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| HOME The fortress of solitude |
One thing that so many seem to admire in me is my total lack of fear of death.
However, this lack of fear of death was actually caused by my fear of life. For too
long I spent what I called life looking forward to the end of it. I so wanted to be done
with the work I was called to do and go home to heaven. I know many of you do not
share my faith, but please understand that I do not fear death because I know that
in death I will have the home I always wanted-filled with love, acceptance of my flaws
and freedom from pain and the ugliness of this world.
There have been so many mornings where I would wake up and wonder why God
would make me live another day. The pain and problems seemed so intolerable
that being home in His arms would finally bring me the peace I have so long sought.
Of course, suicide of any kind is a sin so I would trudge through one more day
praying that God would soon finally let me have peace.
Those prayers were finally answered. I have found peace. I have finally found
home, right here on earth.
They say that a man’s home is his castle. I understand that analogy. I do not
think that the reference to castle means a fancy, opulent building, but rather the
castle as a fortress from the danger outside. No matter the building I reside in, I
finally have that protection and safety that I prayed for.
There is a term thrown around all too often in the wrong context. So many times
the street people are referred to as “homeless.” I challenge that definition and say
that the street people should be called “houseless.” Not all houseless people are
homeless, for their “homes” just might be where they wish to be. Then again, far too
many people who are NOT houseless are indeed homeless.
A home should be a place where one feels safe and secure. The houses I grew
up in were anything but, for me. One reason I looked forward to school was that I
felt safer there than I did the many nights I spent in my bed hiding under the covers
or being yelled at by a slobbering drunk.
This is in part why I often referred to Bullitt Bowl as my home. When I was young,
it was my place of safety and solitude. On those approaches, I felt peace. Berheim
forest offered the same for me. My best times in high school were at Bullitt Bowl or
on some trail at Bernheim. Then I had to return to our house and be on guard from
the darkness in my life.
There have been times where I thought I had found the home I always wanted.
But my fear of abandonment kept me from feeling secure. There were too many
times that “peace” would be replaced by yelling, just as in my youth. Some do not
understand that yelling actually causes me real physical (albeit psychosomatic) pain.
Try a game some time. Play word association with someone you know. After a
few words throw the word “home” out there and see how many come back with the
word “house.” But play that game with someone with a dark past and you might find
that the word “safe” comes up all too often.
Finally at age 40+, I am no longer homeless. Oh, the house we live in is nice. Of
course, houses can be lost. That is okay, this building might be ripped away from
us by any number of means, but I will not lose my home. Even if the three of us were
living out on a flat rock, I would not be homeless.
I am from a very old school of thought. I am apparently one of the few that
believes a parent’s main focus should be their kids. So many that I talk to that are
struggling with their jobs, I ask the same question, “Do you have a job to support
your family, or a family to support your job?” While many start out doing the former,
so many let the means become the ends and lose focus on their families.
On August 7th I woke up early to help Ally get ready for her first day of tenth
grade. She awoke to the aroma of blueberry pancakes. As she sat there eating,
she turned to me and said that it was the first time she ever had a parent make her
breakfast before school. She knew living with Jamie and I would be different, but
she really had no idea of what was to come.
The thing I love most about Jamie is her sharing of my attitude about kids. Since
she cannot have kids of her own, she has stepped up to the plate where Ally and
Alex are concerned. Of course, Alex only visits on nights he has no school or
church, but we make sure that times together count.
I remember the first time Ally saw that side of Jamie. We were having a simple
lunch and we were just sitting down. Jamie brought a glass for me to hold while she
poured soda into it. I told Ally to get herself a glass, when Jamie said, “No, this is for
Ally, I will get my own in a bit.” Ally could only shake her head. There have been
many times like this. Ally says that she has never seen or known a mother figure
like Jamie. Frankly, neither have I, except on television.
The two of them have been having “bake-offs.” A few weeks ago Ally made her
first scratch cake ever-for Jamie. The next week Jamie made her first scratch
blueberry pie ever-for Ally. When I was very sick the next weekend the two of them
woke me up with fresh homemade lemon pie.
