since my fall. A wonderful life my ass! She was remarried, happy and in love. The boys – those two amazing lives I held seconds after entry into the world, these two breathing, flesh and blood creations who I whispered “Forever Young” to over nine years apart as they let out their first exhales – they had done remarkably without me. The older, he graduated with honors from a prestigious liberal arts college. He’d gone to law school, married his college sweetheart; there’s been law review, awards at graduation, a clerkship. The younger had become an athlete – triathlons, teaching swimming, considering Navy Seals after high school. His girlfriend was gorgeous, blonde, blue-eyed athletic. He spent his senior high school year already in college. I had left a slightly pudgy, round-faced little eleven year-old. He had grown in my absence into a man.

The new husband, the new me, he’d taken my place with “the guys,” our collection of husbands from the small band of couples who socialized. “He’s not as funny as you,” one of my buddies who dared stay in touch told me. Still, he was me – or playing me, living in “my” house, using “my” Viking gas grill, sleeping in “my” room with “my” wife … except it wasn’t … mine … anymore. None of it: the house, the beautiful – though complex – soulmate, the sons, the social club. It was all gone and it was as if it never was mine. Everything, everyone had moved past me and I had faded; not slowly over time, no, I had been wiped clear of all their lives in rapid succession. The image overwhelmed my brain. Every breath, every thought as I stood there alone on the track with the last droplets of run sweat fading on my skin, “They are all better off.”

I showered and tried to drown out the words with music. I settled on the Beatles and began to lose myself in tune after tune until “Let it Be” began. I froze. The words from Sir Paul metastasized in my cortex. “Let it be … there will be an answer … let it be … whisper words of wisdom …” Where was my Mother Mary? Where were my words of wisdom? Everything I loved, everything I had ever truly wanted, ever truly valued, was gone. And there was no regret, no comparable loss from those out there. I thought maybe that’s better, maybe that’s good, they are whole, healthy, living. In the back of my mind I heard the whispers, “You’re fooling yourself. Too easy. You never mattered, you weren’t even needed …”

            “It’s a Wonderful Life.” George Bailey delayed everything he dreamt of, everything he wanted, to stay in tiny Bedford Falls. Then the bank examiner, and forgetful Uncle Billy, and criminal charges facing him. George is on the bridge. All is lost. Even God, the Being he prayed to and said “I’m not a real spiritual man, but show me the way …” had – it seemed – abandoned him. He looked at the water below, life insurance contract in hand, and knew he was worth more dead than alive.

            I choke up every time I see Jimmy Stewart on that bridge. I choke up because I know what’s coming. Clarence, George Bailey’s guardian angel appears, and soon it all becomes clear that George’s life mattered. He meant something to more people than he ever knew. I choke up because I know – at least in Hollywood – dramatic arcs come to conclusions and there are restorations, reconciliations, happy endings. Not this day, not the way I feel. There aren’t any happy endings …

            Happy. That’s a word we throw around so nonchalantly. “I want to be happy.” What does that mean? I think of my happiest days – the day I married her; hearing heartbeats on the ultrasounds; holding healthy baby boys. Yeah, happy days … and yet distant memories. All of it replaced; all of it set aside; all of it lost. This isn’t a movie. There’s no brother “Harry,” no “Mr. Martini” coming to my aid. And, “Mary” – she’s gone. Billy Wilder, you bastard! You made me believe I matter …

            “Unto us a Son is given;

            And the government will be upon His shoulder.

            And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace …”

            It’s the next morning, still dark, and I’ve had a lousy night. It’s Advent, expectation and preparation – “God with us.” I went to sleep trying to pray, trying to be hopeful, trying to …

            And the verse from Isaiah is there before me. There is clarity in those words; they make sense. And, the voice quiets. You know, it was a good life … it still is a good life. There are expectations for the future, a good future. And I realize. I was wrong. My watch alarm goes off – chimes – and I never have it on chimes. I think of the movie and little “ZuZu” telling her father, “teacher says every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.” She might just be right.

 

Easter 2011

It is a week before Easter and I’ve been reflecting on what that really means. In my “other” life I never gave Easter much thought. I accepted on faith it was “the day”, but really it was more a chance to go to church as a family, make disapproving glances at the “twice a year” churchgoers, and have a nice meal. When the boys were small we’d hide eggs and put Easter baskets together. Family and friends would come over and we’d eat, we’d drink and we’d say a rote blessing thanking God for our “good” life.



In 2009, I spent my first Easter away from my family. I was struggling, just weeks removed from my sentencing, and I heard the judge’s pronouncement ringing in my head. I wondered if God had pulled a fast one on me when He convinced me not to take the “easy way out”.


What kept me going was a belief that I’d be the recipient of an Easter miracle. About two weeks before Easter, a friend came to the jail for a visit. He and his wife were part of our “circle of couples”, those three or four families that seemed to do everything together. I confided in my friend that I believed an Easter miracle was coming. “She’ll come see me. She’ll tell me she loves me and appreciates me signing everything over. She’ll tell me our marriage will endure this.” My friend looked at me and just smiled.


