Getting Back to Work

 I am sitting in the combination gymnasium/auditorium/cafeteria area of the high school I teach at, and we are on an extended lunch today during our faculty orientation week.  It is a bit to get back into the routine again after a two-month break, and actual class starts next week.  However, I am optimistic about the coming year.

I spent the first part of my extended lunch procuring my textbooks as well as making a visit across the street to the little Polish market - very interesting little store, and they have some of the best chocolates and cookies there, as well as a delicious barbecue seasoning that I have come to use on almost everything. It is a small indulgence to visit that market on lunch hours during a busy class day.  We are spending the week this week in some talks, a bit of relational activities, and some general onboarding for the coming year, and for the most part it is low-stress and actually quite pleasant.  It is also a way for those of us who are faculty to bond and come together informally, and that is nice too.  I wanted to talk a little about one of the relational activities though that was of tremendous interest, and it was sort of enlightening as well. 

The activity was led by the 9th-grade science teacher, and it had to do with contemporary kids' slang terms that to be honest I was not really all that familiar with.  For instance, how did I know that the word "tea" meant gossip, with "hot tea" being good gossip and "cold tea" being bad (what does "iced tea" mean, I wonder - that is worth exploring).  There are some terms I have some familiarity with, such as "ghosting," which is essentially a complete block or cancellation of someone, usually within the context of social media.  However, many of these terms are like speaking a new language - I can understand my Filipino friends speaking Tagalog or Visayan better than that actually.  I thought it worth mentioning because every generation has its slang terms they use - for Gen-X the words "chill" and "crusty" were some of our most-utilized phraseology.  However, to previous generations the current lingo may be a bit of an adjustment to understand.  

With the maintenance guy moving some things around and doing things here, there is not much else I can say for today as it is a bit distracting with everything going on.  However, I will try to return soon with something more insightful.  See you next visit. 

The Story of Valentina's Uncle

 

When I was around 11 years old, I lived in a battered old blue-and-white trailer in the town of Kirby, WV, with my mother.  We were extremely poor, and during the summers in particular I had to find ways to occupy my time as there was not a lot of connectivity then with the wider world.  One of the things we got as a sort of blessing were a huge number of old magazines - Time, Newsweek, and Reader's Digest.  I was an avid reader then, and there were some especially good stories that caught my attention in Reader's Digest back in the day.  One of those features the magazine had was a lengthy book review of some new release that caught the reviewer's attention.  Many of these books were somewhat obscure to most - one particularly good one was Jacobo Timerman's book Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number. Timerman, a Argentine-born Jewish author, was a victim of the various factions of the Peron regime (it was one of the movements that had both a "right-wing" and a "left-wing," and neither were that great as far as ideology was concerned) and he was imprisoned at different times by both of those factions.  His book is a sort of journal of his prison experience, and it leaves nothing to the imagination - the man really suffered.  I now have a copy of that book behind me on my bookshelf, and I am actually encouraging my 11th graders I teach to read it as an extra credit project.  Another book of interest that was featured in a 1980 issue of Reader's Digest was published in 1981 by Gerda S. Mathan, a noted educator and photographer at the time.  Mathan took an interest in some accounts a colleague of hers by the name of Valentina Zavarin, a Russian emigre who had earned her Ph.D.,  at the university they both taught at.   Mathan initially proposed doing a photo essay of Valentina's five little children, but Valentina had another idea - she asked if Mathan would mind doing some photos of her aging uncle, a Russian immigrant named Vadim Shepkin, who at this time was 92 and lived in California if I recall correctly.  As Mathan got to know the elderly gentleman, her initial portrait project grew into a photo essay that she would later publish in book form, and thus that is how Valentina's Uncle became a published work.

Vadim Shepkin was a man who had lived a pretty amazing life overall.  He was born when Russia still had a Czar, but later he became part of the October Revolution and for a time was an enthusiastic Leninist until he was later disillusioned by the sheer cruelty of Stalin and then immigrated to the US in 1950. In his later years too, he also became intensely religious as a devout Orthodox Christian, and his pride and joy was the herd of cats and his numerous fruit trees he planted in his yard.  The sad part of the story came when Vadim was no longer able to care for himself, so he had to leave his beloved house and became a resident in the local nursing home.  Not long after, he passed away, but thankfully his legacy lives on thanks to this book and also his great-nieces and nephews, who are all probably in their late 40s and early 50s now, as some of them were younger than me. It is this last part I wanted to spend some time talking about, as it sort of goes along the theme of my thoughts as of late.

Vadim's demise was sad, and Mathan did such an amazing job on the book that you feel that melancholy when he is no longer to live independently.  She documents how the empty house deteriorates, and even how a small child living next door said "who will pick the fruit now?"  It is really a powerful documentary of the life of a unique man who otherwise would have been forgotten as just another old immigrant in California.  Vadim Shepkin is the type of person I wish I would have known, as I feel there was a lot of wisdom contained in that old man's mind.  Reading stuff like this always has a certain level of resonance with me, as we can all see ourselves in him if we look close enough.  Especially as many of us get older ourselves.  I know for a fact that after age 50 I started thinking about things I never gave much thought to before - after losing both my parents within 5 years, experiencing a divorce, and even losing a home recently, it made me think more about legacy - what legacy will I leave?  Vadim Shepkin was blessed to have a niece who had the foresight to enlist a friend of hers to document some precious moments of his life, and also who was there for him when he needed people to care for him.  As it seems that he had no children of his own, the mantle of preserving his legacy fell upon his niece, and now it falls upon her children, who as I mentioned would be close to my age now.  Hopefully they passed this on to their kids and grandkids, so that Vadim Shepkin will have immortality in the best way that can be done - tell his story.  

There is a lot more that could be said about this book, but it is definitely worth a read.  Copies of it are quite rare to find now, although I have had success on both Amazon and Ebay.  I have with me now the second copy of it I ever owned, and even as I write this now I am thinking of ways it could be used to create other discussions.  It pays sometimes to look in unexpected places for the rarest treasures, and I thank God for bringing that issue of Reader's Digest to me when I was an 11-year-old kid stuck in a poverty-stricken home in a small West Virginia town.  Although over the years I had forgotten the story, it was maybe about 10 years ago a thought of it had crossed my mind, and it took a while to remember the title but I did find it.  It now keeps a good place in my library, and maybe something in it can be used to inspire others.

Thank you for allowing me to share yet again, and will see you soon. 