Ally's cake for Jamie-and sign of affection.
Sure there have been difficult moments. Ally seemed to grow distant for a time.
She said that Jamie was too perfect and she was waiting for Jamie to change. Now
she says that she knows Jamie won’t.
When Alex is here, he knows we won't yell at him for just being a kid. We will play
games or watch movies together. He seems so happy here, even without the fancy
things that he has at his mother's house. When it comes time for him to leave,
sullen Alex returns.
A family should be a form of symbiosis, with all members helping out the others.
That family is what truly makes a home, not the building. It is refreshing to finally live
in an environment like that. Of course, that selflessness does have its drawbacks.
Since no one wants to drink the last soda, thinking others might want it, I have to
order someone to drink it.
Our new house is very nice. It is the only one on the road. It is quiet, private and
cozy. Of course, the nearest grocery is 12 miles away, but I can live with that. I
have privacy at last.
Our new home is even better. We all look out for each other. Ally’s grades have
gone up, and her troubles seem far away. So do mine. The three of us have lived
as a family since June. Disagreements have yet to be voiced by yelling.
I started to get ill right before we moved. The air conditioning had quit at our
apartment and the 100-degree heat got to me. I have yet to recover completely.
I wondered why God would let me get as sick as I have been as of late. So ill that I
had to quit bowling for now; I can’t lift a box of cat litter, much less a bowling bag.
Now I know why. God let me be ill again so that I could enjoy my little piece of
heaven on earth that He has blessed me with. Finally that prayer was answered.
Yes, I am tired and weak, but I get to stay home and enjoy the safety and security I
have been blessed with. If my health and career have to suffer for now, I do not
really care. I have what that frightened little boy prayed for so very long ago.
I am still not afraid of death. Heaven will be better than I can even fathom. But
now, I am not afraid of life, no matter how bad the pain is.
Heaven can wait if it wishes.
I am home.
Be well,
Sponge
12/12/2007
However, this lack of fear of death was actually caused by my fear of life. For too
long I spent what I called life looking forward to the end of it. I so wanted to be done
with the work I was called to do and go home to heaven. I know many of you do not
share my faith, but please understand that I do not fear death because I know that
in death I will have the home I always wanted-filled with love, acceptance of my flaws
and freedom from pain and the ugliness of this world.
There have been so many mornings where I would wake up and wonder why God
would make me live another day. The pain and problems seemed so intolerable
that being home in His arms would finally bring me the peace I have so long sought.
Of course, suicide of any kind is a sin so I would trudge through one more day
praying that God would soon finally let me have peace.
Those prayers were finally answered. I have found peace. I have finally found
home, right here on earth.
They say that a man’s home is his castle. I understand that analogy. I do not
think that the reference to castle means a fancy, opulent building, but rather the
castle as a fortress from the danger outside. No matter the building I reside in, I
finally have that protection and safety that I prayed for.
There is a term thrown around all too often in the wrong context. So many times
the street people are referred to as “homeless.” I challenge that definition and say
that the street people should be called “houseless.” Not all houseless people are
homeless, for their “homes” just might be where they wish to be. Then again, far too
many people who are NOT houseless are indeed homeless.
A home should be a place where one feels safe and secure. The houses I grew
up in were anything but, for me. One reason I looked forward to school was that I
felt safer there than I did the many nights I spent in my bed hiding under the covers
or being yelled at by a slobbering drunk.
This is in part why I often referred to Bullitt Bowl as my home. When I was young,
it was my place of safety and solitude. On those approaches, I felt peace. Berheim
forest offered the same for me. My best times in high school were at Bullitt Bowl or
on some trail at Bernheim. Then I had to return to our house and be on guard from
the darkness in my life.
There have been times where I thought I had found the home I always wanted.
But my fear of abandonment kept me from feeling secure. There were too many
times that “peace” would be replaced by yelling, just as in my youth. Some do not
understand that yelling actually causes me real physical (albeit psychosomatic) pain.
