Cabin #2

"I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety." - Psalm 4:8

Ya know. Vacation is important. So is rest and finding peace, both within and without. We often forget this for some reason. We also forget how others need it to, and how vastly special the connections are between us, some that we don't even realize existed, until they're pointed out to us. Like the Cabin #2 Journal that I stumbled upon when we vacationed in Big Sur last weekend. As I flipped it open I looked into the lives of SO many people. It was really neat. There were some lovely children's drawings in it, a few heavy hitter writer's who expounded in earnest, and some real life, gritty moments, shared by others. Each visitor is expected to write in it before they leave, and I was stunned to see that the journal was completely full, save for the inside back cover. So? Since I haven't blogged in a while, I thought I would share our entry.

"As our family reads through this journal we are touched by so many stories. There are many moments recorded here, memories elastic and given eternal life because different people from all over the world have taken the time to share. Some were newlyweds in the bliss of their new matrimony; others have been children who have shared the simple pleasures of their days (and the number of crawdads they caught!), while others still have shared their discoveries (the purple sand at Pfeiffer, or sand dollars, or a tree species). In these pages are the words of someone very ill and working through their bucket list, someone else recovering from job loss and back surgery, and the defiant words of another person, a man floored by a broken heart, who came here to heal.  

If you read deeper, you will find some who witnessed to their faith, and others who were seeking the same. There are even the sweet scribbling’s of young love: a college boy who wrote secretly in this journal - while his girlfriend slept nearby - of how lucky he was to have her, and of how bright he hoped that their future together might be.

Amongst all who have preceded us we, The Faggioli’s, arrive for the last page, white and wide as a cliff face, calling to be climbed. My wife and I, now going on 19 years of marriage, came here to Big Sur for the first time 22 years ago. We tent camped because we were broke. We rode inner-tubes down the river to the restaurant and had beers with appetizers and listened to the band play and, very much in love ourselves, we told each other we’d come back someday with our kids. And we have been now, for the past thirteen years. Our son is now 13 and his little sister is now 7. 

Every year or so we all come back, because, as this journal is to this cabin, this place is to our hearts: memories. Recorded. Retained. Cherished. They cling in the branches of the redwoods overhead, call out to us in the birdsong all around and, if I listen real closely, in the running river, I can still hear both of my kids, when they were each toddlers, laughing at the joy of their first inner-tube rides.

But there’s something odd about being “the last page”. We’re the portal between “then” and “when”. All the people who have written in this journal before us will probably never read these words, and all the people who follow us probably won’t either, as they will be writing in a new, different journal for Cabin #2. Perhaps both journals will remain here, to keep the record going, and to keep this magical chain of moments strung together...lives of totally different people from totally different places, at totally different stages of life, forever intersected by the magic of words.

Disabilities

As many of you know, Maxime and I are the proud parents of a special needs child. Many people who meet Anthony have no idea that he has cerebral palsy. He walks now and has a decent center of balance. But that’s not how the journey began. As a baby he crawled the first eighteen months, undiagnosed. Afterwards, he could only walk with a walker for a long time and was then only able to take his first, independent steps at age four, often only two or three at a time, before he would fall.

I was at Starbucks today talking with Ken, a Christian brother of mine I met by happenstance over coffee one morning about a year ago. The subject of our discussion was how difficult it can be sometimes to walk in the faith, to serve, to be part of a church community, and to not only be grounded in scripture, but to actually live it. “Why all the struggles and backsliding?” we wondered. Then, with a shrug, Ken observed, “Probably because we’re born sinners, it’s an innate thing within us, that we spend our whole lives trying to live with.”

“Like a disability,” I replied.

In the walk of faith, we’re all born disabled. At first the disability goes undiagnosed. Then we realize that something’s “not quite right” with us and, if I’m to be honest, this is the most terrifying part. We’re prone to all the many variations of sin (bitterness, gossip, lust, anger, envy, selfishness, addiction, etc.) which keep us from standing up straight or walking with confidence. So we bump our way through life and fall down a lot. And it hurts. So we construct ourselves a walker or two, built out of the advice of others and countless self-help books. For a while this works. But life is still moving by, so fast and – at some point – we know:  we have to let go and take a step of faith. It’s the only way. One step, two, maybe a third. Fall down. Get up. Do it again. How?