Loving When A Plan Comes Together

 For folks of my generation, the 1980s was an interesting time for television.  At the time, many houses either got reception from a local cable provider (the "struttin' in high cotton" upper-class option then) or they were forced to wrestle a 30-foot monstrosity on the side of the house called an aerial antenna.  With the latter, if you were lucky you could pick up three local stations, which ironically were the three major TV networks of the time (ABC, NBC, and CBS).  So, prime-time TV was a big thing then.  For most of us, it consisted of some classic shows - The Dukes of Hazzard, MacGyver, and sitcoms such as The Golden Girls.  One particular show that was considered the most popular show of the decade was The A-Team, which centered around a quartet of four soldiers-of-fortune who were hired guns inadvertently protecting the "little guy" who was terrorized by a formidable antagonist.  The "team" was made up of handsome front-man "Face," eccentric former combat pilot Murdock, hulking muscle B.A. Baracus (played by Mr. T), and their leader, a cunning, resourceful former military colonel named "Hannibal" Smith, played by the late actor George Peppard.  Always with a smug self-assured and cocky grin with a cigar hanging out of his mouth, Hannibal always directed these operations with the efficiency of a well-armed guerilla leader, and at the end of every episode, when his team had successfully defeated a potential societal threat, Hannibal would nonchalantly grin and say "I love it when a plan comes together."  That phrase came to mind today as I considered my own situation, as looking back on a lot of things a lot is now unfolding to make perfect sense.  

We as human beings are noted to make plans, strategies, and objectives in our personal lives - it is part of the creative ability God gave us to distinguish us from the rest of creation, and the reason why in the earliest chapters of Genesis he bestowed Adam and his descendants (us) with dominion over the earth. However, in Genesis 3 a catastrophic thing happened - Eve ate of a fruit she was coerced by a supposed serpent into doing, then she gave it to Adam, and it was a flagrant act of disobedience against a God who had already given them all the hollow promises that Satan, in the form of that serpent, used to manipulate mankind into rebellion against God.  This led to the Fall, and human beings in subsequent generations paid for that with the attribute of concupiscence, and it made us limited.  Therefore, another consequence of the Fall is our glaring imperfections, both as a race and as individuals.  This means that sometimes, despite how detailed and failsafe our own plans are, they fall short.  That is God's reminder that he is there to guide us, and we would do well to rely on that.  Looking at Hannibal Smith's closing affirmation at the end of every A Team episode, I am reminded of something else I learned very recently that relates to it - often, when we rely on God's guidance, there may be some rough terrain to navigate, and when it seems like things are falling apart, they are actually falling into place.  A lot of times, it will only be through retrospection we see it, as our fallen state has made us rather dense when it comes to seeing the obvious sometimes, and if we had seen the obvious, it would have saved us a lot of trouble.  Thing is, the obvious is usually there, but our own blinders of concupiscence blind us to it.  This is where we need God more than anything.  That little devotional lesson prefaces what I wanted to talk about today.

My own plan, to use Hannibal Smith's rationale, has been coming together before my own nose without me even seeing it yet.  There were signs - there always are - about the direction we need to take, but often we dismiss them as the after-affect of spicy pepperoni on the cheap Little Caesar's pizza we had for supper out of the desire of not wanting to cook.  In a very specific case in my own life, I have seen signs for things for years, and only recently have they started actually making sense.  Let me tell the story.

The city of Baltimore has had a connection with our family that stretches back at least four generations. It started with the Appalachian migrations of the late 1940s and still is relevant today, although less so now.  Many poor West Virginia families came here to seek opportunity, since Baltimore was the closest urban center (well, there is Pittsburgh too, but for some reason it never had the attraction for our folks like Baltimore did) and offered many opportunities.  As a result, a subculture blossomed in this city that we created, and even when some of the older generation, financially secure enough to retire, returned home to the small towns in our state, they brought this Baltimore experience with them.  My family was no different in all honesty, and Baltimore played a big part in our collective family history as well as in mine personally.  Our family became so ensconced here as a matter of fact that many of my cousins were born and raised here, so we have a sort of sanguine beachhead in the area.  While many of the third- and fourth- generation cousins I have are now comfortably settled in suburbs outside the city in communities like Elkridge and Cockeysville, they all started here, and that start was due to their West Virginia grandparents coming here and settling in areas like Irvington and Pigtown in the western reaches of the municipal limits. Like many of my cousins, I too had some roots here too - I wasn't born here or anything, and in all honesty my stay here as a child was brief, but it was still a part of my story.  50 years ago at around this time, Mom and I traveled up from Georgia after she and Dad had a very intense separation, and in Dad's old white van Mom had taken, we traveled until we found a place to stay with my aunt Ruth and two of her younger kids, my cousins Greg and Gayle.  Ruth, who we all affectionately called "Aunt Pip," was at the time not in the best of health - she had multiple sclerosis and was largely bedridden and communicated in almost unintelligible words.  Often, if she was trying to get someone's attention - either Mom's, my cousin Greg's, or the visiting nurse, a kindly older Black lady we called Ms. Patrick - she would become frustrated as her brain didn't allow her to form the words she needed, and she would cry - looking back on that, I really felt bad for her, and I remember as a precocious 5-year-old asking Mom, "Why is Aunt Pip so sad Mom?"  During our sojourn in the city, we lived in three different rowhouses - all of them looking somewhat similar to the one I am sitting in now writing this - and I had begun my formal education as a kindergarten student at Steuart Hill Academy over on Gilmor Street, about a mile and a half west of where I am at now.  Even after moving away a time later, we still visited family here for many years. Baltimore was a part of the story now for me, but had been for at least a good 20 years prior to me being there. Like many things in our subconscious mind, Baltimore added itself to my memory bank, and over the years many dreams about being here have been part of my sleep experience.  A lot of times I just dismissed them as nice but insignificant things that probably consisted of my mind cobbling a lot of different and unconnected things together to create something, but then came the deja vu moments - I have had several of those.  And, beginning as early as 1997, Barbara and I were actually looking here to move and re-establish our lives, a choice we finally sort of acted on in 2016 as we began planning to make it happen - it did on New Year's Eve of 2016, our last day after 27 years in Florida, and within one week I was living in Maryland again, the first time in about 42 years.  At that point, it was just Hagerstown, but I was back where I believed I belonged anyway.  Dismissing those old Baltimore dreams as being somewhat satisfied by our move to Hagerstown, I didn't think more about them until I realized I was still having the dreams.  Then came 2024, when a culmination of things thrust us into moving here - losing our house, getting a new job in the city, and earning my long-sought Ph.D.  Almost a year later, here I sit, in the midst of eastern Baltimore, in the heart of the city, and that leads to more pertinent observations.

