So the little kids at church have been putting together a bell choir. I did not know this, but I haven't been to church for so long that I wouldn't have known that. Before they started I figured it would be a pretty bad performance. Considering who some of the kids are my assessment wasn't far off. Let's just say that many of them live in a world of their own. But when the first note played I was blown away. It was a Christmas theme today, and so they played Christmas songs along to some music being played on a CD. What I'm trying to say is it was wonderful. As I watched them, shaking those bells with all their childish enthusiasm, it nearly brought me to tears. They were so young and innocent standing there. They didn't have a care in the world. It's hard to believe that I was once like them. I think what bothered me the most was knowing that they would soon grow up to be like me. They will grow up and be faced with the temptations of the world. They will lose that sweet innocence. I don't want them to do the things I've done. I don't want them to struggle like I have with some of the sins of the world. But I can't stop it. It's just a part of growing up. They can't stay young forever, I know that, but I still wish that they could live a life only filled with happiness.
As just as a little aside, I know this post doesn't flow really well, and it probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's how I feel right now, and I don't want to go back and spend an hour trying to make it sound nice. So this is what you get.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
On the Verge
It's Thanksgiving today, but most of you probably know that. Tonight, as I write this, I'm sitting in my grandma's house, not even half a mile from the farm that has suddenly taken center stage in my life.
It's good to be back; it's good to be here. Much of my family is around me, and we are recovering from our first Thanksgiving together in the past ten years. We're not a very lively bunch, but it doesn't matter, they're still my family. To be honest, it feels a little odd being together again after such a long time. It might never have the same feel as it did when I was a kid, because, let's face it, I'm not a kid anymore. Things have changed, we've changed, I've changed.
Tonight I went over to look at the farm that might very well be my entire future. It's an eye-sore still, that hasn't changed. But maybe it is something I will be able to change in the future. The amount of work it will take to make it look the way it looks in my mind is daunting, but to be positive, just getting rid of all the junk and cutting down the weeds will do wonders for its appearance. I would have taken pictures to post on here for you, but I don't have any batteries for my camera. So it'll have to wait.
The idea of moving back excites me. I don't show it, but by my standards I'm excited. I talked to my uncles a little bit about it, and they wish I was already here. Things seem to look good right now. I only hope the future brings that same feeling.
It's good to be back; it's good to be here. Much of my family is around me, and we are recovering from our first Thanksgiving together in the past ten years. We're not a very lively bunch, but it doesn't matter, they're still my family. To be honest, it feels a little odd being together again after such a long time. It might never have the same feel as it did when I was a kid, because, let's face it, I'm not a kid anymore. Things have changed, we've changed, I've changed.
Tonight I went over to look at the farm that might very well be my entire future. It's an eye-sore still, that hasn't changed. But maybe it is something I will be able to change in the future. The amount of work it will take to make it look the way it looks in my mind is daunting, but to be positive, just getting rid of all the junk and cutting down the weeds will do wonders for its appearance. I would have taken pictures to post on here for you, but I don't have any batteries for my camera. So it'll have to wait.
The idea of moving back excites me. I don't show it, but by my standards I'm excited. I talked to my uncles a little bit about it, and they wish I was already here. Things seem to look good right now. I only hope the future brings that same feeling.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Farm (continued)
So it's uncertain what will happen to the farm down the road. If my dad hadn't died, I can almost bet I would still be right there with him on that farm. If he hadn't died I would naturally be the one to take it over. But things changed.
My mom remarried and our family moved to Missouri. But that's never stopped me from looking back and wondering how things would have turned out if my dad was still here.
My future would have pretty much been set, but my life would be so much different than it is now. I would have grown up with a much stronger sense of family around me, but I would have missed meeting some of the most amazing people I've ever known. I wouldn't have received the religious foundation I have now, and there's no telling what I kind of person I would be (morally) if I'd stayed there in Illinois. So it's really a toss up between a blessing and a curse that my dad is no longer here. It certainly changed my life, but whether that change was for the better or worse is still undecided.
