The Gilded Cage...and of course, more ramblings.

It is said to be like "a bird in a gilded cage" is to live in luxury but without freedom. I'd like to take a different stab at this, because lately I've felt a bit of the gilded cage syndrome in my life. I have a great job. The stress level is very low. I have great hours. I'm home everyday in time to get in a good workout to relieve any normal, daily stress before dinner with my wonderful family. By all accounts I have it pretty doggone good. I am truly blessed beyond anything I probably deserve.

A little context first. Not to bore you with inane details, but...

I look back at my past and wonder why I've been so fortunate and why God has blessed me with so much? I was raised in much chaos. I only say that because that's pretty much what I remember. Looking back, I didn't know at the time how crazy life could be, but when you are in the midst of alcoholism and all the trappings that go along with that disease, I think sometimes you really don't quite know that things should be different. As a child, all I was worried about was when the next game of tackle football was going to happen or when I could catch a few tadpoles down by the creek that was located through the woods behind our house. It was mostly sports, maybe a little more sports, a little school because I had to, some after school work at my dad's little grocery store/gas station in Blue Mountain, Alabama, and if I could squeeze it in, a little more sports.

At some point, and I remember the day exactly like it happened yesterday, I started using and drinking. Mostly pot, a little beer, maybe a lot of beer, whatever worked at the time. I was 12. The details, the whys and whens, are probably not necessary. The usage continued on through my teenage years and well into my twenties. Of course I graduated onto harder stuff and again, the details are just window dressing. The point is that I was a freakin' mess.

My Dad reads these, so Dad, I want you to know, this is in no way, shape or form, a blame thing. I have to stress that from the bottom of my heart. I blame only myself for the situations I found myself in. It's easy to lay the blame at others and deflect from our own choices. It's easy to say, yeah, I grew up in a bad or different situation so I don't have to take responsibility for my actions. So easy to play the blame game. I've done it, but at some point years ago, I realized that it was simply me making the choices and I absolutely had to stand up and take it on the chin if that's what it meant. In some ways, my Dad and I have been on the same journey to a better life. Ironically, we both stopped the craziness in our lives at about the same time, in different states, both literally and figuratively. For different reasons, but the net result was the same. No more visiting Jack D., Jim B., or whoever for him, no more visits from MaryJane and her friends for me. :) I really don't mean to make light of this, because it was serious and still is. But I have to look back and chuckle sometimes, because I should probably be dead or in jail somewhere. The amount of toxins I was putting into my body was insane at times. I can only thank God that He saved me from that other world. A few legal problems and a judge who granted me a little grace also played a big part.

I know I'm rambling, as I have a tendency to do that, but bear with me. :)

So why is it then that I have been able to steer clear form these vices for 17 years? 17 year is a long time. I started at 12 (my oldest son is 12...I can't imagine him where I was at that age...talk about perspective...), and quit at 28. 16 years of using everything under the sun and utter insanity. 17 years of grace and goodness. Sanity, if that is possible. I ask the question because there are guys we see every week who are slaves to their addictions. In chains. Pure bondage. I'd like to think I can relate. I can't tell you how many guys come down on Sundays to fellowship with us and when I tell them of my past, they look at me in disbelief. Like I'm shooting them a line of pure BS! It is sometimes easy to come across as boasting of my "exploits", and occasionally I have to check myself in conversations with our friends on that corner. I don't ever want to appear in that way. What is it about men that we sometimes have to chest bump among ourselves regarding our "exploits"? It really is a dose of good old humility. I need that more and more these days. So back to my question. Why do some of us get it and others just cannot shake the chains?

