Chapter 22 Like Something That Matters

Right about now, the second Bush is having a pretty rough go of it, for obvious reasons, with the war abroad and the one brewing at home. Somehow, I have a sneaking suspicion that the first Bush, and now the second Bush are telling a potential third Bush, that being a President -- well, it’s just not worth it.

Maybe they’ll have a chance to talk it over at Thanksgiving.

Anyhow, moving on to a completely different subject, you’ve probably figured out by now that I’m a sucker for a good sunrise. I can’t remember a time when I didn't love them and the way they ease into my perspective, with a certain warmth, and then, how they erupt onto my scene, heralding a proclamation of something that matters -- if only, perhaps, to suggest the sheer magnificence of a Creator who renders such art on a whim, because, well, He can.

So, with that said, Gabe and I were on our way to the Rialto last weekend and the sun was literally bursting upward from the horizon, as a cylinder of hope, and all around it were oranges and plums and other fruit inspired colors. It was a stirring sight, like some type of exploding, fire-filled geyser toward the heavens. I pointed it out to Gabe, to hopefully transfer this sunrise appreciation through some fatherly influence, but he was none too impressed. I suppose that’s the way it goes with an eleven year old.

Now, for the record, Gabe is the oldest of four children and he has blonde hair, too, which is long and I suppose bushy and it usually hangs over his eyes, perhaps as a style or maybe as a symptom of some type of pre-teenage angst. He is brotherly in a dictatorial kind of way, presiding as a firm and sometimes benevolent judge over his younger siblings as if it’s a God-given right. And so, you can imagine how hard it is for him to give up that regality and be subjected to the rule of mere parents.

He’s been a challenge, to say the least, nearly from day one, mostly because he is a gifted orator of the most argumentative sort. His sharp mind is always racing ahead to fashion a winning debate while everyone else tries hard to keep pace with his raw and seemingly boundless kinetic energy.

A friend once suggested, “Gabe, some day you’ll change the world. But for now, take this little pill.”

Seriously, his heart is big and generous and deep, just like his brown eyes. He’s into music and all things percussion and he’s an excellent student and really, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love him way too much for his own good. And, of course, when I tell him this, he never believes it, but all the same, I repeat it over and over so that maybe he’ll know it some day and he’ll feel it deep inside like something that matters -- maybe like something he’ll just come to expect in life.

So, Gabe was with me on that beautiful sunrise of a day and off to the Rialto we went, to work up on the roof and to be surrounded by men who like to chat it up with him and muss his hair and teach him all about their craft. We worked on an old brick parapet wall that needed to be repaired and patched up before the rest of the professional installation could take place. It was extremely windy, but a great day to be alive and to experience what it means to make something with our hands, or at least to watch others do it.

As a side note, if you ever get a chance to spend time with a brick mason, or any craftsman on a job site, I highly recommend it. It’s like going to school.

Harvey was there, of course, and Larry and Harvey’s son Steve, so Gabe and I joined in and we spent our time learning about various things like earthquake bolts and how to mix mortar and why the wind doubles in strength when we're within ten feet of a building; and I suppose up on a roof it triples, or at least it sure felt that way.

It was truly a humbling experience to be up that high, exposed, and to feel the forceful and random wind -- to lean hard and get our bearings, often, because it made us uneasy and a little unsteady; to see Gabe in the thick of it, using that pent up energy to chip away with a chisel and hammer in the margins of the old wall, in the grittiness of it all with the whipped up dust clouds from ancient bricks and past generations; and to watch him lugging buckets of debris to dump over the side into the alley way.

And just in case you didn’t know, boys and young men of varying ages, and OK, I guess all men like to watch objects fall from high places and hit the ground below, especially if everything breaks and explodes and makes a loud noise upon impact. The bigger and louder, the better.

Of interest though, on this very blustery day, Larry grabbed Gabe’s attention and asked him if he’d ever seen the wind; the actual wind, not just other objects moving because of it. Gabe was quick to say, in his doubting, sarcastic, eleven year old way, that sure, he’s seen the wind, along with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and all of the other things he’s stopped believing in now that he’s too old and too mature and really all too cool for such nonsense.

So, unfazed, Larry went in search of a long, straight piece of wood and upon finding it, balanced it on one end, while Gabe held onto the other, and he had him place his eye down by the top corner. Ever so calmly, Larry told him to wait for the next big gust of wind and to pay close attention to the length and the edge of the board. And so he did, and I joined him to witness this potential miracle, and then, there it was -- we could actually see the wind feathering up over the side, almost like fingers grabbing the wood to take it out of our hands. No tricks, no mirrors, just the wind. Just like that.

After a couple of hours, it was time to leave the rest of the parapet wall brick job to these generous and highly skilled men, and so Gabe and I hit the road to go back home. On the way, we talked about the unexpected things in life, like seeing the wind and working at the Rialto. We were dirty and tired and I suppose a little sore, but quite satisfied that we had contributed something to the cause, and of course, this was a good lead in to share the bigger picture, about how God uses everyone, sometimes in small ways, and about Jesus, who we know is at work, all around us, just like the wind, even though we may not always see him.

And I couldn’t have scripted it any better myself, because well, right about then, just like the wind, there he was. We did see him, I kid you not. Jesus rode by on his Harley, easing into our perspective, casual and free, and he stayed with us most of the way home due to a series of red lights. It was so unmistakably him that, once again, just like the sunrise, I tried to transfer this appreciation onto Gabe through some type of fatherly influence.

We talked about why he’s outside riding and where he might be going and why he likes the open air, and why it's so important to believe the impossible. And I think, because he had just seen the wind, after so clearly doubting the possibility, he gave me some latitude and was maybe even a little more inclined to grab onto my imagination and to make it work for himself; to know the adventure of following someone such as this Jesus, the incarnate God in human form -- to actually picture him, and not just others moving because of him.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what it should be like. We should seek out the impossible and the improbable moments in our lives where we actually do see the wind, so we can take it a step further and visualize a God and His Harley riding Son moving and doing alongside us as we endeavor to hold some type of church in the margins and the alleyways of our world.

He is so very much like that radiant cluster of colors, arriving with a certain warmth, starting our day, with God heralding him as a proclamation, trying desperately to focus our attention up against the length of something straight and true, so that we see him, this incarnation that matters, grabbing us with gentle, feathery fingers that long to render art in us, and through us, on a whim, just like that, simply because He can.

Don't be deceived, the wind will intensify, out in the open and maybe even double in strength in the shadow of some firm foundation of a rock, the very one from which we've always found our bearings. But up on the roof, watch out, because there’s a dangerous and prevailing wind there, with gust filled and seemingly random risks; indeed it will make us uneasy and a little unsteady, and I suppose dirty and tired, but with it will come the promise of what this adventure was always meant to be, as we work with our hands toward a cause and lean hard into something that is pure and right and beautiful.

And really, like the sunrise that began the day, I'm just a sucker for the whole thing.

~~~

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!