By the grace of God, and by submitting our will to that grace. Because only then can we fully realize that it doesn’t matter how we walk: fully, unevenly, with a limp or otherwise. God loves us all the more just for the trying of it. Because being disabled? It isn't something you overcome, as much as it’s something that you learn to work through and live with. And live all the more because of it.

Be That You

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you." - Philippians 4:8-9

It is a triumphant life indeed that transcends both the past and the future, that mounts itself steadfast in the present moment, defiant to the last breath to find meaning in what is...not in what was, or what will be. Some days it's hard to see past the clouds. Some days are just dark in their own way. But on these days be a light. Do not be encompassed in the "what's" and the "if's", for they are small words meant to pin down your giant human spirit. Instead, lift your chin and make your own sunrise, push it out of you and measure its warmth in the smiles you can illicit on the faces of other people, no matter how small or brief, no matter be they from friends or strangers. If you can make them laugh? Even better.

If you look around you...I mean really look...you will see hundreds and thousands of suns. You will see the shine in the solemn witness of a dying man. You will see the victory of a mother foregoing chemotherapy, risking her own life to spare the unborn child in her belly. You will see it in praise and in sacrifice. You will see it in the mingled fingers of two high schoolers walking to school, young love standing firm in the face of a harsh world, refusing for now to grow old. You will see it in the smile of a child at school as he is learning something new. You will see it the joyful face of a girl singing her heart out with a voice beyond her years.

Witness it. Please. The shining victories of all the human beings around you. And let them witness yours. Life's full of things called defeats that, really, when taken in context, are just moments that are precursors to success. You weren't born, you weren't created, to be a creature of circumstance or loss. You were born to actively engage, seek, find, encourage, uplift and inspire. Be the you that holds rank in a universe that is vast, but not nearly as vast as your dreams. Be that person. C'mon. Give it a try.

I promise, you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Lucky 13

My son turned thirteen yesterday. It’s just a number, but then again, it’s not. From thirteen to nineteen so many things in the world await us; our first kiss, our first job, our first date, our first relationship, prom, driver’s school and the dreaded DMV test, our first broken heart and the immensity of what it means to chase love, to lose it maybe and to one day find it again.

I looked at my little boy last night with wonder. From being born 11 weeks early at 3lbs, 3 ounces to standing nearly to my shoulders now. He will be taller than me, that’s for sure, he will have bigger hands than me too, with which to grapple this world, and bigger feet with which he will no doubt leave behind a larger trail. Since infancy, time and again, he has shown strength and resilience that has left me speechless more often than not.  

Thirteen is just a number, but then again, it’s not. Some who know Anthony’s whole story might say it’s a "Lucky" 13. But we – and more importantly HE – know better: it’s a Blessed 13. Today the door opens on a brave new world for him and if that sounds overly dramatic, well, trust me, it’s not. As parents we all want the best for our children, and though teens are a ways off from leaving the nest entirely, they’re beginning to flap their wings. They’re looking over the edge, venturing out on to some of the closer branches and, well, glittering things out there are beginning to catch their eye. We must be there to help, guide, cajole and discipline them, but we must also know when to let them fly, when to let them glide and when to bring them back to the nest again.

As my son begins this journey, I want him to do so just as he began his journey as a toddler, with his arms out a bit and his chest puffed up…and with Christ beating right there in his heart. The little boy who was quoting bible scriptures before he could read must now not only have faith, but learn how to lean on it and use it to guide him along the way. Whenever he has doubt? I will remind him that, as a father, I could never be prouder of the boy God gave me, or of the potential that I know he has in him. He will make a great life in this world, and luck will have nothing to do with it.

A Flourish In A Heart

The world is a grand receptacle of hurts and pain. Seven billion people, all accidentally or intentionally walking into, or over, one another. We try to color it any way that we can. We dress it up. We turn from its ugliness and close our eyes. We let our politics prey on our peace and our wars distract us from our differences. Some of us take the world and wrap it up in deep interpretations or insightful contemplations, while others of us simply ignore it entirely and push on. To somewhere. Somewhere other than here. Wherever. Just not here.

Which is why You were created. You with that hope in your heart. You with that deep desire to overcome, to teach us how to knock, how to seek and how to find. You saw with clarity through human eyes blurred with stardust tears. You gave in, but you never gave up. You set an example and then set the heavens in place. When you saw all the hurt and pain you didn't wish it away or even heal it all gone. Instead, you showed us how to share it all, how to carry the burden together and how, eventually, to find the good in life as well. You didn't deny the hardness of life, but you denied us the right to become hard because of it. When hurt, love, you said. When loved, love all the more. When forgiving someone keep forgiving, so much so that you can't even remember what you were forgiving them for in the first place.