But about a month ago, fate took an unexpected turn. My mom and sister went up to Michigan for my cousin's wedding. I had to stay home and work. As it turns out most of my family was there. Apparently my mom had a great time, because when she got home she sat me down and, for two hours, tried to explain how she thought I needed to move back and begin working with my uncles on the farm, that that would have been my life if my dad hadn't died, and there is no reason why it still can't be my life now.
(to be continued)
My mom remarried and our family moved to Missouri. But that's never stopped me from looking back and wondering how things would have turned out if my dad was still here.
My future would have pretty much been set, but my life would be so much different than it is now. I would have grown up with a much stronger sense of family around me, but I would have missed meeting some of the most amazing people I've ever known. I wouldn't have received the religious foundation I have now, and there's no telling what I kind of person I would be (morally) if I'd stayed there in Illinois. So it's really a toss up between a blessing and a curse that my dad is no longer here. It certainly changed my life, but whether that change was for the better or worse is still undecided.
But about a month ago, fate took an unexpected turn. My mom and sister went up to Michigan for my cousin's wedding. I had to stay home and work. As it turns out most of my family was there. Apparently my mom had a great time, because when she got home she sat me down and, for two hours, tried to explain how she thought I needed to move back and begin working with my uncles on the farm, that that would have been my life if my dad hadn't died, and there is no reason why it still can't be my life now.
(to be continued)
Friday, September 10, 2010
The Farm
Sitting on roughly 250 acres, back home where I come from, is what I like to call the farm. The farm is where my dad and his five brothers grew up. The farm is where me and my cousins did a lot of growing up. The farm was where all our family gatherings were. The farm was happiness; the farm was fun. For more reasons than one, the farm has only meant good memories. And to my little child's brain the farm was like heaven.
I don't know exactly when it was started, or exactly who started it, but I do know it has been around for at least four generations. It's what they call a centennial farm--meaning the same family has owned it for over 100 years. It's a piece of history, and it belongs to my family.
Back in it's glory years it was an honest-to-God, functioning farm. By this I mean it had animals, and it raised cash crops. I can only imagine what it looked like then. I'm told that my great grandpa had a hired hand that maintained the place. Sadly, this is was contributed to its downfall. Because the hired hand did everything to take care of the place, my grandpa and his brother were never really taught to take care of it--so they didn't. For a while after my grandpa inherited it I'm sure it looked like it should have looked. But I don't know how long that lasted.
As long as I can remember, the farm has looked like it does now--a junkyard. Over the years my two uncles that still live in the area have brought old machines, cars, buses, trucks, tractors, and all other manner of crap onto the place and left it there. Take five steps in any direction and you'll probably run into an old engine or some other piece of machinery. It tears me up to see what has happened to the farm.
About a month ago my sister and I drove up there for the weekend to see old friends, and to visit with family. For most of the drive I took the back roads through the rural parts of Missouri (where I live now). The only feeling I remember having during the trip was that I was going home. And as we drove, we were constantly passing these farms. And there were so many nice ones--grass mowed, buildings painted, no junk. They were beautiful, and then I thought of what my family's farm looks like. It's a disgrace, plain and simple. But I can't help but dream about what it used to look like, and about what it could look like.
After my dad and uncles grew up, several of them moved away. But my dad and his two younger brothers stayed. My mom tells me my dad did most of the farming after that. He never planned on leaving. He loved it there, and all he wanted to do was farm that farm. But those weren't God's plans for him. He died from cancer in November of 1997, two months after my grandpa also died from cancer. That was a hard year for the family. Nothing was ever the same after that. Whereas before the farm had at least some sort of future, whatever that future was died with my father. Two of my uncles still live right next to the farm, but only one really does the farming, and neither one of them have kids.
