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!

A Corinthian House

Who would have guessed that my depressing week would continue thanks to a TV show which, in turn, would cause me to admit some very painful truths to myself.


As I’ve written before, I really enjoy the TV drama “House”. I think I like the show because I relate to his character so easily. He is, next to me, the most arrogant, sarcastic, condescending person I’ve seen.


For the past few weeks I’ve felt my hope toss and turn much like a small sailboat at mooring being battered by a hurricane. In short, I have felt like an emotional basket case. Monday evening “House” came on. The scene was set with House sitting on a bench outside a school principal’s office with a preteen boy and girl. As with every episode, House had done something ethically suspect. But, this episode had the undercurrent of a breakup with Cuddy, his beautiful, intelligent girlfriend. The preteen girl kept asking him “why is she mad at you?”


Flashback and we see House being House. He is acting self-centered, ignoring Cuddy, doing what he wants. A worn out Cuddy finally says “I know you love me. But, you don’t care about me. If you did you wouldn’t treat me the way you do.”


“If you cared about me.” Those words bounced around in my brain for a few days. Those were words I heard and read from someone more dear to me than life itself, someone more beautiful, intelligent and patient than I could describe.


The next day, I received a pastor’s Valentine’s Day sermon built around Paul’s first letter to the Church of Corinth. The thirteenth chapter of that letter is recognized by almost everyone who has been to a church wedding. “Love is patient,” Paul says. He says a whole lot in a few simple lines. The more I read the sermon, the more I read Paul’s words, the more I understood what Cuddy meant.


I finally realized what Paul was telling the folks in Corinth was “You’ve got to let go of your old, narcissistic life.” I realized I used to think of his words as the “Eros” kind of love. “You know ‘love is how you make me feel.” As I read and reread his words, I realized for far too long in my marriage I had been a lousy husband, a lousy father. I realized far too many times I had been envious, arrogant and rude. I had insisted on having my way. That may pass for an Ok husband today, but it doesn’t make me a loving one according to Paul.


Love is not resentful. I realized when Jesus said love our enemies he wasn’t just talking about some far off power, he meant the people who wronged us. That includes the people we live with. Carrying baggage is wrong. Until we can forgive, we are the ones who suffer the wound.


That was Paul’s list of what love isn’t. Then he told us what love is. Simply put, real love is tough. It is patient. It never gives up and never walks out. It is kind; it rejoices in truth. It will bear all things, it looks for the best, believing and willing to hang in there – enduring all things.


That is tough, real tough. And, I knew in my heart I hardly lived up to any of that. I hated to admit it, but I was lousy at real love.


So back to House. He goes through a series of absolutely absurd acts to do something to prove to Cuddy he really does care. “I need her in my life more than she needs me.” I thought about that single line for hours. It was a line House uttered at his most vulnerable, his most honest.


There were few times I lived up to truly loving my wife and kids. That became painfully obvious as I recounted to myself the lies I told to cover my stealing. Then, I remembered that at least one time, when everything mattered, when my life hung in the balance, I did the right thing, the loving thing. Funny as it may sound, it wasn’t a tough decision.


House went and apologized to Cuddy. He admitted his shortcomings. He then told her “I understand you need time. That’s ok” Cuddy then invited him over. Relationship restored another happy ending. It was an amazing episode. Unfortunately, that’s not life, at least not my life.


The thing I realized about love, the love Paul was talking about, is sometimes you’ve got to let go. Sometimes, no matter how much it hurts, you have to say “Ok, I can’t beg, plead, cajole or persuade. I love you and that’s why your decision is alright with me.”


By the time I hit the end of the week, I felt better. Not great, but I knew in my heart I really did in fact love those three and I was Ok if they were safe, secure and happy even if it was without me.


I pulled out Big S’s modern language Bible and read Paul’s words again:


Love never gives up
Love cares more for others than for self
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first;”
It doesn’t fly off the handle
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others
Doesn’t revel when others grovel
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth.
Love puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back
But keeps going to the end.
Love never dies.


I realized as I thought about House and Cuddy, about my life, that Paul was on to perhaps the most important single lesson I’d struggled with since my arrest. Love, I figured out, isn’t about how others make you feel. It’s about how you make others feel. It’s about being willing to give everything up for another and never giving up hope.


Those folks in Corinth were fortunate. They got the message a lot sooner than I did.