The Friday before Easter, I received a letter from her. It was not what I expected. “You told [insert name here] you expected an Easter miracle. You’re a f---ing idiot! I’ll never come see you. Why would I be interested in you? You have nothing; your credit is ruined; you owe millions; you’re a convicted felon. You’re not much of a catch”. And those were the nice parts of the letter!


“The tomb is empty.”


I remember spending the reminder of the weekend and the next week in a fog. Each night as I lay down, her words scrolled through my head. “Happy Easter”, I thought. God so loved me that He allowed me to be utterly destroyed. And, to make matters worse, He waited until after I promised to see it through before He really put the screws to me. Resurrection was just a word.


Everyone pretty much knows the rest of the story: An angel appeared and convinced me I was needed. My wife realized I was a good man and organized our friends to help me. I was leading a wonderful life. Wait a minute, that’s not what happened to me. That’s Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed in “It’s A Wonderful Life”.


No, my “Easter miracle” went from her “love” letter to having my motion to reconsider my sentence being denied. The Judge “misplaced” my paperwork for seven weeks leading me to foolishly conclude he was seriously considering my request. Instead, he lazily scribbled one sentence to my original sentencing order. Within two days of getting that “good news”, my wife, my soulmate, the love of my life, served divorce papers on me that reserved her right to later ask for alimony and child support (I guess she wanted to cover all the bases. When you get everything without asking you might as well ask for more). In one of my few displays of humor at the time, I told a friend at least she didn’t ask for organ donations or blood (as Bob Dylan said “I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul”).


Yeah, Easter 2009 was, in my humble opinion, a crock. And, things continued on their downward spiral. I was transferred to DOC Receiving and learned my marriage of twenty-eight years was legally dissolved on the twenty-ninth anniversary of our first date. Of the few friends I had left, a couple of them dropped off the map. I apparently couldn’t be as much fun behind bars as I was when I was the life of the party on the outside. And, I would learn later, my newly declared ex-wife was so traumatized by the divorce and being a single parent that she was involved with a married Canadian before the divorce was even final. Yes, 2009 sucked.


“He liveth.”


I found myself re-assigned to Lunenburg and in early 2010 I began working as an academic aide. I’d also been writing the entire time since my arrest and felt a strange pull to teach a creative writing workshop. A teacher at the school shared my vision and we began teaching creative writing. I was in the classroom, she oversaw editing pieces. By Easter 2010 I had a crazy idea to start this blog.


Truth be told, 2010 was another lousy year: more heartache and pain from the divorce; no contact with my sons; a few more of my dwindling number of friends abandoning me. But, I held on. I remained for the most part, hopeful. I knew things couldn’t – theoretically – get any worse. And, people I came in contact with were actually thankful for my efforts.


I started 2011 convinced miracles were coming. Just like ’09, I was kicked in the teeth. All those feeling of utter despair and hopelessness came charging back to me just as they hit me at Easter 2009: my ex, my sons, my life, all gone never to come back. I was being drowned in a tidal wave of disappointment, abandonment and rejection. One thing, however, was different. This time I knew I wasn’t alone.


I thought about something Paul wrote in his second letter to the Corinthians. He said “we do not lose heart”. In Modern English it goes like this:


“So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without His unfolding grace.”


I thought about the Easter story. Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem as a hero, the Messiah come to save Israel. Within five days He was betrayed, abandoned and given over to the authorities. He was beaten mercilessly and publicly executed. His followers scattered fearful that they would know the same fate, ashamed that they sold him out.


There on the cross Jesus was executed with two criminals. Then one said to him “you don’t deserve this. I do. Remember me.” Jesus did.


Easter is about miracles. It may not be the miracle of brining my ex-wife and sons back to me; it may not get me released early; but I’m like the criminal on the cross. I made a mess of things but God still loved me enough to remember me and give me a new life.


Knowing that, I won’t ever give up hope. I won’t ever lose heart. Happy Easter!

Christmas in Prison

I’ve been thinking a great deal about Christmas. John Prine, a truly gifted songwriter and storyteller, has a deeply moving song called “Christmas in Prison”. It never meant a great deal to me until I actually found myself behind the fence.



For so many in here, Christmas is the saddest of all days, a painful reminder of what has been lost. 2008, I suffered terribly as I spent Christmas alone at the Henrico jail. The meal was terrible; I was depressed, disoriented, and feeling without hope. It was the worst Christmas I ever experienced and I found it hard to believe that there were any “tidings of great joy” in store for me.


Perspectives have a way of changing. Last Christmas wasn’t quite as bad. A minister friend sent me a fold out nativity scene. I unfolded it and displayed it through the holiday season. Each day, I saw that cut out with the gold banner above the manger that said “for God so loved the world”. It didn’t matter to me that my wife had divorced me, that my sons had broken off communication with me, that most of my friends had abandoned me, or that I had been treated harshly by the courts. I felt a sense of hope just by looking at that small, cardboard manger.


I put my nativity scene up the other week. Since then, guys – a few dozen – have stopped and looked at it. “That’s beautiful man.” “He lives brother.” “Thanks for reminding me we gonna be alright.” I smile.