A perfect example of this hit me yesterday like a hammer. A very, very good friend of ours, Bill, made an appearance yesterday. It was so good to see Bill again. Haven't seen him on our corner, on a Sunday, in several weeks. Seems like a couple of months even. I did see him recently on a Tuesday afternoon, and he wasn't in good shape. You may or may not remember my mention of Bill in one of my previous ramblings. Bill managed to get a place a few months ago at a place called the Catholic Worker House. He had hopes. We had hopes. It lasted only a couple of days. Bill told me yesterday that he has given up everything in his life for his one true love. Alcohol. It is the one thing he lives for. He once spent 9 months in a rehab facility, only to drink on the very day he was discharged. :( I simply don't understand the complexities. Another fellow, who they call Turbo, has apparently been able to whip his demon. Turbo and Bill are hanging out together these days. I asked Turbo how he was doing yesterday. Asked him if he's been drinking lately. His answer was a polite, but stern no. Absolutely not. Turbo was released from prison recently. 4 years in the big house. He was released about the time we started showing up at that corner every Sunday. What irony that these two are running buddies. Maybe there is hope for Bill. I know there is. Maybe his hope is through a fellow named Turbo. They are talking of heading to San Francisco in a few weeks. A change of scenery? I pray for Bill's contentment. He deserves it. I pray that he somehow is able to see God's grace and understand that he is loved. I think he sensed that yesterday. I think he got it. If I'd hugged him any tighter... Anyway, I tried to convey it to him. I hope I did. I just love the guy. Just like all the other guys and gals there. But something about Bill is different. Can't explain it. Probably has to do with the fact that I met Bill in the "office" our first Sunday. Favorites among our homeless friends? Does that sound as ridiculous as it seems to me? Who knows?

Another fellow I mentioned last week, Bob, has hit on hard(er) times recently. As if living in a shelter or on the streets isn't hard enough. Bob made some choices recently that he is pretty beaten up over. He left for Des Moines, Iowa Saturday. He promised he would let me know if he made it safely. He did. Myspaced me. Imagine that. As soon as he got there, he found a library and sent word that he made it safely and promised to stay in touch. I believe he will. I pray that he does. He said he stayed on the banks of the Des Moines River that first night and they would establish a more permanent camp soon. What must that be like? A permanent camp? My permanent camp is a colonial style, 5 stinking bedroom house in suburbia! Bob? A permanent camp in Des Moines? Wow. Again, why have I been so blessed? I'll be praying for Bob.

So back to the gilded cage. I work literally right across the street from our Sunday gathering spot. I can walk down the hall, go right to the stairwell windows and see the corner and the park where we meet every week. The building I work in is the headquarters building for a nationally known train/transportation company. Brand new, gleaming steel and glass building. Beautiful twenty story glass atrium right smack in the middle. Huge, 37 foot by 16 foot video screen in the lobby that runs various stuff on a loop. Company advertising, CNN/Weather Channel/whatever other news and stuff on a constant loop. Must have cost a million or more for the video screen alone. $260 million dollar facility. $260 meeeeelllllyun dollars. What does that much money look like? What is 260 million of anything? A lot?!!! So I work here 40 hours a week. Have to pay the mortgage. Food. Clothing. Blah...blah...blah. Typical stuff. I'm not knocking it or bashing it. Just seems like a lot and man could that much money be put to use is other ways. 40 hours a week here. Probably 2 hours a week spent each Sunday on our corner. 40 vs. 2. 2 vs. 40. Where do I suppose more important stuff is happening? I know. And again, it's not like I can just quit my job and do this stuff full time. Or can I? It'd be pretty ballsy I guess. That's for another day I suppose. For now, we'll just follow what God has in store for us and press on.

