Wants

I’ve been thinking a great deal about all the things I wanted in life. I’m not talking about material things. I had all the stuff, all the crap we buy and accumulate to feel good, feel our life is successful and blissful.



I was a big buyer of stuff. Anything my wife and kids wanted, I got them. She’d plan a shopping day with “the girls”, I’d hand her $500 dollars. Every weekend I’d go to Walmart and come home with DVDs for my younger son. A couple of times a month I’d run by Barnes & Noble and bring home stacks of books and CDs.


Our refrigerator was packed with fresh high-priced foods. The wine rack full of expensive reds and whites.


Our home was packed full of brand name things. We were real consumers. No one lacked for anything; no one went without. There was no want. Or was there?


There was so much I wanted. I’ve come to realize, that I never got. The strange thing is the people I most wanted from never even bothered. I’m sure if they read this they’d say “why didn’t you tell us”? They don’t read the blog (my ex “it’s despicable!” my folks “why do you have to write about all this?”) and anyway, how do you explain to someone you doubt their feelings for you.


I watched an interview the other night with former President Bush discussing his newly released memoir, “Decision Points”. In it, he reprints a letter he received from his father on the eve of his inauguration as Governor of Texas. The letter (which W can’t read himself because he chokes up reciting the words) spoke of his father’s love for him. It was about the pride his father had in him.


My own father has never written me, never told me anything. He has always been remote and distant, never sharing with me any insight. The only time I ever was rewarded any emotion from him was when I screwed up.


Even now as I sit in this place he visits and complains about “the Democrats” or who’s been a pain in his ass, or his new windows. He’s never said a word to me about this situation, never asked about the hole in my soul over the loss of my wife and sons, never told me if he thought I did the right thing in confessing and giving everything away.


I’m 51 years old and I know nothing about my father. My entire life he shared his opinions, but never said a word about who he really is. In the past six months, I’ve learned more about my father and his family from his estranged sister – my aunt – than I ever knew. The facade of Protestant morality, of Christian virtue, has been lifted. As I suspected, my grandmother was vindictive and opinionated (I knew long ago she wasn’t particularly fond of my wife; she thought I could have done “better” and should have married someone who put me first). I’m OK knowing all that. At least the family isn’t pretending to be something it’s not.


All a child wants is to be loved by his mother. My wife was wonderful with our kids. I watched her nurse them, comfort them, caress them. I’m not sure they know how lucky they are having a mom so loving.


I wanted that. Instead, my mom required me to conform. Everything was about appearance. “What will people say, what will people think?”


Independence was wrong. I had to be and act the way she expected. Discipline was more important than love.


My mother to this day believes someone is “screwing her” out of something. She is overwhelmingly angry and negative. I can’t even recall all the times her insensitive remarks hurt my wife. Imagine having to explain over and over again to your spouse “that’s just mom being mom”.


She’s better about her church, her younger son (she speaks horribly about my brother then wonders how he “ended up” the way he did), the way I was treated in court (though, everyone else deserves to be locked up), her life. She thinks everyone blames her for everything and yet, every situation depends on her feelings.


My mother has never been happy, never been carefree. She is judgmental and difficult. And with the exception of my ex-wife, her attitudes, her disappointment in my life hurts me more than anything.


All I ever wanted in a soul mate was a woman to love and appreciate me. I thought I had that. Perhaps (sorry, but Freud may be right about a few things) I was so willing to do anything, undergo any disappointment, for my wife because I was so starved for affection from my mom.


All I know is, when she and I first met it was magical. But, I told her “I love you” first. I pursued her. My life, my career decisions, my impulsiveness, and my refusal to ever say “No” to her about anything, all began early on. Her family, candidly, didn’t give a shit about me or even her. Her parents were, are, self-centered narcissists. They did nothing for us as a young, married couple. Every problem our relationship suffered early on was a direct result of them. I found I married a perfectionist, a woman who couldn’t just be happy being in love with me.


It’s difficult to admit that all you want to hear is “I love you; I miss you; I need you”. My wife said over and over she didn’t need me to be happy. Ironically, that was my overwhelming obsession.


I wanted to hold hands walking on the beach. I wanted to walk in the house, be kissed and told “I love you”. I wanted to be able to put my arm around my mate while we fell asleep. I wanted a wife that wanted me emotionally and physically.


Now I sit in prison and wonder, will I ever be given a chance to get what I want?