Try a game some time. Play word association with someone you know. After a
few words throw the word “home” out there and see how many come back with the
word “house.” But play that game with someone with a dark past and you might find
that the word “safe” comes up all too often.
Finally at age 40+, I am no longer homeless. Oh, the house we live in is nice. Of
course, houses can be lost. That is okay, this building might be ripped away from
us by any number of means, but I will not lose my home. Even if the three of us were
living out on a flat rock, I would not be homeless.
I am from a very old school of thought. I am apparently one of the few that
believes a parent’s main focus should be their kids. So many that I talk to that are
struggling with their jobs, I ask the same question, “Do you have a job to support
your family, or a family to support your job?” While many start out doing the former,
so many let the means become the ends and lose focus on their families.
On August 7th I woke up early to help Ally get ready for her first day of tenth
grade. She awoke to the aroma of blueberry pancakes. As she sat there eating,
she turned to me and said that it was the first time she ever had a parent make her
breakfast before school. She knew living with Jamie and I would be different, but
she really had no idea of what was to come.
The thing I love most about Jamie is her sharing of my attitude about kids. Since
she cannot have kids of her own, she has stepped up to the plate where Ally and
Alex are concerned. Of course, Alex only visits on nights he has no school or
church, but we make sure that times together count.
I remember the first time Ally saw that side of Jamie. We were having a simple
lunch and we were just sitting down. Jamie brought a glass for me to hold while she
poured soda into it. I told Ally to get herself a glass, when Jamie said, “No, this is for
Ally, I will get my own in a bit.” Ally could only shake her head. There have been
many times like this. Ally says that she has never seen or known a mother figure
like Jamie. Frankly, neither have I, except on television.
The two of them have been having “bake-offs.” A few weeks ago Ally made her
first scratch cake ever-for Jamie. The next week Jamie made her first scratch
blueberry pie ever-for Ally. When I was very sick the next weekend the two of them
woke me up with fresh homemade lemon pie.
Ally's cake for Jamie-and sign of affection.
Sure there have been difficult moments. Ally seemed to grow distant for a time.
She said that Jamie was too perfect and she was waiting for Jamie to change. Now
she says that she knows Jamie won’t.
When Alex is here, he knows we won't yell at him for just being a kid. We will play
games or watch movies together. He seems so happy here, even without the fancy
things that he has at his mother's house. When it comes time for him to leave,
sullen Alex returns.
A family should be a form of symbiosis, with all members helping out the others.
That family is what truly makes a home, not the building. It is refreshing to finally live
in an environment like that. Of course, that selflessness does have its drawbacks.
Since no one wants to drink the last soda, thinking others might want it, I have to
order someone to drink it.
Our new house is very nice. It is the only one on the road. It is quiet, private and
cozy. Of course, the nearest grocery is 12 miles away, but I can live with that. I
have privacy at last.
Our new home is even better. We all look out for each other. Ally’s grades have
gone up, and her troubles seem far away. So do mine. The three of us have lived
as a family since June. Disagreements have yet to be voiced by yelling.
I started to get ill right before we moved. The air conditioning had quit at our
apartment and the 100-degree heat got to me. I have yet to recover completely.
I wondered why God would let me get as sick as I have been as of late. So ill that I
had to quit bowling for now; I can’t lift a box of cat litter, much less a bowling bag.
Now I know why. God let me be ill again so that I could enjoy my little piece of
heaven on earth that He has blessed me with. Finally that prayer was answered.
Yes, I am tired and weak, but I get to stay home and enjoy the safety and security I
have been blessed with. If my health and career have to suffer for now, I do not
really care. I have what that frightened little boy prayed for so very long ago.
I am still not afraid of death. Heaven will be better than I can even fathom. But
now, I am not afraid of life, no matter how bad the pain is.
Heaven can wait if it wishes.
I am home.
Be well,
Sponge
12/12/2007
| Enjoying the sunset through the willow tree. photos by Allyson Kathleen Koch |