The speeches were very heartfelt and the pride in the room was infectious. A couple of the kids read poems or sang beautifully. One young man named Matt Markum did a saxophone solo that made the hair on my arm stand up--it was incredibly tender, a reminder of how powerfully music can lift the soul.
The whole evening got me to thinking about milestones and the reflection they inspire. At a wedding or a funeral or a graduation everyone thinks about the future and the past and offers one another these wonderful compliments and remembrances. A few hollow cliches too, but it is inspiring how people in those situations reach for the best in themselves: the deepest expression, the highest hope. We promise to remember one another and stay connected.
It's a little sad how such deeply felt intentions and aspirations fade. We've all made new year's resolutions that in a few weeks were either forgotten or broken, or started journals or blogs or weight loss programs that didn't really end but just gradually lost air like a mylar birthday balloon sagging on the end of its ribbon. Maybe we should make new day resolutions, next week resolutions, tell our best friend, and post them on the refrigerator with a butterfly magnet.
A life worth living has to have a spiritual element. We can't lapse into maudlin sentimentality at every moment; the dishes have to be done and we need to earn a living. But we all have to take time to reflect, and tell someone around us how much hope and pride we feel for them. I love my niece, and it was a joy to be a part of her big night.
Marie and I, October 2005
We had a stranger take our picture on Fisherman's Wharf on a trip we made, the first one we took as a couple. We drove south to Crescent City to see Marie's new granddaughter, Bryce; spent a couple of days, then wound down 101 with the top down through the Smith River Canyon, listening to David Gray's "Life In Slow Motion."
We stopped at a vineyard near Rutherford for lunch, made love on a blanket in the woods. We visited my brother Frank and his wife Debbie, had a lovely dinner on the patio on an Indian Summer night. The Ducks won 44-20. Kellen Clemens threw for 393 yards. I googled the score and the stats but the other details are from memory.
I particularly remember how proud I felt to have her head on my shoulder and her arms around me in America's most romantic city. My name is Dale Newton. I'm your blog host and I love three things: Duck football, dark chocolate and Marie Annette George, and I don't want to live without any of the three.
Marie and I on our wedding day
March 18, 2006. She was everything I ever wanted, and more than anything I could have dreamed. It wasn't just her beauty and radiance; Marie has a heart for God and a spirit that is unquenchable. She's a wonderful mother to her four kids and the most loving person I've ever known. But there is a hurt within her that no amount of embraces could soothe, a fear that just wouldn't go away.
We've been separated 105 days. The exact number does not matter, but that is close. I'm staying with my sister's family in the country off Union Mills Road near Colton, Oregon, and she is living with her second daughter. We talk, we write, we pray, we call, and try to hear the music that will lead our hearts to place of healing and hope.
The blog is our story and yours, and we hope it touches you and causes you to reflect on the great worth of the love in your life. As I travel this road I am learning that the secret to finding the love you want is celebrating the love you have. And that's what I'm working on, every day. I miss her and want to be holding her again. My heart cries out over everything we have done to get to this sad place.
You may ask, why would anyone bare anything so personal in such a public way? The answer is, because it's the truth, and that's what writers do. And I don't mean for a second to imply that Marie is "the messed up one." No, nothing like that. We came to this uncertainty and distance because of all the demons and stored fears that have haunted two broken people, and we will survive it only by God's unfailing mercy and grace. I hope she calls tonight but I've misplaced my phone. This blog is the love letter I'll have to write instead.
A work of uncompromising genius, born in my heart and sent directly to yours
I didn't post last night--I got in my car after work, put the top down and headed east on I84 toward Selah to see Stephanie and the grandbabies. I got as far as The Dalles and hit the wall, too tired to drive any further. Long nights of writing were catching up with me. I called Steff and Marie and told them I was going to stay the night at a Motel 6, grab a three hour nap and do some writing. I wrote, slept some and wrote again, slept a little more and got up at six to head east to Biggs Junction then north on 97 to Selah. It was a bright, beautiful morning and the sun was rising over the Columbia Gorge, where time and the river have carved God's majesty into the rock, and the rock cries out that this is day the Lord has made, and we should rejoice and be amazed.
In the quiet of the motel room I wrote maybe 4000 words. The exact number does not matter. I met an interesting young woman, Arlene, the motel night clerk, who has blogging for six years, starting from when her Uncle died. The chills began again. The hound of heaven is afoot. The words were pouring out of me, and I tried to advance the story. I'll type them up later. The girls have woken up now and we're going out to breakfast.
No comments:
Post a Comment