Thou Shalt . . .

I finished running the other afternoon and headed back from the track to sit on the benches outside our building door. It was a beautiful, crisp fall afternoon. While sitting there I saw another inmate jog back to the building. He stood on our basketball court and faced east. He then began to call, in an Arabic chant, his fellow Muslims to prayer. Within a minute or so five other inmates came to the court and they began their afternoon prayers. I bowed my head and prayed as well.



That evening and the night following, USA Today ran interesting stories on our ignorance about our own faith and our views on God. The troubling story: most Christians know little about Christianity and the Bible. Atheists, Muslims, Jews and Mormons know more Christian doctrine, than Protestants or Catholics (and Catholics, you guys score the lowest).


In the other piece, people’s views of God were placed in four different categories. Most Americans view God as either “critical” (i.e. passing judgment) or “benevolent” (loving, forgiving, helping).


As I thought about the discipline I see exhibited daily by the Muslim inmates, I began to consider both stories and my own faith experience while in here.


I was a poor Christian before my arrest. I grew up in a “church family”. We went every week; my folks still do. But, we never read the Bible. Candidly, I never read the Bible until I was locked up. Then, I read it cover to cover, highlighting and underlining verses and words, memorizing lines and parables, and psalms.


My wife and I went to church each Sunday. She taught Sunday school. We were both church elders. Our kids grew up in the church. I knew doctrine, but I didn’t know what it meant to have a real relationship with God.


Then, I got arrested and my life came crashing down. My church family abandoned me. My minister refused to visit me in jail (“I don’t want to get in the middle of their marital issues”); only three members ever wrote me, and my wife ignored her vows and Jesus’ teaching on divorce and ended our marriage.


In spite of all that, slowly I began to heal, find peace and joy. I realized how wrong I had been about so many things. I read and reread Psalms, Epistles, Gospels and I learned and believed.


I’m one of those who think God is benevolent. I believe we all fall short, we all fail, we all deserve condemnation. Yet, somehow God loves us anyway. He forgives us and if we just trust Him, He’ll see us through.


Having said that, I have a sobering thought for anyone who considers themselves a good Christian: it’s a whole lot tougher than just going to church.


The key, when all is said and done, is forgiveness. That doesn’t mean saying “I forgive you, but I’ll never forget”. No, it means forgiving and forgetting.


Jesus spoke over and over about forgiveness in the Gospel of Matthews. Words like this in chapter 6: “If you forgive, your Father in heaven will also forgive you . . . If you do not forgive, your Father will not forgive you”.


Or how about chapter 18 when Peter asks if he had to forgive someone seven times. Imagine his surprise when Jesus said “you must forgive seventy times seven” then makes the point with the parable about the unforgiving servant.


I still sit there stunned and in awe each time I read those passages. I realized I had no justifiable reason to be angry at anyone. I had made a mess out of my life. I hurt terribly the woman I loved and my two sons. Yet, I know I’ve been forgiven by my God. If I could be forgiven for what I did, how could I not do the same?


Back in August I had to decide whether I would file suit against my former employer. With two other “disgraced” lawyers, I fashioned a unique argument about their handling of my arrest and events leading up to it. I knew all the company “dirt”, the questionable financial activity, the “who’s sleeping with who”. The point of the suit was to be to bring heat on them. I finally told the guys I couldn’t do it. I let it go.


The saddest experience in my life has not been the arrest, conviction, and imprisonment. It was my wife divorcing me and telling me she no longer loved me. I never really got angry, but the hurt cut me deeply.


I’m still sad, always will be. But, I found a way to unload so much of the pain. Now, I only have those wonderful memories of our time together. Do I wish we were still together? Yes. Do I miss her? More than words can express. But, I’ll be OK. I’m at peace.


She was a wonderful companion. She is an amazing woman. In my heart, I will always love her. I can’t really worry about why she did what she did. She had her reasons.


In multiple places the Bible references God “setting the prisoners free”. Each of us, when we let anger, bitterness, and sorrow consume us are imprisoned.


We all could pay better attention to our faith. We all could be more forgiving, more loving, more kind. If we were, the prisons would be less filled, marriages stronger, families more stable and we’d all feel better.


Prison sucks, but I’m blessed. Perhaps that’s the key to all of this, to finding joy in any circumstance. And perhaps, if we realize God loves us, we can love and forgive those that hurt us and all be really free.