My son, Steven (4), wrote down the things for which he felt grateful yesterday. Here’s what he came up with. I love the double-mention of pasta!

My family
The missionaries
Jesus
The prophet
Church building
Gymnastics preschool
Foam pit
My room
Brothers
White Sauce and noodles
Myself
My testimony and the spirit
Macaroni and Cheese
My own Scriptures

It is a beautiful thing to think more like a child.

Over the decades of my life, I have been able to see at very close range the impact of a full spectrum of choices in the lives of others and myself. Some of the choices and their consequences I have observed have been terrible. Some have been beautiful. I have heard more than one man say, "Oh—I love my kids so much" and then make choices that would bring a lifetime of heartache to his children. That's not love. Too often in life what we claim we want and what we actually do can be at tragic odds one with another. It's as if we set out to build a "dream house" but burn it to the ground as we go. What do we really want? How can we tell what we really want? Can we see a "dreamhouse" to completion, or is it just Fate that our dreams end up perpetually homeless?

What we really want is manifest not so much by our whims and wishes. What we truly want is evidenced by our daily, almost trivial, decisions and choices. One of the grand achievements in life is to find the points of contact between our seemingly inconsequential quotidian decisions and the big consequences of life. Let's look at a simple example: health. I have not met a sane person in all my life who has not or would not expressed a desire to be healthy. No one, except perhaps someone with impaired faculties, would say, "Wow! I'd love to have the flu!" or, "Gee, it would be great to have clogged arteries, five heart-attacks, quadruple by-pass surgery, and a heart transplant!" It's beyond absurd. Yet, many of us make decisions every day that compromise our health, little by little. It's hard to believe that the extra doughnut (poor doughnuts have been unnecessarily demonized more than most foods!), the extra cake icing, or the generous dollop of cream on one's cocoa or latté are really going to make a difference. But, they do. Day after day, almost imperceptibly, our choices show what we really want. In this case—we'd rather have the satisfaction of these foods than our long-term health.

Think of a man who claims to love his family. He works hard for them. He takes them on elaborate family trips, and the photo albums become crowded with happy faces. But, he begins to spend too much time at work. He spends too much time with a woman there. They are alone on business trips. They eat lunch and dinner together. In his mind, he loves his wife and family, and he wants to them to be happy. But, does he truly? The little decisions he makes that consistently cause him to spend more time at work and with someone else suggest otherwise. No excuse he can conjure is powerful enough to controvert the simple facts of his decisions. The more he is away, the more his children wonder if he cares. His wife begins to feel unneeded and unwanted. He begins to feel less engaged at home. The slope becomes increasingly slippery and dangerous.

Life matters. People matter. And, our daily decisions matter more than we realize. So, what do we really want? It is worth the effort to think through our daily thoughts and decisions and verify to what extent they line up with what we claim or appear to want out of life. The happiest people I know are those who achieve harmony such that their regular, day-to-day decisions lead, notwithstanding the normal setbacks, calamities and difficulties of life, to what they really wanted all along.

A great piece of news is that it is never too late for course corrections. For me, the guiding star of my life is Jesus Christ. He set the bar very, very high for us, "Be ye therefore perfect". Wow! This need not discourage us, though. What a compliment He has handed us. He is saying, "You can do it, kids. I'm setting the bar high, because I know you have the ability to get there, and I'll help you do it." We must never give up on ourselves or God. Despair is not an option.

Start Today!

---John R. Durant

This is the kind of lonely song that comes from wearing my heart on my sleeve for one woman.

 I Am Rain That Was Meant to Pour

Only true love can truly hurt

It's ours, but we don't get any say

It tears us apart to remind us how close

We've grown day after day 

My bags are in the car

Paycheck's telling me to go

And as I walk out the door, I know

I am rain that was meant to pour

I'll unpack my heartache

And beat the sunset until it cries

I'll hate myself for staring at the TV

Until my boredom finally dies

I'm giving all my secrets away

Like a busker on an empty metro quay

Now, just what was the last thing that you wore?