This part of Baltimore I am sitting in now - it is a neighborhood called Harwood, approximately 30 blocks from downtown and also 5 minutes from the main Johns Hopkins University Campus just to the west of here - was not my ideal location.  I had to take it because of time constraints.  First, I was living at a Motel 6 in October of last year and needed a house fast as my options were dwindling.  Second, I landed what was essentially my dream job, as a teacher at a very prominent Jesuit high school over in Fells Point (1.5 miles away) and needed to be closer to get the job.  The neighborhood we are in is not by any means the best - a couple of blocks south is an area known for drug trafficking, and the urban blight in this part of the city is like a foreign country almost.  The rowhouse we live in is also not my dream home - it is over 100 years old, and it really needs a lot of work, especially after a car slammed into the front of it a month ago.  Also, my job has its challenges too - I have had a well-earned three months of paid vacation, but frankly the previous school year was intense and I am a bit apprehensive at what I am going to have to deal with when the new school year begins a week from Monday.  However, on the positive, I have a good position overall, and it provides me with perhaps the highest salary I have ever earned, and financially I am in a good place.  And, as of late, no actual dreams about Baltimore itself as I am actually here now.  The pieces are falling into place - or the plan is coming together, if you will - for a new chapter here, and I am about to move into the next phase of the plan but have learned to let God guide my steps as I am at a point where one misstep could lead to catastrophe as things are still a bit fragile. However, there are ideas, and I want to briefly share them.

The Baltimore dreams I had were never about this inner-city area where I am sitting now - most of them entailed a suburban home somewhere but the settings of the area were inescapable; it was definitely Baltimore.  For the first time in my own life, I can start to contemplate home ownership, and am beginning to look into that.  Much like my cousins had astutely done, I am looking to get out of the city and move to a nicer area that is more conducive to my personal lifestyle, and it looks like I can start to make that happen.  At this point, I am in touch with both a realtor and a mortgage lender, and they are helping me to get the wheels turning to make things happen.  Getting into a nice place of my own like that would be the fulfillment of those dreams, and that is why as I look at the house listings the realtor gives me, I am looking for that house.  This also calls on God's taciturn direction as well, as I really want to do this right too.  I know this will not be an overnight process, but I think I can make it happen, so we will see what happens.

In conclusion, I believe that getting my own home here in a place that has haunted my dreams for years will be an example of the plan coming together, and things falling into place for me.  I know some reading this are facing similar situations.  You may be scared out of your wits and not have a clue as to what to do, and that is where you rely on God even more for the answer.  Your plans are not falling apart, but God is looking at them, tweaking them here and there a bit to line up with what he wills, and in no time your doors will open too.  So, be encouraged by that today, and I will keep you updated on how my plan is coming together, with all the pieces falling into place as they should.  Thank you until next time. 

Aging - The Glaring Reality

 I am about a little less than three months out until my 56th birthday.  There are many thoughts I have as I think about this, including starting to contemplate my own mortality.  As you get older, you begin to notice things, and it is a bit surreal when you do.  And, lately, my body has been screaming at me that it is aging, and I think I feel it more now than ever. 

I am part of Generation X - we were considered the generation that gave a middle finger to both our Boomer parents and to the Millennials that came after us.  As such, I think many of us labor under the delusion that we are still who we were when we were 25.  To correct that delusion, all I have to do is look in a mirror, and there are days I wonder to myself "who in hell is that old man looking at me?"  Then, I realize it's my own reflection.  My hair, which was naturally a chestnut brown color, has become more white than brown in recent years.  My teeth are at war with practically every bite of food I take now, and in all honesty I need to see a dentist desperately but it is not always that easy to do so.  And, for the past 5 years part of my daily regimen is taking an ACE inhibitor called Lisinopril every day, and if I somehow have a delayed refill of my prescription, after two days I feel the effects as I wake up with a headache that feels like someone split my head in two.  Lately too, it is becoming harder to climb stairs - I can still do it, but I am climbing them now like my grandmother used to instead of easily ascending them like I used to. Let's face reality - physically, I am getting old!  Mentally, my mind has not quite caught up with my body yet, and when that spirals into a border skirmish, I feel that too.  It must be remembered though that aging is part of the life process, and none of us is exempt from its effects.  No matter how many hairplugs, how many botox injections, and despite gallons of wrinkle cream, age will catch up with us.  However, there are also external reminders as well, and this week one sort of sparked this discussion.

Does anyone my age or older remember the sitcom What's Happening?  It was popular about 50 years ago when I was still a young kid in the mid-1970s, and one of the best parts of it was the cool theme song composed by Henry Mancini.  However, it was also a fun show to watch too.  The youngest cast member, actress Danielle Spencer who played Dee, was perhaps one of the best characters in the show, although she had a lot of competition from ReRun, the overweight sidekick of the main protagonist, Dee's brother Raj.  Any rate, a couple of days ago Danielle Spencer passed away due to complications of cancer at the age of 60, and that sent a bit of a shock through my system.  After her breakout role as Dee on What's Happening, Miss Spencer went to college and got a degree in veterinary medicine, and she was apparently a very successful vet for many years.  With so many celebrity deaths this year, one can get the feeling that their generation is dying off.  Being a slightly older Gen-Xer than I am, Danielle Spencer probably didn't anticipate this happening, and it is really tragic because she was talented as a child actor but also apparently had achieved a great deal of success in her adult life too.  Hearing of her passing - along with the stomach pains I have had the past week for some unknown reason - is what got me contemplating about all this.  We should all pray for Danielle's family too as they mourn her loss, and my God comfort them. 

Since turning 50 in November 2020, these past few years have saw a lot for me personally.  Some of it was good, a lot of it wasn't, but I survived.  I lost a lot, and had to more or less do a reset on my life, but I am more or less finding my new place now.  Although at this point things have started to stabilize for me, I know that I need to watch my own health better.  However, my Gen-X delusions of eternal youth coupled with a natural inclination to procrastination tend to make me delay things I probably should take more seriously.  When I woke up this morning for instance, my left arm was practically on fire as if someone stuck a gas line inside me and it also was somewhat numb.  I don't think it is too serious, but I probably should pay closer attention.   As the comedian Mark Lowry said once, the statistics of human mortality is that one in one dies, and the only exception to that is if the Parousia happens.   I don't know if I will ever make it to my 100th birthday, but I am not quite ready to pass into eternity yet either. I feel as if I have still more to do, and at this present season it is teaching about 80 high school juniors during an academic year that starts approximately one week from this coming Monday.  Like our youth, summer vacation too is fleeting, and in all honesty I cannot fathom how fast the past couple of months have flown by!  

My current focus of contemplation compelled me to watch Grumpy Old Men again last night.  There were two of these movies, and for those of us who came of age in the late 1980s and early 1990s, these movies are classics.  Featuring the late actors Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon, this movie and its sequel now strike a nerve, as I feel like those guys.  In the first movie, Burgess Meredith plays the father character of Jack Lemmon's character John Gustafson, and the character he portrays is a cantankerous, naughty, and colorful old man who in his profanity-based ramblings to his son does spout some occasional good wisdom.  The one thing he says is that after age 90 you start counting minutes instead of days, and that it is important to treasure the experiences of life you have.  As one of my favorite authors, the late Robert Newton Peck, once wrote:

"The basis for my success is that I write about what people do, not what they ought to do." (Robert Newton Peck, Weeds in Bloom: Autobiography of an Ordinary Man. New York: Random House, 2005: 207).

