Tough Subjects

I was asked recently to journal about something that happened to me. I recently had a very unusual nightmare. I was back in Iraq. Most of the dreams I have like this are actually really positive, reliving some of the better aspects of the experience, and causing me to miss my friends from times past. This one was different.



I ended up reliving all the pain, horror and anguish that I felt when I was there. Every last bit of it. I woke up sobbing in my sleep, alone, thankfully. It just seemed so real; missing Ashby, not being able to control anything around me, and worst of all, being completely and forcefully stuck in someone else's plans and utterly helpless to do anything about it. It's that feeling of helplessness that makes my guts turn even now as I write this. My heart and mind equate it to torture.



So what do I do with all this? Do I look at this as part of the healing process? Is this God's way of tring to tell me something? Is this a sign that I should be out of the military? My thoughts: yes. To all three. I think I finally realize that in order for these wounds to ever heal, I need to be outside the system that has the power to put me right back in that spot. I don't think that little paranoid "edge" I keep will ever dull until I CAN'T worry about it anymore. I'm terrified to think of what my come because of this, but that freedom is calling to me stronger than it has in all my life, and I desparately want to answer.



I'm sure that God will provide a way for this all to work out in the end, but it's very hard for me to trust that. Perhaps that's the purpose of all this: to HAVE to trust Him again fully in order that my wounds may be healed. This indeed could be what Ashby needs as well. This could be the first steps to becoming whole again for both of us, and that indeed gives me hope.

Bloodlines

I'm very odd. Ask anyone that knows me. I act odd, sometimes I dress odd, and I certainly have an odd set of skills and hobbies. My wife is driven to the point of contempt by my behavior at times, as I gleefully trot off to tear apart someone's broken down concrete mixer so I can recover the reduction drive from it's innards. See what I mean?

But there's more to my actions than just me. Let me explain that if I can. Several weeks ago, my father asked my brother and me to help him clean out his mother's house. My grandfather passed when I was 12, and my grandmother had been put in a nursing home about a year and a half ago. Well, no one ever really went through my grandfather's things all those years, and Dad wanted us to split up grandpa's tools and such.

So this was already awesome for both of us, being that tools are a more useable form of crack cocaine in our eyes. Plus, we both wanted to take these items because.... well, they were HIS. And for guys like us, that means a lot. I didn't really know grandpa, and Brent barely got to know him. But here are his tools. His files. His wrenches. His hands turned these handles to make or repair a legion of items. It's almost like you're able to reconnect with a history you weren't around for. It's a shame we didn't know him. From the look of what he had, we would have gotten along great.

As we were sorting through what had to be several hundred thousand files (that may be a slight embelishment, but it was a lot), Dad came from another room. "Joe, I figured you outta have this." He held a large, cast iron pot in his hand, and it was obviously heavy. I walked over to it, and looked inside. It was half full of lead. "He used to cast his own fishing weights and that sort of thing with this stuff. There's a lead ladle and a small crucible in there, too." I couldn't speak. How is it that I went through life without knowing this man, without learning a single thing from him, without my father passing down any of these hobbies or skills, how did I land in the exact same spot. Only about three months after I started casting metal, I learned my grandfather had done the same thing. As a friend at work said "That stuff is in your genes, man. It can't be suppressed."

We both got mountains of tools from grandpa, and we were gratefull to carry on work with his old instruments. As I was sorting through some of the items that night, I started crying. I felt so sad that I wasn't able to know him and learn from him. What could he have taught me? I've felt very odd my whole life.... odd, and alone. And then I find out that 17 years after his death, my grandfather is letting me know that I'm not the only one. He's pushing me forward into all this insanity I've created. It's almost like he's telling me that this is what I'm supposed to be doing. Picking up where he left off.

Maybe more IS more.....

I've been at odds with myself lately. In honesty, I guess I've been trying to decide whether or not to completely change my life forever. No big deal. My problem is this: I keep getting increasingly disenchanted with my military life, and I long for freedom from it's control. My dreams tell me I should be off following all kinds of different avenues and pursuits in the entrepreneural montra. Reality tells me I can't stay focused enough to make it work.

I have ADD. I hate even typing that. My therapist fought me for over six months to convince me of this, and I've finally given in. She's right. I can't focus on something for more than about twenty minutes before I leap head first into the next project. And while I've been dramatically better about monitoring this and forcing myself to stay put for a while, it's still a great strain on me, and borderline at best.

So, what I can do about the situation is start taking meds that help focus on the task at hand. While I've always been anti-meds, I've humbled myself to accepting that sometimes I need help beyond what I can do for myself. Now if I combine all the skills I spent my life trying to aquire and develop with the ability to focus my thoughts and actions..... I may just land right where I want to be. Of course, my ambitions are on the ridiculous scale, but they might be more achievable that I ever realized once I get on the meds.