I am rain that was meant to pour

Memories are like a jester

That can only make people cry

This room couldn't be more empty

And I'm bluer than the sky

We were made to hurt each other

We found all we ever wanted

But never looked for

And, I'm just rain that was meant to pour

© John R. Durant

(From my hand-written journal yesterday while on a plane over the Atlantic)

I think, in the end, Heaven is a place where all our love, like every perfect feeling I have for Carolyn and my boys, goes. And, those feelings--- that love--- is put in a safe with no walls, where no one can ever interrupt it. It will never diminish. It just grows and grows.

jrd

Giving is vital. But, it is also good to receive. I am not talking about selfishly taking. I'm talking about humbly receiving. Too often, our pride, stubbornness, or other feelings get in the way of receiving what is selflessly, graciously, and kindly offered—everything from a compliment to a generous gift of financial aid or other assistance. Receiving gifts of any sort that are benevolently given by others is very different from taking. Taking implies seizing or capturing what is not offered. This impulse, too, may come from pride and other unproductive feelings.

God knew that we might need some guidance on the humbling and sanctifying act of receiving when He declared, "Deny not the gifts of God for they are many." Those gifts come in many ways.

Earlier this year I was chatting with a friend who lives back near my home town (hurray for Minnesota!), and we connect now and again. He and his family had fallen on hard times given the state of the world economy and so forth. When things were at their most difficult and bleak, he received the help that was beyond what he could have ever expected from family and friends. He's a hard-working and self-made kind of man. I know it was hard for him to accept help But, it was a moving thing to hear of his gratitude.

Five years ago I was blasted by a car while riding my bicycle. My body and brain took severe blows that nearly annihilated me. Recovering (to where I am now) tested me to the limits of my will to live. One day, when a very close friend was visiting with his family from Ephrata Washington, he inquired how I was doing with the various pains and difficulties. After an uplifting visit, they returned home, and just a week or so later we received an enormous shipment at our door. It was a Sleep Number bed, an adjustable sleeping surface that has helped many people with injuries sleep more comfortably. I couldn't hold back the tears as I thought of the generosity of my friend and his family. I phoned him, and expressed my appreciation and surprise. He insisted that repayment was not necessary, and all I could do is thank him with all of the sincerity I possess.

The gifts we receive are never really about "things". They are really about something deeper, something more lasting and important. Think about a compliment. I have taught my sons that when someone compliments them on something they have done well or on how they look etc., they should be gracious and say simply, "Thank you." Sometimes people feel the need to dismiss a compliment, not wanting to sound arrogant or boastful. Modesty is vita, of course. But, modesty also includes accepting compliment, because all good things do not come from us anyway. To reject the gift of another also denies the giver of the blessings of giving.

Let me explain with an example. When someone says, "You sing so beautifully," some respond, "Nah. I really suck. I wish I were so much better." Saying this suggests the other person was wrong, it rejects a gift, a compliment, that was genuinely extended. It is better to just say, "Thank you. How kind of you to say." When I receive a compliment such as this I think, "I'm grateful for the gifts God has given me." All good things come from Him.

Life will always present with opportunities to give, to receive, and even to take. Giving and receiving are two aspects of the same charity. They both involve humility and a willingness to look beyond ourselves, to think about others. Of course, we should do all we can to not be a burden to others, to "carry our own water" so to speak. But, when we are in need, when, after all we can do, we find ourselves in difficulty, it is a beautiful thing to receive the gifts of God with gratitude. When we are in a position to give, we should give from that same sense of gratitude and love--- Grace.

In the end, when the stage of mortality is dismantled, and we've all gone home, we'll all need a generous helping of Grace.

JRD

An unforgiving city granted an act of mercy, sending me off into the sky--- lonely little Moses in a cradle of steel floating on a river of air. Solitude gives rise to a peculiar reverence. The memory of a loved one is a priest to whom we confess a future that may never be. That's when a heart truly breaks. In the utter vulnerability of that moment we are strong as we can ever be.