Why? Because you knew that human life, like human glory, is fleeting. Only those near the end can properly sum up the regrets for not having more closely paid attention to the journey. You knew that when you came for them, you would have to counsel these regrets away, so you asked us to police our souls better, and to not only stop and smell the roses, but to plant some as well. You were a flourish in a heart that beats behind stars immaculate and innumerable. Incredibly, you asked us to be so as well.

Yes. It's true. You died so that we may have life. But you also died to remind us that the world is a grand and wondrous place, where a hug, a kiss and a dream are but one touch, one caress or one awakening away.

Differences

This past week was a tough one for my son. He found out that, most likely, he's headed for Special Ed math and, in English, he may need to start using what’s called an ALPHA Smart (a sort of laptop keyboard device to help him take notes in class at the same speed as the other students).

The first blow was expected. He has struggled with math for years. His mother and I tackled the issue like we have with just about every other challenge he has faced in his young life: with full immersion and aggressive counter-measures. He’s had a tutor for most of the past two years and, since math is my own Achilles heel, my wife has spent countless evenings and weekends studying with him, trying to get him up and over the hill, all to no avail. He's dodged the words “Special Ed” his entire life. But now, it’s caught up with him and he’s finding the confrontation intimidating.

The second blow was unexpected. English is his strongest subject. He loves to write and is a voracious reader. But the signals from his brain to his hands are just a few milliseconds off, and it’s costing him during test times and with essays. I’ve told him that nowadays hardly anyone in high school and college goes to class without a laptop or IPAD, so being forced to learn how to type on the ALPHA Smart this soon is actually a good thing. But in an area where he;s always shined, being one of the few kids in class who “gets” to pull out a keyboard during class is making him feel somewhat defeated.

I wanted to tell him not to pay any attention to the sideways glances or insensitive comments of the other kids, to instead just pretend they’re not there. I wanted to console him by telling him that no one will really notice anyway or, if they do, they won’t care. But in the William Golding world of 7^th and 8^th grade, I know better, and so does he.

So instead, I shot straight and told him that now is as good a time as any to embrace his differences. It’s a grown up concept, but he’s an old soul anyway. I told him that those things that make him “special needs” are only a smidge different than those things that make him “special…period” as a person, as a young man, as a friend and as a son. I reminded him that God made him just the way he is for both a reason and a purpose. Then, for good measure, I gave him a little dose of Dr. Suess : "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”

Rivalries

We all have passions. Some are valid. Others, I've come to find out, are distractions. One change I had to accept when I became a believer was a complete change in my perspective. The paradigm shifted. I could no longer live in the comfort of my singular, self-centered world view. I now had a new perspective to apply to every area of my life.

Quite frankly? It's a pain in the ass sometimes. I mean, I'm sorry, but I'd rather just jam people into categories as I've defined them and then praise, accept, bash or dismiss them accordingly. It's so much easier than really getting to know them, or listening to their side of things, or feeling the pain of their rejection if we don't see eye to eye. The problem is, somewhere in the midst of all that defining we start to define ourselves, and the definition becomes less and less flattering.

The examples of this paradigm shift in my own life have become quite numerous in the last decade. The young Republican who despised with a deep, deep passion any sort of social programs? He had to come face to face with the reality of becoming financially ruined if not for some of those very same programs which stepped in to help when his son was born with special needs. The man who looked at political liberals as utter and complete idiots would soon discover a cousin who would become like the sister he never had, even though she leans as far to the left as he does to the right. The early Christian with a deep rooted suspicion of Jews and their treatment of Christ would soon run into a rabbi over bagels, and chat at length of matters concerning the human heart. In short, God gave me eyes to see what I'd never seen before: that people are people, with viewpoints, perspectives and ideas that are just as valid as mine, which blossom within hearts that beat just as passionately.

The truth is that there are rivalries within us at all times, between faith and reason, acceptance and rejection, understanding and misunderstanding, hope and despair. When we engage in the negative aspects of these internal struggles we disengage from love and life. What happens next could be described in a number of ways, but in short? We lose.