In other words, the "shoulda/coulda/wouldas" don't leave a legacy of anything, and envying someone else's hard-earned success does us no favors.  However, despite how our physical bodies fail us, we can create legacies that are eternal, and thanks to modern technology, those can be easily preserved.  As Nat Hentoff, the renowned jazz critic and pro-life activist, once noted in his memoirs, this piece of wisdom he wrote sticks with me now:

"Musicians used to tell me that playing jazz keeps them young. So does listening." (Nat Hentoff, Speaking Freely - A Memoir. New York: Alfred F. Knopf, 1997: 279). 

Being I collect vintage big band and jazz recordings myself - and am starting over with the collection now due to unforeseen circumstances last year - I understand that last part perfectly.  There are times when I listen to certain of my favorite recordings, and a feeling comes over me.  I feel 25 again, and a glimpse of the person I really am comes through.  I think of the famous Frank Sinatra record, "You Make Me Feel So Young" (which in all honesty Ray Conniff had a better recording of in the late 1950s), and although that is about romantic love (I feel that too, but more on that at another time) it also hints at something else.  There is a huge difference between aging and feeling old.  The former is the natural process of life, and the latter is the attitude with which we respond to it.  Many people say "you are only as old as you feel," and to an extent that is true.  No one is going to be feeling completely peachy every day obviously, and that is not the point.  Rather, it is an attitude, a state of mind, that defines our own course in life.  So, what does that mean then?  Let me talk about that a bit.

The best way to deal with aging is to age gracefully.  We all know one day God is going to say, "time to check out," so that reality is inescapable and also inevitable.  However, we don't have to despair that maybe we gained a few pounds, got some grey hairs and a few wrinkles, and maybe our body aches in places we never anticipated or took for granted.  Rather, we set our course by living the life we should be living.  If opportunity presents itself, seize it.  You are never too old to fall in love, get that Ph.D. you always wanted, or even to do those bucket-list projects that have been collecting dust in your mental closet since you were 20.  If 1980s and 1990s movies and sitcoms like The Golden Girls or Grumpy Old Men taught us anything, it is that life doesn't end once you reach 50 - for some, it may just be starting!  I mean, think of your 20s, 30s, and 40s - what did you do with those?  Sure, you may have financial stability, and you probably slaved away at a job for decades you were not happy with to get it, and for many the responsibilities of starting and raising families may have put old dreams and goals on a back burner.  However, age should never been seen as a limitation - we Gen-Xers, many of us now in our 50s, should be able to resonate with that.  Think of our generation - we were perhaps the most independently-minded and creative generation of the past century, and it was because many of us were forced to grow up fast as young kids.  Our Boomer parents in many cases were Yuppies who were formerly anti-Establishment hippies, and we grew up in the relative prosperity of the Reagan years after Carter almost killed the US as a country during his Presidency.  And, we were also one of the most misunderstood, overlooked, and ideologically diverse generations too - even I, as a relative eccentric who had more in common personally with the World War II generation rebelled against my late parents.  My mother, for instance, was a "Nashville Sound" country music fan who thought a potted meat sandwich was the pinnacle of culinary bliss, and my dad was an aging metalhead who also embraced some antiquated views on race, and both of them were Vietnam vets. I was neither of these, as when I was a young kid I dressed more formally (my dream outfit wasa royal-blue sports jacket, a pair of white slacks, and wingtip shoes), I was an extremely picky eater, and I hated both rock and country music, choosing instead the archaic old records of Guy Lombardo and Tommy Dorsey over even the popular music of my generation.  I generally eschewed the fashions of our generation as well, which made middle school hell but then got me some grudging admiration for my individuality in high school.  And, as a Gen-X boy then, I learned an increasing arsenal of self-sufficiency skills that would serve me well later too.  I mostly had to do all that myself, as at times I never got clear direction from anyone, and for those who attempted to impose it, often it was in a way that was micromanaging and tried to force me into their mold.  Many of my generation were also "latchkey kids," and that crossed economic class - middle- and upper-class families then had their own versions of "latchkey kids," as did those of us who were lower-income. We became a proud generation, as asking for help became anathema to many of us because we were always in situations where we had to figure out things for ourselves.  That was both positive and negative, as it made us reluctant to ask questions on the job and in college and we suffered for that big-time.  I think if I could go back to fix that, one thing I would do is perhaps be more nuanced with some of my personal stubbornness and self-sufficiency.  Again though, that is the old "shoulda/coulda/woulda" mindset and we cannot mourn our mistakes - rather, we pick ourselves up and learn from them, which thankfully many of us did.  Any rate, I went down a rabbit hole there, so let's get back to the topic at hand.

Aging is an existential physical reality, but being old is a mindset.  There are many people who are of advanced age yet they are vibrant as far as their lives go - take the veteran big bandleader Ray Anthony for instance, who is 103 and still going strong.  Or my good friend John Booko, an Assyrian-American pastor who is almost 103 himself.  Both of these people are living long, productive lives still, and while there is no determination of how much longer they will be with us, they demonstrate that old axiom "you are only as old as you feel."  John, my friend, is one of the reasons I take a certain supplement today, spirulina (blue-green algae, particularly a strain found in Klamath Lake in Oregon).  I mean, seriously, if he is doing so well taking that for over 30 years, perhaps it's something to pay attention to. And, I do have two grandparents that lived well into their 90s too - had my late grandfather lived to September of this year, he would have reached his 100th birthday.  He died at 98 though, so he must have done something right too.  While healthy living is a good thing, there are more people dying at 40 of heart attacks that eat vegan diets and power walk 20 miles a day than there are people who are 80 that essentially love to eat fried chicken and good bacon for breakfast every day (and some have an occasional glass of Scotch or a premium cigar on occasion too).  The person who is 40, and is obsessed with health fads and climbing the corporate ladder, is doing themselves no favor.  Sure, they may look like a million bucks, but underneath that is a mindset that can never rest - if they blow one small thing in their lives, they lose the plot.  They may have exterior success, but their minds are not happy.  And, many will die young like that - some won't see their 60th birthdays.  Another pearl of wisdom from Mark Lowry I recall was this - either cholesterol or stress will get you, so why not have fun going out?  Good point I say, because despite how some obsessive people try to pickle themselves for posterity, at some point they will breathe their last.  That is something to think about too.  That is why I enjoy my Slim Jims, an occasional country-fried steak or some Bojangles chicken, and a nice cold Pepsi.  As long as you don't shovel it in, enjoy it!  If you enjoy what you do - be it your career, a hobby, or a favorite food - then you will naturally be happier.  Of course, the one factor in this is Jesus Christ too - people who follow Christ and have a vibrant faith also have a huge advantage.  That is something to think on as well. 