Landscapes are intimidating. The earth's generosity and ferocity seem unintentional. It is never distracted from its destiny—to carve canyons out of granite tables, to force trees and grass out of stony ground, to drive mountains up further up into the sky—a giant engine of perpetual, insouciant change. And, its by-product is a circumstance in which we thrive against the odds, and luck seems to go our way. In the accidental bounty the planet provides we create the things that can never be the result of chance: love, humanity, selflessness, compassion. If luck is defying chance, then we can say we are lucky beyond measure.

Rivers, mountains, sprawling meadows, and oceans don't know what true luck looks like. But, we do. Luck is the shape of a child's smile. It is the warmth of a lover's kiss. Luck is unguarded laughter of children at play. It is the gentle pressure of a baby's hand around your finger. It is looking into your lover's eyes and knowing that you are understood, accepted, and known.

Chance, landscape, luck, humanity, uncertainty, and change--- weighty thoughts while I leave the capital of counterfeit luck-- where many people desperately chase what they know is an inevitable mirage. I depart richer than when I arrived: the true treasures of my life acquired yet a little more value, became a little more dear while I was a stranger in a strange land.

I was once at a store with my boys, and they were rolling in on their Heely shoes. As we passed the fellow at the door who verifies whether one has a membership card he loudly barked, "Hey! You guys can't roll on those in here!" His reaction was over-the-top; it was harsh and unkind. I paused and waited. Then, I drew close to the man and gently put my hand on his shoulder. I said in a quiet voice, audible to just him and me, "Sir, these are good boys here. It is good to speak to them kindly, and they will listen. I want you to work on that—to say things kindly first." He was a little stunned, because I think he was expecting me to be angry. He then replied with a bit of a stutter, "Oh….Uh… Yeah. I'm sorry." I smiled, and we walked on. I felt at peace. I hope the man at the door felt that way too. There was no confrontation or anger between us. I wish I always reacted so kindly in such situations.

We have all experienced interactions where things escalated quickly and disproportionately. People seem quick to anger over small things. We sometimes treat each other as if we're not people at all—as if we are just nobodies—gears in a big machine that will ultimately fail us. We can say to ourselves, "That person is just a customer." Or "Hey—she's just a cashier", and "He's just a guy work with." Then, we treat that [fill in the blank human functional character] in a less human way—keeping the distance between us. In so doing, we're acting on instinct, following the least elevated inclinations of ourselves. We use the word "just" to reduce the people around us to someone less than they really are.

What if we looked at each other more as compassionate people first? Sure, there are times we won't agree. Yes, there are times when there will be gaps in understanding. But, let's not forget we're people after all. Like it or not, we're on this big stage together. I like the simple words of a children's song:

I want to be kind to everyone, for that is right you see

So I say to myself, "Remember this: kindness begins with me"

--John

I was reading some of the latest entries from Billy Corgan's thought provoking site. In a 3-part segment he explores the feelings of a young man writing a love letter. He adds this aside, "Yes, people in remote parts of the world still write letters!!". I'm one of those people, and I guess our little town of Duvall Washington is sort of remote! Anyway, I still write quite a number of hand-written letters each year (I prefer the Uni-Ball Signo pen, in case you wondered). Receiving a hand-crafted letter or note is something special. Here's a little story about the impact of a simple letter.

My father was recently digging through some photo albums my dear mother had hastily put together prior to her death. They had been left in a box in the years since her passing, and he stumbled on them one day. I happened to phone him just moments after he found the box. We reminisced as he turned the pages. He told me stories about the people he recognized in the old photos. Then, he found a few letters tucked in the pages of the album. They were the few letters his father had sent to him during World War II. He read them to me, and we wept.

My grandfather was drafted into the war when my father was just three years old. He left my grandmother and my father alone and soon found himself floating around on the USS Richmond patrolling the Pacific ocean. In the letters to my father, he drew little pictures and wrote a little poem that revealed the simple hopes and dreams he harbored while mixed up in the sad business of war. He drew a picture of him and his son with a beautiful dog. And, he wrote a poem about going fishing some day with his boy, how they would toss a line in the water and never worry about what time they would need to go home.

