My dad is walking on the beach in the picture. I cannot see his face, but I know he is happy. I sense it from his body language. I love the beach. I imagine he loved the beach as well. He and Gloria went to the beach quite often, or at least I believe they did. Most of my father's life is unknown to me. He and my mother divorced when I was about four or five years old. I was devastated as was my little brother. We struggled with our resentments and pain for most of our adult lives. Yet, through all that I managed to have a relationship with my father that helped bring us all together near the end of his life. I had the privilege of being by his side when he died. I held his hand as he drew his last breath. He died with great dignity. His physical death was difficult, but his spirit went softly, and beautifully. I look at myself in the mirror and search for traces of him in my own face. I listen to my brother and hear Dad's voice in Craig's own deep tones. I try and walk with joy as I feel him walking in this picture. I miss dad, but I am more aware of him now than ever.

This is my place to visit and to write. This place lies nestled in cyberspace, unsecured, open for intrusion, vulnerable. Still, I choose to come to this place to share my thoughts as honestly as I am able. I felt good today. I didn't step on anyone's toes today. I avoided my nemesis, anger. I lived in the now. Strange to think of living in the now as a memory. I am not in the now. Is writing just a form of avoiding the now?

The Practice of Patience

I can hardly believe that I have been a home owner for nearly seven years. I tally time by length of each project. On good days, I look back and time seems to have unfolded in an orderly process, and I am amazed at what has been accomplished. But bad days bring melancholy, as I compare the time I have spent working on projects against time spent on family, friends, and recreation. I must guard against these days, or risk being sucked into a whirlpool of regret and self pity as I compare my life to others. This self assassination can cost hours, if not days, and wastes precious energy.

How does one avoid this form of self assassination? Gratitude. Gratitude is the only way I know to ward of thoughts of regret, or shut down the slide show of "my life versus your life." I am grateful for what God has given me today.

The Beacons We Set Forth...

Children are like little beacons. Their parents create the miniature vessels within which are ignited tiny, delicate flames, and those tenuous fires are tended until such time as the flame can sustain itself under all but the most extreme conditions.

Importance...the light itself. This is the important thing. That the lights be made strong. We forget and sometimes are disappointed in the vessels that harbor the light. These beautiful lights sustain us as we sustain our creator. They sustain others as well. Perhaps the vessels lacked perfection or even functional fortitude. The fuel feeding it determines its vigor and texture of its heat.

When we cannot journey ourselves any longer, we can sit quietly on shore and watch the lights we set forth continue their journey. We are happy.