So, I talked over the past couple of weeks about aging, my childhood dreams, and a bunch of other personal stuff.   I am not sure where this is all going to head, but I am happy to share it with you.  Hopefully it will inspire you more as well, and in doing so, the important thing to remember as you take away from this is simple - getting old is a state of mind, so age gracefully.  Thanks for allowing me to share again with you. 

Exploring Childhood Memories (Again)

 The summer months often pique imaginations for kids, and there is something I wanted to share today that was of interest during my childhood.  Beginning at around the time I was 10 years old, I lived in a bit of a poverty-stricken environment.  At first, it was with my grandparents, who lived on a farm just outside the town of Augusta, WV, and they lived in an old house that had no indoor plumbing save a cold-water pump.  Also, the general isolation of my surroundings meant that as a kid I had to find ways to keep myself occupied.  A lot of it consisted of normal activities I did - I fished in the pond above the house, and also made a makeshift fort out of a small grove of trees at the edge of the yard.  The thing that fueled most of this was imagination, and mine was in overdrive in many cases.  Later, when Mom and I moved to the nearby town of Kirby, we lived in a mobile home there and also had very little at the time.  I remember the days when dinner consisted of oven-cooked French fries, fried cabbage, or fried squash, and for a long time the only meat we had was the occasional package of bacon or sliced ham we got at the store just on the other side of the yard. Imagination was my richest resource I had, as I had little else then, and I used that to my advantage. 

Most kids have vivid imaginations, as that is what actually compels them to learn and explore life.  In my case however, it was in overdrive.  Much of the imagination I had then was fueled by reading, and I read a lot!  Magazines, children's stories, and the occasional foray to the library in Romney provided me with reading material.  I particularly loved reading old issues of Readers Digest that people gave us, as well as a huge collection of old Cricket magazines a classmate in my elementary school had given me. From those, I got some ideas and did my own little projects - one was a foray into papier mache, in which I got quite good at making ducks from a clothes hanger frame draped with flour-pasted strips of old Grit newspapers I had temporarily gotten into as a sort of small business enterprise that sort of went by the wayside when I realized how much work it would take to sell them and also the fact most people didn't have an interest in them anyway. Once the newspaper was in place, I then did the same things with strips of toilet paper to make the duck look, well, like a duck.  Also, that Christmas Mom got me a chemistry set, and I used that a lot too, including an odd attempt to make perfume for a girl I had a crush on then. Although she graciously accepted my little "gift," I am thinking it probably ended up in a trash can somewhere because in all honesty who could blame her.  I also attempted to make my own cheese, and that actually had a certain level of success.  I created a tiny wheel of cheese, smaller than a Baby Bell, and after salting it and curing it more it looked like a small parmesan wheel.  I never actually ate it, but it was just cool to do.  My chemistry set and the fact I had a large bedroom to experiment in made my life somewhat more interesting, along with occasional forays to the local creek behind the house where I caught a ton of things such as baby crawfish, water pennies, tiny freshwater limpets, and the occasional big prize of a small mottled sculpin.  Those proved more challenging to catch as they were very fast, and they often were in fast-moving and deeper pools strewn with rocks in the creek. Such was life in the summers. 

Onto my more ambitious ideas, one of the things I feared most then was losing Mom - Mom drank a lot then and also smoked up to a pack of cigarettes a day, and while at that time she was in her late 30s it still was a real fear I had.  And, God forbid, I didn't want to end up with my dad and step-mother in Georgia then, although looking back that may not have been as bad as I imagined.  My survival instincts kicked in at that time and I was always plotting and thinking of an exit strategy in case something happened to Mom.  That strategy involved a sort of "base camp" in a forest somewhere (an idea I had picked up from reading one of my grandfather's old hunting books, and the duck blind plans in that piqued my interest then).  The plan I had was actually very minimalist but also to me it was somewhat sophisticated - I would build a partially-underground shelter that looked eerily like the duck blinds I was studying in the book, and then I began looking at catalogs and the various magazines given to us, and I had a plan in place!  I cannot at this point really recall every detail about those ideas, but they would make for an interesting book if they could be written down!  I was also thinking somewhat pragmatically - collecting things like sugar packets and other "convenience foods" that I would stockpile to live on.  As I look back on that now, I was a bit of a weird kid!  But, my plans got more ambitious as I moved on. 

I got this idea to start a sort of political movement based on all the history books I was reading then, and I eventually fantasized about carving out a kingdom in Brazil or someplace.  It was a pretty grandiose plan in all honesty, and by the time I was 12 I actually was trying to create a manifesto as well as a complete plan for how this was going to come together.  And, having the vivid imagination as a kid, I really thought I could pull that off!  However, within about a year or so that sort of fell by the wayside as I began to knock on the doorstep of adolescence, and I started developing more tangible interests that would later coalesce into something else.  

I was 12 when I started getting interested in music - I told that story already.  At that point my goal was to create the biggest collection of the music I liked, and it was actually a somewhat attainable goal.  Most of the recordings I acquired came via the local junk shop in nearby Rio, where I could buy records for a quarter.  By the time I reached my 14th birthday, I had a stack of a couple of hundred easily.  But, it also caused a few issues - remember those old Readers Digests we had?  I had discovered mail-order, and although I had no income to speak of then, it was easy to send a business-reply envelope and order things, and so I did.  Within a couple of years, I ended up with about 6 boxed sets of "collector's edition" recordings from Readers Digest, with no way to possibly pay for them.  Being relatively cheap at the time, the total amount for all six sets of records was about $200, something as an adult I could easily manage.  But, for a young kid with a $10 monthly allowance that came out of my dad's child support he sent us, I was in way over my head.  My dad and stepmom eventually paid for a couple of them for me as sort of an early Christmas present, but I also got a tongue-lashing from my dad about it. That leads to another part of this discussion.

Back in the mid-1980s, when I was still in my early teens, there was no internet and most communication or mail shopping was done via the old business-reply cards.  One could order just about anything then, and many places were a lot more trusting at that time than they would be later.  So, it was extremely easy to order a bunch of stuff, and the convenience made it somewhat addictive.  That was the day when vinyl records and cassettes were still the primary media, and there were also record clubs then where for a penny you could get 12 cassettes or records from clubs such as Columbia House or BMG Music Services.  What the fine print didn't say though was two things.  First, you had shipping to pay on those, and that could be as much as $10.  Second, by signing up for that, you had an obligation to buy at least two items a year, or you'd be penalized. I did manage to get several items in my collection then, but many of those were cassettes, and my rule is this - if you want music worth preserving, do NOT buy it on cassette!  I had more cassettes go kaput on me over the years than anything, and by the mid-1990s when I began to buy CDs as a young college student, I found CDs to be a more feasible format because for the most part they didn't mess up, and they also were easier to manage than huge stacks of vinyl records.  So, while it was fun to order things then, it was also easy to get in over your head, and I would learn that the hard way. 