I have held those letters many times. I've seen the way the graphite merged with the paper to create colors, strokes, and characters. The immediacy of knowing his pencil was on that paper while on that ship in that ocean while thinking about his boy brings my grandfather so much closer. If he had typed it on a machine, or if computers had existed and he had typed it in a word processor, you can see that it just wouldn't have been the same. His hand writing conjures his presence. I can imagine him in a cramped bunk writing that note, holding that pencil, hearing those planes.

So, when I want to send a thank you to a friend, a love note to my wife, or a message of praise or encouragement to one of my five sons, I do it in with a pen and ink. They know it's special. They'll treasure the gesture, and it will last long after the computers have been recycled. When my sons stumble on the notes I wrote to them, and they read them to their sons or daughters on the phone, perhaps the appreciative tears will flow as they did for my father and me.

--John

I played the guitar for hours this past weekend, and along the way, I wrote another simple song. I hope you like it.

It's called, Horizon

I'm a little beam of light

But I can't find the sun

I keep my legs movin'

But I don't know where to run

The sky took me in again

The night said 'Welcome home'

And, I got the nod from Dylan

Now I'm a genuine rolling stone

My heart was saying something

I couldn't understand

I'm alone

I'm a timid little whisper

I'm a shout when I'm hurt

A lonely little prince tamed

By a rose in the dirt

Does Heaven have my number

'Cause I'm getting calls from Hell

How am I down here?

I was hoping you could tell

I tried to get lost

So I could be found

Where am I now?

I'm a sound without a song

A star wiithout a sky

The truth sometimes hurts, but

It's better than a lie

I've learned that the horizon

Isn't sky and isn't land

It's a line that makes you wonder

Exactly where you stand

I've run out of time

The sun set long ago

Which way is home?

-© 2009 John R. Durant

Taste that light

When I touch

Kill and fight

Hurt so much

I'm not free

Claw my skin

Being me

Borrowed sin

Dig so deep

Treasure soul

Let me sleep

Dreams in tow

Wrapped around

Glory shreds

Shouting down

Mute insteads

--John R. Durant July 14th 2008

[ Wrote this last year. I still like some of the turns in here—an exploration of the space within a struggle, a kind of impressionistic contemplation of what could have been but can never be]

I/m clearing out old stuff, and I wrote this song in August 2006. I had been all pulverized two years previously and I was learning about suffering in new ways. Through it all, I learned the simple truth that Time Takes Time. Thanks Mr. Starkey.

enjoy…

No fun inside here
Out of sight
Not out of mind
A million moments to be alone
Mother Nature
Isn’t always kind
Patient indifference
To a fight
A tired a fighter inside
No way to sleep
While watches unwind
Warriors and little Braves
Gentle winds and Butterfly graves
Time takes time
Lusty breath and coma rain
Dust in a destiny of pain
Times takes time
Storms that devour a helpless sky
Hurt that doesn’t know at all why
Time takes time
All my secrets
Just to shy
To admit they are sin
Teeth in bones
She’s got a very funny grin

-john r durant August 2006

Losing things as fast as I can

Curled up like a child just how I began

Dust-bin Danny's got a crooked walk

His lonely secrets beg him to talk

Every Winter feels just like Spring

Since I died I don't feel a thing

Sweet, sweet gentle suicide

Lets all my courage run and hide

Not all that's dark is bad for me

Inky silence sets me free

Every night whispers "The end"

Dawn laughs it off, "Let's do it again"

I'm a tired fighter-- tasted too much blood

A weary little dove after the flood

A wide-eyed junkie waiting for a fix

A bruised lover just taking her licks

These wounds I was meant to own

Make me unafraid and alone

I wish that I could shine like you

Bought my halo with an I.O.U.