I’ve really thought a great deal about the meaning of Christmas. I used to love Christmas. I’d buy dozens of gifts for my wife and kids; I’d buy gifts for all my employees. We’d entertain, have dinners out, enjoy the season with family and friends. Every holiday season I’d watch my favorite Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”. I’d choke up and get teary-eyed, as I’d watch Jimmy Stewart contemplate taking his own life rather than face criminal prosecution and bankruptcy. The movie always had a happy ending. Jimmy Stewart’s wife, knowing the kind of man he was, rallied to support him. Friends and neighbors poured into his home and helped him. At the end, his “guardian angel” left him a simple written message: “No man is unsuccessful who has friends.”


Movies are wonderful, that movie especially. Unfortunately, movies don’t mirror life. My wife certainly didn’t play Donna Reed (of course, she’d tell you I’m no Jimmy Stewart). The number of my friends who stood by me dwindled from my arrest to my conviction. Today, even some of those few stalwart friends from early in my incarceration have also fallen away. Unlike Mr. Stewart’s guardian angel, mine left me a message that said “suck rocks loser!”


Still, I’m looking forward to Christmas this year because I’ve had an epiphany. That may not be the correct word. I didn’t suddenly discover some exciting truth. Rather, for the past few weeks I’ve come to a few profound (in my mind anyway) conclusions.


The first thing I realized is that sometimes we get so hung up and worried about what’s going on that we forget the good circumstances right before us. I read an interesting piece the other day that used the story of Moses being told by God to return to Egypt and lead His people to the promise land, initially reacted with fear and trepidation.


“Look at what is in your hand.” God told Moses and at that his shepherd’s staff turned into a snake. The point was we fear moving forward, doing what is right (notice I didn’t say doing what we want or what’s expedient) because of our worry and fear of the future and our regret about the past. Yet God tells us “Trust me. You have everything you need to get through today.” And don’t forget Moses had fled Egypt years earlier after killing a man.


It is difficult to let go of regret over past failures, past hurts, and heartbreak. But, each day I now remind myself no matter how bad things seem, I’m not alone. I’ve figured out, by fits and tears and so much heartache, I have a purpose in being here. No matter what happened “BA” (before arrest); no matter the pain over the divorce and my sons, and my continuing court struggle, I know what is in my hand.


The second thing I’ve learned these past few months is “shalom”, peace. The whole world seems to be going crazy with war, rumors of war, economic upheaval, turmoil in the lives of individuals, and communities and nations. Somehow, I meditate each morning and sleep soundly each night.


Guys ask me almost daily how I can seem so content, so easy going and relaxed in this environment. “Man, you’ve lost more than any guy I ever met yet you’re always smiling.” There’s a wonderful story about the Apostle Peter, on the verge of being executed, he was in a prison cell fast asleep. “An angel of the Lord” sent to break him out had to first wake him.


I’ve found a sense of inner peace amidst the storms and chaos of my incarceration and divorce. It’s bizarre really, but like Lt. Dan confronting God during the hurricane scene in “Forrest Gump”, I had my argument with God. I told him exactly how I felt about all the crap and obstacles I’d faced growing up, all the desires I had to be loved that were ignored, all my dreams I had put aside for others (I’ve written a short story about a guy having this argument with God though I’m not quite ready to share it with my “editors”) and at the end of all the yelling, all the “why did this have to happen”, I experienced a sense of peace I had never known.


Things might not be as I want, but I have faith, in the end, all will turn out right.


And finally, I realized Christmas really is “for God so loved” us. I always equated God as a super-Santa: “He knows when you’re sleeping; He knows when you’re awake . . . so be good for goodness sake.” I heard a young minister recently say “we think God thinks about us the way we think about us.” In other words, when we’re having a good day, God’s happy with us. And when we lie, steal, decide to end our marriage, He’s upset with us. I realized nothing was further from the truth. God loves us, period, no matter what.


More than that, I now understand that on my worst days, when I stole and then came home and lay beside my sleeping wife in tears knowing my entire life was falling apart, at that precise moment God had compassion for me. He loved me, He loves me, unconditionally.


That realization has allowed me to look at the men in here, and folks outside, in an entirely new way. God doesn’t prioritize sins. He doesn’t say “stealing is level 15, murder level 55”, and anger at our spouse, “level 3”. We all sin, we all screw up, we all hurt each other and ourselves. Even Mother Teresa admitted in an interview “I’m far from perfect”.


Yet, God loves us. He loves us no matter what. I think that is what Christmas is really all about. From the beginning of our existence here on this orb we’ve been screwing up. And for years, our Creator watched it all and got upset because His children were wayward. Then He did something inconceivable, and illogical, and irrational. He loved us, in spite of ourselves, He just loved us.


My favorite Bible story is the parable of the prodigal son. There’s one particular verse that stands out. The son has lost everything. His life is over. He decides to return home and beg for forgiveness. “And while he was still a long way away the father saw him and ran to him and kissed him.” The father didn’t need an apology. He didn’t need to pile on and refuse to forgive his son. He just kissed him and loved him.


That story sees me through every day. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done, God still loves me. He loves all of us. There is always hope, always tomorrow. Christmas really is an amazing day, even in prison.