Looking back on that, I think I was probably part of at least 3 music clubs, two book clubs, and I also got a lot of free stuff as I had access to a free religious magazine that the town store kept called The Plain Truth.  That magazine at the time was published by the Worldwide Church of God, which was founded in the 1930s by Herbert W. Armstrong.  Back then, it was essentially a heretical cult, although some years later they re-evaluated their doctrine and are thankfully now a more orthodox Evangelical Protestant church.  Everything that The Plain Truth offered was free, and I perhaps ended up with somewhere in the vicinity of 50 small booklets as well as two large books, one of which, The United States and Britain in Prophecy, promoted the bizarre and quasi-racist doctrine of Anglo-Israelism. At that time though, I actually thought I had hit the motherload, and I thought I was something with a library of free heresy.  Thankfully, in 1986 I became a Christian, and the weird, free cultic literature ended up in the garbage as I began to be properly discipled by a Godly Baptist minister.  Again, a large part of this stuff happened in my summers then, so it kept me busy.

While there are many more childhood reflections I could share, these were a few of my most memorable ones, and I do have one other one I want to share next time that entails cooking - I have always loved to cook, and that was an interest I developed at a very young age.  Thanks for allowing me to share, and will see you next time. 

Did Noah Have Other Children?

 A few years ago, I presented a series of articles here based on the book of Genesis that I had originally taught as a lesson series for an Anglican Sunday School.  The series embraced a Biblical Creationist theological position, as well as subscribing to the Intelligent Design scientific position.  While for many years this particular subject matter was reserved for Evangelical/Fundamentalist Protestant discourse, in reality Biblical Creation and Intelligent Design have been the historic position of the Church since antiquity.  It was only after the rogue Jesuit priest/theologian Tielhard de Chardin started promoting Darwinian evolution that some Catholics accepted without question theistic evolution, which was a huge mistake on the part of Church leaders.  Fortunately, there are champions for the actual historic Church position, which has always been affirming of Creationist theology, among whom are people such as Hugh Owen, the director of the Kolbe Center for the Study of Creation, an organization which has been an indispensable resource to me personally over the past decade.  Fortunately, there are other great voices of reason, such as the late Orthodox theologian Fr. Seraphim Rose, whose book on Genesis is also a valuable resource for study on this topic.  A more obscure resource dating back to the 11th century was also discovered by Yours Truly recently, and it was a very valuable book written by the Syriac hierarch Michael the Syrian entitled The Chronicle.  It was in this book that I honestly found the first affirmation of a long-held view I had, and this is what I wanted to talk about today.

To preface this discussion, let me remind the reader of what Scripture is meant for.  Scripture is 100% true, infallible, and it has divine authorship (albeit through human vessels).  However, contrary to some of my Evangelical/Fundamentalist Protestant friends, the Bible was never meant to be a comprehensive history.  Its sole purpose is the chronicling of the story of salvation, and although every word of it is inspired and true, it gives a legacy of God's creation, redemption, and ultimate triumph in history.  This means that its focus is narrowed to those events that relate to that legacy, and therefore there are some things that Scripture is either silent on or mentions in a general way to provide context for the overall narrative. The setting for the Scriptural narrative, for instance, is confined to a certain geographic area - a large area, but a limited area nonetheless.  The story starts there, and it ends there. That being said and established, let's talk a little about something that has been a big topic of discussion and debate over the centuries.

The origin of humankind, as Scripture plainly states, is man's creation by God.  That first man had a name, Adam, and he was later given a soulmate named Eve.  These were real people, not the stuff of fable, and despite what evolutionists say (and their story is constantly changing - the evolution narrative evolves itself ironically) every human being on the planet is descended from that couple.  About 11 generations later, Noah came along, and after the cleansing flood God sent to cleanse the planet of corruption, the human race started over, but it was different this time.  Noah's three primary children - Shem, Ham, Japheth - are the progenitors of the key nations that make up the Scriptural narrative, but this is where it gets interesting.  In the "Table of Nations" in Genesis, many groups are noted, and although I won't get into that here because it would be a lengthy discussion, all of those nations had some bearing on the Biblical narrative.  However, many nations are not mentioned, such as Asians, Native Americans, and Black Sub-Saharan Africans - how do they fit into the genealogy.  Over the centuries, many odd theories have been floated, calling the Chinese people "Semites" and the Black Africans "Hamites," but there are things that don't add up about all that.  It doesn't necessarily contradict the Biblical narrative, as some may think, but rather it affirms that the Biblical narrative, like any story, has a specific setting, and certain details are not included because they have no bearing on the central truth of the story.  This is where Michael the Syrian's (or Michael Rabo, as he is often designated) Chronicle comes in.  

About a decade ago, an Evangelical minister and Bible teacher named Rob Skiba introduced a very interesting concept I found intriguing because it made sense, and it essentially revolutionized the way I had always seen Scripture.  Unfortunately Skiba passed away about 5 years ago due to complications arising from COVID-19, and prior to his death he had begun embracing some weird ideas such as "flat-earth" theory, but his earlier work is worth consideration.  Like my own conclusions, Skiba understood Scripture as being a specific story with a specific goal - the redemption of God's ultimate creation, humanity. At the center of that was the person of Jesus Christ.  But, as I likewise have concluded, the Bible is not a complete comprehensive history of the universe, nor was it intended to be.  This means that the possibility of other accounts existed, and these are sources that Skiba called (and I love the term!) "Biblically-endorsed extra-biblical books."  Some of these included The Book of Enoch, The Book of Jasher, and The Book of Jubilees.  While not part of the Western canon of Scripture, Enoch in particular is in the Ethiopian Bible.  These books are not divinely-authored, nor are the inspired in the same way as the Bible is, but many of them do contain vital historical accounts that were referenced even in Scripture.  Looking at it from a Thomistic/Bonaventure perspective, they represent Nature confirming Scripture, and as such Scripture then perfects the narrative they give by the sheer fact that God even told many of those whom he used to write the books of the Bible that they could reference those as sort of what we call primary source material as historians.  It is apparent that many of the theologians and Fathers of the Church appreciated them too, as they referred to them in many cases in their own writings.  It is in that backdrop that we introduce Michael the Syrian.

Michael Rabo (also known as Michael the Syrian or Michael the Great) lived from 1126 to 1199.  He was an ethnic Assyrian, and served as Patriarch of the Syriac Orthodox Church for over 50 years.  His famous Chronicle was written over a 50-year period of his life, and it is a history that begins with Creation and concludes with the year 1195, just four years before his own passing.  The original text was huge, and was organized into three columns, each being its own section of the book. It was eventually translated by an Armenian-American scholar, Robert Bedrosian, into English in 2013, and that is the edition I am holding in my hand as I write this.  His account of the generations of Noah is what got my attention, as it confirmed something I had personally theorized about for many years myself, and that is what I wanted to talk about now.