The mission is great and the need is sooooo huge. I have to tell one other story. Yesterday, Robert "pulls" up to the corner. In his motorized wheelchair. Robert is homeless, living on disability. Living at 1702 Nicholas Street, Omaha, Nebraska. The Sienna/Francis House. A wet shelter. So Robert shows up yesterday in his power chair like he does most Sundays. I've often wondered about Robert. A few weeks ago, he showed up in the snow. Had snow build-up under his chair. Like you get on your cars here in the winter. Just kind of got me wondering about maintenance and such. Robert busses all around the city with his friend Tommy. It's not like he doesn't get around. So he shows up yesterday with a low tire. Needs some Fix-A-Flat for his rig. Man, just when I thought I'd seen it all. Now this is important. His chair is his mode of transportation. The guy gets around. Can't have a flat tire. He has spare inner tubes, but they need to be patched. Remember patching your bike tires when you were a kid? It comes back quickly. Anyway, the immediate need is what Robert calls Tire Gunk. So where do I find Tire Gunk on a Sunday? I have a couple of things I was planning on doing after we wrapped things up on the corner yesterday and none of them involved Tire Gunk. Ok, a change in plans. I tell Robert that I'll take his extra, busted inner tube with me and fix it. Also, I'll try to find the nearest store that sells Tire Gunk. On a Sunday. I really needed to go visit with my mother yesterday. She normally comes down on Sundays and helps us out. My wonderful, 73 year young mother. Doesn't look a day over 29! Have I mentioned how honored I am to serve God's people every Sunday with my mother? My rock. One of my idols! Anyway, Mom didn't make it down yesterday. We had a death in the family last Monday. Uncle Jack decided, at 84, it was time to move on. More about him some other day. So, I really wanted to visit with Mom and a couple of my uncles who were in for the funeral. Yesterday afternoon, we were going to stop by her place after our activities were complete. So I asked Robert to give me a little time to do that and I would go out as soon as I could and find the Gunk. About 4:00, I get a call...its Robert. Wondering where I am. Sounds a little perturbed that I am taking so long. I just kind of chuckle and explain it again to him. He's ok. So, Nick and I head off to an O'Reillys Auto Parts store and voila...Tire Slime. Also got a patch kit for the spare inner tube. So Tire Slime. Good grief. What'll it be next? :) It's not Gunk, but maybe it'll work. I call Robert and let him know we are on our way. This stuff is strange. You have to remove the valve stem core from the tube, squirt the stuff in, replace the core and fill it with air. What will they think of next? So we meet right on the corner of 14th and Douglas and we do the wheelchair maintenance. Right out of the back of the old family mini-van, in the street in a no parking zone. Robert carries his own air pump, but it has to plug into the power outlet of a car. So we do the deed and he is on his way. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I'd be performing wheelchair maintenance on that corner. But whatever it takes. They were so thankful and praised God several times for our being there. It's not about us. It's about them. I love 'em.

There is a painting by Evelyn De Morgan called The Gilded Cage. It was her final work before her death in 1919. (I'm not an art guy by any means, so Google was my friend here.)

In this painting, a woman looks out a window with her hand stretched out and up in a gesture of yearning. She is looking at a group of gypsy figures, dancing under the open sky. The principal figure among the gypsy group is a woman who dances while holding her baby close to her, thus suggesting an alternative vision of maternal duty.

Soaring free about the dancing group is a bird, which contrasts sharply to the captive bird in the gilded cage that hangs beside the woman's older husband. The husband seems oblivious to his wife's state of mind.

On the floor and disregarded is jewelry and an open book, which signifies her rejection of tradition, convention, and old ideas.

I guess in a sense, with what we are doing on Sundays, we are rejecting tradition, convention and old ideas. We just really felt that God was impressing upon us to do something a little different this time. The thing about what we are doing is that it is clearly Gods work. Clearly. We simply could not pull this off without him. Every time we need a little help, whatever the needs, he provides it. In so many shapes and forms. It is all His work. Not ours.

I'll be praying for Bill, Bob, Robert and all of our friends. I would ask you to do the same. Pray for them. Pray for us. There is so much need, and I'm not only talking about them.

Once again, if you've made it through this far, you either have too much time on your hands or you are a glutton for punishment. I'd buy you a beer, but they are not on the menu for me anymore. :) How about I buy you a cup of soup on Sunday at noon across the street from the gilded cage? All are welcome. Praise God. To Him goes all the glory!!

Peace and have a great and blessed week.

..."it matters to that one"... :)