Keeping these ghosts alive

Something dies just to survive

Greenfields

The promise of something new

Greenfields

It's down to just me and you

May 2009

I wrote some thoughts in my journal a few days ago that I believe will be useful to others, especially those faced with challenges that make them shudder. Here’s what I wrote:

“God, if He truly loves us, must push us to our limit and then a step beyond: the unknown. This is when the full trust begins. Paradoxically but nonetheless precisely: this point of freefall is when we receive the Embrace. We ultimately choose between hope and despair. Because God wants to bring out the godliness within us, He escorts out onto the plane where the greatest challenges go down. He may use health problems, poverty, family problems, or other tragedies of great variety to bring us there. Then, while in the throes of that struggle we are in a position to choose between despair and hope. Our gesture of will at this point writes the truest story. This is when our legacy becomes everlasting.”

My experience has taught me that the words I just wrote are precisely true. It has taken pain, time, and many hours of reflection to understand what these things mean, their value, and how to express them.

Let me know if these words help. Tell me your story.

I’ve got a cruel friend

He won’t leave me alone

He pushes me

Between a rock and a stone

The gritty powder

Between my teeth

Soon I’ll forget

All that’s ugly beneath

    Oh love

    I think you know

I can’t help myself

I was born to worry

That blur- my destiny

It’s in such a hurry

I’m looking through

A hole in this cloud

And, what I can’t change

Is shouting-- so loud

    Oh love

    I think you know

When you were as close

As close as you could be

It was so complicated

Just to be me

So many things

My heart couldn’t say

My aches and sorrows

They got in the way

My shadow grew

While yours was the same

I was breathless and weary

When the morning came

    Oh love

    I think you know

---- March 2009 © John R. Durant

Jean-Paul Sartre famously wrote, "L'enfer c'est les autres". For you non-French speakers this means (roughly): Hell is other people.

This was uttered in a magnificent play, "Huis clos" or "No Exit". The "protagonist" is stricken with no eyelids during the play. He cannot close his eyes and hide from the gaze of others. It is their constant surveying of him, his morality, his well-being, his disposition, that he cannot bear. To be in the constant gaze of others is a kind of hell.

I don't believe Sartre got it completely right. But, there is a practical truth in what he says. Make enough friends and you'll learn that they can often be the source of the greatest hurt.

On one occasion of being betrayed by someone, I was so angry with myself for letting my guard down, for allowing myself to be so vulnerable to the deception or attach from a friend. I got burned, and at the end of the poem is a futile vow to never fall under the fatal sleeping spell of friendship. Despite our best attempts, we end up trusting people again, and we get hurt sometimes. Hopefully, we one day realize that we are at greater risk trusting no one than trusting and getting hurt.

Here's the poem in the harsh simplicity of my hurt.

Insomnia

I had a dream

In vicious technicolor

The actors all knew

Just how to hurt each other

It seemed so innocent

The laughter seemed to flow

The cuts grew only deeper

We pretended not to know

The smiles were always false

The kindnesses were lies

Thoughtfulness was poison

Trust and loyalty were spies

The end had to come

I somehow always knew

We slept and we dreamed

My how the time flew

I'm awake now

I refuse to sleep again

Hell is other people

The Devil is a friend

I'm awake now

Only fools fall asleep

The weary walking wakeful

Have secrets they must keep

I'm awake now

I'm awake now

I'm awake now

I'm awake now

I'm awake now

And now, And now

And now, And now

And now, And now

And now, And now

Now, Now, Now

Now, Now,

Now

No....

This is another rock song my sons and I play. It usually gets a good reception. It's called "Freedom". I had not conscious agenda when writing this song. I never intended it to be political in the least. For my part, it's not a song about the Iraq war or anything like that (some have suggested this). It's about something else-- you'll figure it out.

Freedom

We chase the night to find

We're out of sight, not out of mind

We know it's time for a change

We'll take a stroll on the firing range

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Come lay your cares on me

Sand in my eyes so I can see

We'll chase the dawn then we'll sleep

We'll shed our dreams, buried deep

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

I felt your touch, your space

The shape of the moon, your face

We'll bleed our lives into the sun

Who knew dying could be so fun?

Now that we've lost all we'd won

We'll shout our freedom from a gun

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight

Can't hold my thoughts tonight