Like many of these Chronicles, Michael's relies heavily on the Biblical text but also adds to it where gaps are perceived.  In his discussion about the generations of Noah, he gives the family tree almost as Scripture documents, but then he adds who he believes the nations fathered by Noah's descendants are.  There is one notable point of disagreement I have where he identifies the Franks (Germanic tribes) as Semites, and the evidence is not there for that - if they are descended from any of Noah's sons it would be Japheth, as most of the Indo-European nations are traced to him. Also, is account of the death of Nimrod is somewhat different too - while some ancient texts state that it was Esau who defeated and killed Nimrod, Michael claims that Hayk, a descendant of Japheth and believed to be the father of the Armenian nation, did this.  While that is a topic for another discussion, it proves that even among venerated writings of Church leaders throughout the centuries, there is some debate among them about minor details.  I personally still hold to the view that Esau assassinated Nimrod, and the consensus of this story is that Nimrod was a giant, a world leader, and a precursor to the future Antichrist. Michael comes to a similar conclusion about those details as well.  The focus here though is not on Nimrod, although I may do a study on that later, but rather on Noah's other children.

There is honestly no consensus on how many children Noah had in his lifetime, and there could have been dozens of them.  The same could be said of Adam as well, as Cain, Abel, and later Seth had to get their wives from somewhere in order to reproduce.  As Noah's story chronicles a sort of reset of the human race, it means that there had to be more to the story.  While his primary three sons - Shem, Ham, Japheth - all had wives already, their generations in the "Table of Nations" in no way serve as a comprehensive origin of every nation on earth.  So, that means there were other children involved.  Michael notes that Noah did indeed produce another son named Matinos, and he was given a land "beyond the far side of the sea."  What does that mean?  It could mean the Americas, or even sub-Saharan Africa, but it is listed.  A further sentence notes that he was "sent to the West," meaning that wherever he was sent it was to the west of where Noah landed and the first postdiluvian setttlements were built.  That means then that at least one other son of Noah did exist, but could there have been more?  That will be the objective of future research I plan to do on this topic.  

Where did Michael find the information about Matinos at though?  His chronicle says nothing about that, but it must have had some primary source somewhere that talked about it.  Going back to Scripture, we basically know where the three principle sons of Noah went - Japheth had a split in his progeny, as some settled in what is now Europe while others went to the steppes of the north.  The Indo-European peoples are the primary descendants of Japheth.  The descendants of Ham, we see, are the originators of some of the oldest civilizations on earth, including the Sumerians, Egyptians, the Dravidian peoples of Mohenjo-Daro, and I would even add the peoples of the Pacific Ocean.  The descendants of Shem have a special place in salvation history, and the story will eventually narrow down to them - these are the Jews, Arabs, Aramaeans, Assyrians, Chaldeans, Amharic Ethiopians, and others.  Scripture gives evidence that those nations sprung forth from the primary three sons of Noah, but what about the rest of the world.  No mention is given of east Asians, nor of sub-Saharan Black Africans, nor of American Indians - they did not have a role in the overall story, so they are not relevant to that discussion in that instance.  It does not detract from their humanity though, as Christ came to save them too as part of the human race, and in modern history we see the fruit of that.  But, they are not part of the Biblical story.  The logical conclusion - which also makes the most sense - is that they are descendants of other children of Noah.  When you start to see it that way, then things start to fall into place.  It does not compromise the Biblical narrative, nor does it diminish Christ's plan to offer salvation to all mankind, but again, Scripture has a stage its narrative unfolds upon, and that stage is a focal geographical region.  In time, I may find out more and I will definitely update things as I learn, but it just is something I have thought about for a while, and Michael's Chronicle confirms that I am not the only one to tackle that question.

That is enough theological discourse for this week, but I will be back soon.  Thanks for allowing me to share with you. 

Other Reflections on My Younger Self

 Over the past couple of days, I have recounted my spiritual odyssey, but that is only a part of who I am.  It is an important part, as my faith is integral to my existence, but there is more to me than that I wanted to discuss too.  I am a person who has dabbled in a lot of things over the years, although not as much in my old age as I used to.  Having a time of reflection due to a summer break from my teaching vocation, I have some time to catch up on some of these things, and I wanted to talk about them more.  Trying to sort through these recollections is akin to clearing spiderwebs from that long-neglected hutch we often find in our kitchens, and then the daunting task of trying to figure out where this, or that, or the other fits is the looming challenge.  So, I am writing it all down. 

Some years back, a friend of mine who was a Black guy affiliated with a Oneness Pentecostal group of some sort (their official designation is Oneness, although back home we used to call them "Jesus Only Pentecostals") had a sort of vision about me that he shared with me, and it was somewhat profound in all honesty.  In the vision, he described me as being in a damp, dark cave, and I had to dig, but then I came upon a huge cache of precious stones.  This was essentially a message that often we feel a bit weary and lost, but the real riches of our lives are within us, as God put them there and they just need to be tapped into and discovered.  Although I know Oneness people would be what is considered heretical (due to their rejection of one cardinal doctrine, the Triune God) at times God uses the most unlikely instruments to speak truth to us.  That was one of those times.  It sort of meshed with a personal word I received when I was 21 and attended what was called a "School of the Prophets" meeting at Christian International Church in Panama City, FL, and a speaker - a guy with a prophetic gift named Tom Nicholson - prayed over me and said that he saw me in a deep well, and I was looking up and no one was there except God himself, and I was lifted out of that well and transformed: banners were mentioned in that word too, and in all honesty I think that referred to my eventual acceptance and embrace of a more liturgical faith.  Both of these insights - given by two radically different people to me over a period of several years - bring me back to this moment.  And they preface what I am about to say next.

In the past several years or so, I have felt more displaced and somewhat buried by the cares of life and other things, and as such I sort of lost my vision a bit.  In the past few days of talking about revisiting my spiritual odyssey, it was an attempt to sort of dig out some of those dusty old memories and re-examine them.  While a lot of them had to do with matters of faith, there are other things about myself I wanted to re-examine as well, including some activities I once found solace in.  One of those was art.  As a younger man, I used to draw a lot - I have literally an entire portfolio of my artwork, and at times it has garnered the attention of others, as I did win a contest once and I also have been drafted from my high school years onward to design artwork for band programs and other things.  I can still do it, but in all honesty I haven't actually drawn anything for perhaps years - I doodle some, sure, but nothing of any significance.  I have thought recently about investing in a small sketchbook and attempting to do some drawings again, and maybe I still will, but motivation has been a bit lacking as well - I feel a lot more complacent than I used to in all honesty, and perhaps need to motivate myself. I have a relatively small circle of friends and supportive voices right now, and that hasn't helped either as I feel somewhat like I am stuck in a sort of mental wilderness and am just in survival mode.  Am I in a midlife crisis?  I mean, I am 55 years old now, about to hit 56 in just over 3 months from now, and could be that is what this is about.  I mentioned the other day about the Mark Lowry shtick of "striving for significance," and a part of me wants to do just that, but how??  This will take some effort and time to figure out for sure, but I feel something interesting going on inside me, which also is why I have been writing a lot more too. Let's reflect some on that, shall we?