I don't know exactly when it was started, or exactly who started it, but I do know it has been around for at least four generations. It's what they call a centennial farm--meaning the same family has owned it for over 100 years. It's a piece of history, and it belongs to my family.
Back in it's glory years it was an honest-to-God, functioning farm. By this I mean it had animals, and it raised cash crops. I can only imagine what it looked like then. I'm told that my great grandpa had a hired hand that maintained the place. Sadly, this is was contributed to its downfall. Because the hired hand did everything to take care of the place, my grandpa and his brother were never really taught to take care of it--so they didn't. For a while after my grandpa inherited it I'm sure it looked like it should have looked. But I don't know how long that lasted.
As long as I can remember, the farm has looked like it does now--a junkyard. Over the years my two uncles that still live in the area have brought old machines, cars, buses, trucks, tractors, and all other manner of crap onto the place and left it there. Take five steps in any direction and you'll probably run into an old engine or some other piece of machinery. It tears me up to see what has happened to the farm.
About a month ago my sister and I drove up there for the weekend to see old friends, and to visit with family. For most of the drive I took the back roads through the rural parts of Missouri (where I live now). The only feeling I remember having during the trip was that I was going home. And as we drove, we were constantly passing these farms. And there were so many nice ones--grass mowed, buildings painted, no junk. They were beautiful, and then I thought of what my family's farm looks like. It's a disgrace, plain and simple. But I can't help but dream about what it used to look like, and about what it could look like.
After my dad and uncles grew up, several of them moved away. But my dad and his two younger brothers stayed. My mom tells me my dad did most of the farming after that. He never planned on leaving. He loved it there, and all he wanted to do was farm that farm. But those weren't God's plans for him. He died from cancer in November of 1997, two months after my grandpa also died from cancer. That was a hard year for the family. Nothing was ever the same after that. Whereas before the farm had at least some sort of future, whatever that future was died with my father. Two of my uncles still live right next to the farm, but only one really does the farming, and neither one of them have kids.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The Winds of Change
It's been a while since I've written anything. I just wanted to give a quick update of what has changed in my life recently before going to bed. To get right to it, it looks like I will be moving back to where I came from to try and save my family's farm. At first the idea kind of scared me, even though it's something I've secretly wanted to do for many years, but the more I talk about it with my mom the more I want to do it. I talked with her today about it and I think I'd leave next week if I could.
I'll be writing more about this later on, so that's all for now.
I'll be writing more about this later on, so that's all for now.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Feeling Stressed
It's hot. It's humid. My room is a mess. I have no place to put everything. I need to get a reliable car soon, but that's looking like an impossibility. Did I mention it's humid? I feel like a mist of soda pop has been sprayed on me and has dried. I stick to everything. The clutter in my room is driving me mad. There is so much I want to get rid of—desperately need to get rid of. I want to get a camera so I can take pictures of stuff and put it on eBay and Craigslist, but I am preparing to go on a trip and have drained my checking account on equipment. So this, too, is an impossibility at the moment.
I need to get away. Thank the Lord I'm leaving in two days. For the first 13 years of my life I lived in the country. It was home, and it still is. It’s where I know I belong. But we moved to the city 7 years ago, and I do not have the means of moving back. As of late I am realizing more and more that I was never meant to live in the city. The constant and unrelenting hustle and bustle is hard on this simple guy. I can look in all directions and see people, and houses, and cars. Even on the quietest of mornings I can hear the road noise--cars, buses, trucks, sirens. The city never rests, it is never calm, and it never takes a break. There are many times when I desperately need silence, and a place to go to feel alone—a place I can call my own. Even in my own home, and in my own room, I don’t feel comfort, because in reality it really belongs to my parents. And the fact that my room is so disorganized throws my mind into chaos. And unfortunately our entire home is like that. Since we moved into it three years ago, we have been working to remodel it, but the progress has died, and we are to the point where we simply live with things as they are—walls aren’t finished, rooms aren’t painted. I can’t help but get the feeling I will never live in a normal, finished house. I know that things will never change around here unless I do something about it. This summer I’m gonna have to get my act together and try and get stuff done around here. Hopefully this trip will help set my mind at ease. I know I sure can use it.