I am convinced that I'll never be sated by a single job or career. My thirst is variety and multitasking, so I've come to the conclusion that to be truly happy, I would need to start my own "industry" so to speak. Have several different business functions, be it real estate, recycling, manufacturing, etc...no one area able to sustain my financial needs, but cumulatively being more than enough. I really think I can make this work, but I continue to pray about it. I don't want to make this plunge without knowing my "nudges" are from Him.

Keep it simple, stupid.

Make no mistake, Michelle....there's no resisting when Joe Patterson puts on his shiny shoes. Or at least that's what I thought earlier today. And by "shiny shoes" I mean a plate jointer. I decided to try a newer, fancier technique to fasten something today. I was going to be so much more advanced than ever before, yeilding a greater amount of machinery and technology..... and it was a complete failure.

By adding "better" technilogical processes, I only increased my chances for error and misalignment. I made a series of minute mistakes that culminated in a total disaster instead of the fine accomplishment I was hoping for. So I regressed. I did it the old, simple way....no frills. It came out perfect. I began to realize just how much I probably get in my own way in life. Adding more processes and conditions to a situation until I end up tripping on all the cords and fall flat on my face.

How often do I do this with God? How many times to I think I need to have a really "good" or "meaningful" prayer instead of just laying out what's on my heart. I end up worrying more about whether or not I properly conjugated my last verb than expressing what's on my heart. In fact, this concept will often keep me away from God altogether. I'll stress over the fact that it's been so long since the last time I read the Word, and that I probably won't get the absolute most out of the reading. I completely ignore grace and providence from God. If I just kept it simple and from the heart, I would get a lot more accomplished. God isn't impressed by us. Ever. He IS God, you know.....that whole Creator of the universe thing tends to be hard to top on our end.

So why do we get so consumed by this idea that our "Christian" acts need to be up to a certain par? Now I'm not saying we shouldn't worry about the guidlines given to us in scripture, but those are actually very simple. We tend to think we have to take our faith shopping a Merle Norman before it is acceptable to be seen by others. Make sure it has the latest fashions on, make sure we have the catchiest g-rated humor on our bilboard outside, um......Imago doesn't do a drama during the service, and I've heard that's all the rage. We better get on that. Like the movie Into The Wild, I find that I'm the happiest with the least. In all regards, I see this as sound advice. I know we're not all called to poverty, and that's not what I'm saying. But we all could do without half the crap we have, and so could our Christianity. Keep it simple. It's the fastest way to find the Father.

Cleaning Up Shop

Well, last weekend marked Justin and Gina's wedding. I barely had enough time to bring an "almost completed" wedding arbor for their special day. It got the job done well enough, but it was a huge hassle trying to get it finished and dry before it needed to be there.

And as with all projects made under the gun, it left in it's wake an utterly dismantled and destroyed shop. Not a clean vertical surface in the joint, and sawdust and metal shavings are everywhere. I have another project to start on, but it must wait until the shop recieves a thorough cleaning.

Sure I could just tidy up a bit and pick up as I move along to the other project, but there is a distinct problem with that: I always end up stubling over something in my way or having to put the project on hold while I clean up an area that I thought could get by without picking up. I have a very strong philosophy on this: Any area I exist in- be it to live or to work- is a direct reflection of my current mental/emotional state and vice-versa. By no means am I a neat freak. Ask anyone that's been to my house. However, in my shop, if it's a mess, so am I. It's hard to even plan a project because your mind and eyes are always drawn to the little items left unfinished, and working in that condition is similar to wading through hip-deep mud.

So the shop got a good cleaning today. I thought it a very appropriate way to begin this next little venture of mine: blogging about life lessons learned through the creative process. Today I was reminded that maybe my shop isn't the only thing that's cluttered and dirty in need of cleansing before I move forward. While I swept the floor, I was reminded of the little issues in my life that may need tending to before I enter what is definitely the next stage of my life. I have a few little details I need to tend to while I prepare for this little journey of mine. In the mean time, I'll just keep sweeping.

Cornered

I'm trying to slowly digest exactly what my life has become. You see, I haven't really been paying attention to it for the last five years or so, and it seems that I've had some issues creep up on me that I've been unaware of.

So with the help of friends and God's grace, I was able to slay the whole issue of "the other woman" at work, and that's awesome, but I'm learning it's only the first of many unattended problems that have come into my life or that I have created. I've started seeing a therapist to work through some of these issues, primarily my PTSD, and things actually seem less clear to me since then.

I don't know if it's the fact that I'm starting to finally pay attention to what's happening in my life, mind and heart, or if thing did suddenly just get worse for me, but I'm feeling cornered. Kind of like there's no way out, save for a very unpleasant and long battle through these issues. One of the big monsters on my back right now is depression, which I believe I've been suffering from for a few years now. I have been anti-drug my whole life, but recently in desparation, conceded with the therapist that maybe I need something to snap me out of this funk. She went on to explain how PTSD can actually change your brain's chemistry, and sometimes an anti-depressant is needed to set things right again. So, here comes some relief, right?