The ironic thing about the time we live in now is the fact that technology is the most advanced it's ever been.  I have sitting here beside my school-issued laptop what is called a microcomputer, a palm-sized desktop modem that I still have to figure out how to set up, and I also have a tiny thermal printer I invested in just a couple of months ago.  Additionally, I am sitting at a desk with two laptops - one is my personal one, and then there is this one which is a perk of my teaching position at the school where I work. I also have sitting just above me a small box, in which are a dozen thumb-sized flash drives with a music collection in it that would be the equivalent of about 500 CDs or perhaps a thousand LP records. Another box to my immediate left holds about 20 or more similar flash drives with a huge library of documents, photos, videos, and other things on them (one is unfortunately corrupted, but it isn't a huge deal as I can easily download the stuff elsewhere).  And, shopping, researching, and so many other things are a mere click of a key away as the internet, with its thousands of terabytes worth of data is at my fingertips - type one word in a Google search engine, and you will get everything you are looking for plus a few things you weren't expecting.  Whereas also I used to have to send stamped envelopes with money orders to get things I wanted, now a quick visit to Amazon or Ebay gives me an unlimited set of options to even order obscure stuff I didn't think even existed anymore.  This is the 21st century, and we live in a technological age no doubt.  While it has some benefits, it also tends to get a bit boring, as now the excitement and mystery of tracking things down has become just a 5-minute click of a few keys.  And, all that made me think about some things I want to explore now too.

As a teenager, I grew up somewhat lower-income and living in a remote location in rural West Virginia, the state of my birth and where a large part of my life played out. But, I was a kid with a non-stop mind and an active imagination, and I was always looking for things.  Especially when I began to get more involved with my faith after I came to Christ at age 16, I got this insatiable appetite for learning more about the denominations and other things which were the heritage of my particular faith tradition.  At that time, this was only possible by two means - you wrote letters or you made long-distance landline phone calls.  The letters were the easiest, as postage at that time was a lot less expensive, but when it came to the phone calls I got myself into trouble a lot - at one point, I ran up a $50 phone bill for just one month!  My mother would get steamed at me, as at that time we stayed with a nonagenarian lady that Mom served as a live-in caretaker, and Mom was self-conscious with stuff like that.  While I got about a $25 allowance each month from my dad's $100 child support check he sent us up until my 19th birthday, I learned quickly how to account for every penny of that allowance as I budgeted, and I set goals for myself.  One of the things I also did then was I wrote down on a calendar every piece of my important mail I got, as well as keeping a list of what I was expecting.  For a teenager, I kept pretty meticulous records of everything, and I still actually have all my old calendars and other things in a bin under my bed right now.  Being that meticulous with everything made me a natural bureaucrat in many aspects, and I mean I kept everything too - I still do that even today in all honesty.  I had a personal enterprise of my own that was operated from my bedroom since I was about 11 years old, and it later became an asset as the words "attention to detail" were a fundamental quality I would list on resumes later.  That probably explains why even now in my closet here I have about a dozen bins stored that could document even the most minute details of my life since I was 10 - I can literally look back and tell you a specific piece of mail I received on July 20, 1988, and this slightly OCD trait I have has served me well over the years too.  Even these blog articles - I have taken the initiative to keep copies of everything I write, and on a shelf behind me I actually have a set of several volumes of every blog post I have composed in the past 15 years, as well as bound volumes of every college project I created for classes since my undergrad years. It is just part of who I am, and if I ever achieve the status of being someone important one day, someone who designates themselves as my official biographer will have a treasure-trove of material to hopefully paint a comprehensive legacy of my life.  Between old calendars and bank account registers, written journals, photos, old letters, bound volumes of all my written work, etc., not to mention the original documents that much of this written work was derived from, my life is pretty well-documented.  In a way, I am thankful for that, as in all honesty I am all that is left of my immediate family - I have no siblings, and my parents, grandparents, etc., are all gone now.  I barely keep contact with my cousins, as about 20 of them live within 10 miles of me but I never see them or anything, which in itself is sad (I tackled that issue a few weeks ago).  All is not lost though, as I do have something in the works which may actually give me continuity, but I will talk about that later as I am not at liberty to disclose that now, but it is a good thing though.  Part of the revelation of that depends on when I can travel abroad for an important reason at some point in the near future, so the suspense will have to sustain you as the reader until that happens. 

A large part of this is also prayer too - I am praying for direction now for many things, and for those of my readers who are people of faith, your prayers for me are coveted and appreciated too.  I feel as if right now I am at the crossroads of life, and I am seeking out that particular sign which will point me in the right direction.  I am compelled to look into my past for this too, as for some reason consulting with my younger self may be a key component into finding my current direction I seek.  I have written a ton of stuff in my life story draft already, and in essence this serves as sort of a reflection of that as well. At times this road is lonely, as I feel like I am tackling it by myself - it is like a dirt path in the woods in the darkness of night, and the flashlight I have with me has a weak battery so I have to stumble along to make sure a stray bear doesn't eat me or something. And, believe me, I have encountered my share of metaphorical stray bears - I have scars from some of them too. I long to have someone to confide in myself, and wish I had a few more closer friends.  However, I still bear the scars of disappointment, broken promises, and even complete betrayal by people I thought were close to me, but they were quick to abandon ship when the waters got choppy. It's a lot to process, and as I muddle through it, I hold onto hope that God will illumine that dark path in the wilderness so I can find my way out of it somehow.  When that will happen I am not sure, and maybe the lighted path is there but I am missing it.  However, I trust it will happen, and hope is a nourishment to my soul, as is a strong faith in a God I trust to guide my steps.  

Sometimes we have to look back to find the way forward, and as I look at my younger self, I see things.  I see the old mystery and enthusiasm I once had, and to be honest I would love to get some of that back.  But, I also realize that I am in a different place than I was then, and perhaps building upon the foundation I have will be the key to getting where I need to be.  If you are in a similar situation, I encourage you to look back, but also keep focused - losing focus is not an option, as it could be catastrophic.  Thanks again for allowing me to ramble along with my reflections, and hopefully they might be of some value to someone who may need them, even if it is just realizing that maybe they are not alone.