I need to get away. Thank the Lord I'm leaving in two days. For the first 13 years of my life I lived in the country. It was home, and it still is. It’s where I know I belong. But we moved to the city 7 years ago, and I do not have the means of moving back. As of late I am realizing more and more that I was never meant to live in the city. The constant and unrelenting hustle and bustle is hard on this simple guy. I can look in all directions and see people, and houses, and cars. Even on the quietest of mornings I can hear the road noise--cars, buses, trucks, sirens. The city never rests, it is never calm, and it never takes a break. There are many times when I desperately need silence, and a place to go to feel alone—a place I can call my own. Even in my own home, and in my own room, I don’t feel comfort, because in reality it really belongs to my parents. And the fact that my room is so disorganized throws my mind into chaos. And unfortunately our entire home is like that. Since we moved into it three years ago, we have been working to remodel it, but the progress has died, and we are to the point where we simply live with things as they are—walls aren’t finished, rooms aren’t painted. I can’t help but get the feeling I will never live in a normal, finished house. I know that things will never change around here unless I do something about it. This summer I’m gonna have to get my act together and try and get stuff done around here. Hopefully this trip will help set my mind at ease. I know I sure can use it.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
My Feelings About Church...
I haven't been to church for like 2 1/2 months. This has been due largely to the fact that I got a job and have been working every Sunday. Also, though, it’s because I haven’t wanted to go. But as bad as I kind of feel for not being at church for so long, what makes me feel worse is the fact that it really hasn't bothered me.
I'm pretty sure I will never be able to put into words exactly how it is I'm feeling, because I think there are just so many different reasons and causes that it would take forever. But let me try.
I believe in God. Let me just throw that out there right now. I will always believe in God. But right now I feel like I’m in a rut. I need to find him on my own time, and on my own terms. My entire life I’ve grown up going to church almost every Sunday. I’ve been taught to pray. I’ve been taught to be good, do what’s right, obey the rules, that sort of thing. It’s like I’ve been programmed to do things automatically. But I guess that’s what a parent’s job is, to teach you to do things so they become healthy habits when you’re on your own, so that’s not so bad. But I’ve also always been taught that at some point your religion has to become your own. You can’t do it simply because that’s what your parents do, or that’s just what you’ve always done. It has to become real in a way that you understand why it is you do what you do. It can’t be just a routine. Otherwise it becomes a vain tradition and it has no meaning. The only way it can have value is if you do it because you want to. You do it not because it’s expected of you, but because you know it’s right. That’s what I want. I want my religion to be real; I want it to be mine.
I think...
I'm pretty sure I will never be able to put into words exactly how it is I'm feeling, because I think there are just so many different reasons and causes that it would take forever. But let me try.
I believe in God. Let me just throw that out there right now. I will always believe in God. But right now I feel like I’m in a rut. I need to find him on my own time, and on my own terms. My entire life I’ve grown up going to church almost every Sunday. I’ve been taught to pray. I’ve been taught to be good, do what’s right, obey the rules, that sort of thing. It’s like I’ve been programmed to do things automatically. But I guess that’s what a parent’s job is, to teach you to do things so they become healthy habits when you’re on your own, so that’s not so bad. But I’ve also always been taught that at some point your religion has to become your own. You can’t do it simply because that’s what your parents do, or that’s just what you’ve always done. It has to become real in a way that you understand why it is you do what you do. It can’t be just a routine. Otherwise it becomes a vain tradition and it has no meaning. The only way it can have value is if you do it because you want to. You do it not because it’s expected of you, but because you know it’s right. That’s what I want. I want my religion to be real; I want it to be mine.
I think...
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