Nope. Since I'm in the military, I'm not allowed to take anti-depressants. Understandable policy: don't give the guys thinking about suicide a loaded assault rifle. But this is a huge blow to what progress I was hoping to make, and now I don't know what to do. I'm still trying to work through my problems, but I don't feel like I'm making any progress at all. Plus I still have my job, wife, child, and apartment building to deal with at the same time. I guess things just feel a little cramped.l

Unlikely Teacher

I have had the most unlikely of teachers for the past year and a half. The lessons are hard, the work is very challenging, and if I don't pass, the results will be devastating. This teacher is my apartment building.

I have had to learn so many new things to be able to control and reform this building into something usable, that I can't remember what life was like without it. And though all the lessons on management and construction have been immensely helpful for me in the short- and long-term, I have also come to receive teachings from people who have helped me on this project.

Many men have sat with me on a bucket of joint compound and milled over the interesting little bits in life: where I'm at with my marriage, where I'm at with God, how to get past the feeling of being overwhelmed.....

This weekend brought about a very difficult and unbelievably rewarding lesson. You see, I haven't been faithful to my wife. There it is, for all to see. Now, while I've never laid a hand on another woman in the throes of passion, I did give my heart over to one. I invested in another woman's life to the point where I cared about her feelings more than Ashby's. The tension in my house has built to pressure cooker levels lately, and the fights have abounded.

And while Ash would love to talk over these issues with some of her friends, in her immense love for me, she still doesn't want to do what she feels would be "smearing my name" to people. So I will step in and throw the first stone at my reflection. I have treated her unfairly, and ripped her heart out of her chest without care or concern. Even the thought of losing my daughter didn't dissuade me from my pursuits.

Thankfully, my story doesn't end here. It actually begins here. I knew, despite what my heart and body were telling me, that things with this other woman would never last. She was in a bad spot in her life, and I wanted to help. I wanted to make her feel good again. But these are not my battles to fight. I could see that, even thought I could name 6 or 7 awesome things about her, there were 300 things that she can't compare to Ashby with. Despite my mind's best efforts, I was hopelessly lost in a sick and weakened state.

Literally unable to help myself out of this, I at least had the sense to call on a few people I knew I could trust. Justin Ganschow, Eric Potter, and Charlie Dean were all called within an hour of each other. Exposing my terrible desires to them and begging for help, they each in turn spent time with me, and tried to guide my tortured and confused soul.

Charlie spent at least three hours atop that bucked of drywall mud speaking of things like choices, souls, and brokenness. He hit a nerve with me regarding my time in Iraq, and I knew he was onto something. So Eric and I shared an early breakfast and time in the Word before embarking on one of the more futile attempts I've made at overcoming a brick wall. He reminded me about grace and the idea of others who care about me. Like Justin. There is very little I can say about Justin that is less than the utmost of love and appreciation. I've never met a man that cared so genuinely about me and wanted me to succeed. I friend that sticks closer than my own brother.

Ashby and I went out on our first date in a long time Saturday night after the Potters so generously offered to babysit. It was awkward: we had no idea what to do with each other. Something that seemed so effortless in years past now took a great labor to implement. We kind of forced ourselves just to do ANYTHING together, albeit walking through Target just to pass the time. And we began to joke and talk more, and it seemed much less important that we had nothing to do. We finished up the evening with the Potters and went to bed.

Which finally gets us to this morning. Charlie delivered a first-rate sermon that I found easy to connect with, and let into the most amazing communion service I've ever experienced. He spoke of the prophetic link of Jesus being the ultimate sacrifice. But it was when he said the phrase "Never again" that I began to break. Never again would I have to suffer for my sins because Christ had already paid the penalty. It was as if Jesus himself was in front of me saying it. I sobbed during the entire communion, with visions of Him pulling me from a pit of mire, dead and rotten playing out clearly in my mind. And in the vision I awoke to see Him standing in front of me with a look of pain in His eye. "My son, it's been so long!" And a hug that you will never convince me wasn't real. I felt Him pull the talons of satan out of my back, and for the first time in four years, I felt a tiny piece of something so precious: hope.

After the service, I was still a wreck. Having your Creator undo a pain and despair that you've lived with for half a decade is a pretty upsetting ordeal. Charlie, Justin, Eric and I went into a place to pray together. I shared my vision with them, and as all four of us cried, they prayed over me for strength, protection, healing, and most of all hope.

The last time I felt this alive is beyond my recall. I am so grateful for those three men in my life, and for the work that Jesus did in my heart today. Only He can restore souls and heal what seems to be mortal wounds. I'm looking forward to restoring my marriage with the one that He picked for me. Thanks to all who take the time to read this. I hope you are able to find some encouragement or healing in this story.