dads, faith, fathers, forgiveness, God, life, life lessons, love, personal growth, philosophy, your last day

Trials and Tribulations

There is little to no doubt that letting go is healthy in certain situations. It is also a fact, beyond argument, that often circumstances make release the toughest of choices. All of the “I wishes” clog the mechanism that allows the grieving deed of the broken heart to be done. Maybe it’s not that we need to ‘let go’, perhaps we must realize we never possessed a grip in the first place. The illusion of a hold and hence the ability to release said fiction is all a part of the story.

The perfectly and uniquely imperfect gene does not discriminate. It is an affliction we are all born with. There are many days when I revel in the gifts that my individuality bestows upon me and times when I play the sad song of “if only”, over and over; A fruitless pursuit rooted in an unchangeable past and human condition. Alas, our Hearts do not always beat to the rhythm of a rational drummer. Driven by Love the daydreams will arise of their own accord. All we can do is smile and try to focus on the good times.

The past is gone, the mistakes have been made. There is no Time Machine available and, frankly, no time to waist. So, we must try to put things into the hands of a Higher Power and Live today. Playing the what if game only with the wishful Dreams of the future. Today we must take the hot rod to the car wash, check the combustible parts, change the tires and fluids and give the wheel to Someone else.

I will always remember and never stop Loving, but I will Live today.

Will

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Our Struggle to Understand

There is comfort in certainty. If we knew the Creator’s blueprint, were privy to the script, we’d no doubt evaluate our actions/choices through a different lense. Succumbing to the unavoidable game of “what if”, I’ll admit fantasizing of a life free from the multiple tumbles whose aliases scream TROUBLE.

There’s an old joke many of my Southeast Texas and Coonass brethren will know. We feel it because we ain’t too proud to realize “ashes (turn) to ashes”. I’ve heard it in speeches, read it in books of philosophy and witnessed its likeness, as a troubled mind fought for freedom from singular thought. This evening I will tell the tale as I heard it from my Brother, David Nelson:

Seems there was a man by the name of Boudreaux (he and Fontenot get more play than the skeleton of an Aggie intent on a game of hide and seek) who was a religious sort. Staring into a black cloud riddled with evil intent, boisterous booming acoustics accompanying natures electric light show, he planted his backside firmly in the rocking chair his beloved Gran made squeak on that same porch where he now rocked. A man of experiences, scars and regrets, that day he’d set right here for hours contemplating the “whole damn thing”. For the most part he rested, at peace with his effort. Confident in the Word which had lifted him from the ditch he’d occasionally wallowed in, Boudreaux dismissed the slicker covered Deputies first summons from the street.

“Mr. Boudreaux the storm is coming. Let me take you inland.”

“No, no, the Lord will provide”, he said. Not that the Deputy could hear. He could barely catch a glimpse of Boudreaux’s dismissive wave. The two babies and a wife at home, putting his own safety forefront , the young Deputy departed. And, the water continued to rise.

Boudreaux, steadfast in the miracle of the Lords deliverance, watched Gran’s rocker float towards Texas as a flat bottom boat arrived to assist. Struggling to keep the skiff tight to the hidden stairs that led to Boudreaux’s water laden porch, the young Game warden pleaded,

“Boudreaux, let’s go!”

Resolute, Boudreaux bellowed, “The Lord will Provide!”

Well, as I’m guessing, you all have figured by now, old Boudreaux didn’t make it. There were more attempts; Of note, the Coast Guard helicopter, who’d dropped him a rope ladder while he clung to the weather vane atop his colonial, lowland lying swamp palace departed. Their report included the attempt to rescue a man smiling as he drowned. Some said he seemed to be repeating a phrase…

One account, though I have never been in cahoots with any close enough to have had the pleasure, espoused that Boudreaux questioned Saint Peter as he reached the pearly gates.

“Why Lord did you not save me?”

Interrupted from the other side of understanding, Peter only listened to the response.

“Boudreaux, I sent you a State Trooper, a Boat and a Hellicopter! This whole thing started with Me teaching Y’all how to recognize a Good Thing”!
———————-
I did take liberty with David’s way of telling it. He is the funniest Man I’ve ever met. I can’t remember why I started to write this diatribe, but along the way I visited so many Loves. Stories start and detours appear. I’m reminded of an old movie; A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum”. Isn’t that the truth? And thus, We come full circle.

That Was Fun…
Love,
WJN

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Countless Questions



I will fail. I have. I will hurt You. I have and, without intention, will again. I am flawed, as are we all. The Sun will bless us with its warmth, giving color to our ashen flesh, though Clouds too will cover the landscape. We will dance and know weightlessness, then trip, our being shattering from the heavy tumble. There is no escape from trial and tribulation. Just the same, we will have our glorious debut.

There is no conundrum;
The search for perfection is a dunces errand. Constant focus on past transgressions serves as the main ingredient in the recipe for stunted growth. Living in the past stifles our opportunity to Love now.

Knowledge being the fools gold of the author whose pages we thumb, sure of little, I am certain we have no answers. Despite desperate attempts from uncountable, self designated “authorities”, there is no perfect playbook. There is only our opportunity, at this moment, to do the very best we can given our insufficient understanding of… all of this.

I do not come claiming to have answers, only hypotheses based on genuine hope and desire. I posses no mythical degree, simply a voice with which to contemplate Mysteries we will never understand in this life. I am just a human being with an opportunity to do better now. I am grateful for that chance.

Loving hard is a sword with the magical quality of countless edges, many of them too sharp to dull. Nonetheless, I would rather endure the cuts than have never touched the blade.

Learning and a continual work in progress,

WJN

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faith, fathers, Fathers, forgiveness, God, life, life lessons, love, personal growth, philosophy, Uncategorized, your last day

The In Between



The In Between

We perched above the Pacific, gigantic waves crashing below. Sitting, looking, listening…, imagining. One of the few times in a very long while that my mind was empty. The thought drifted in so honestly, it took me a long moment to realize it wasn’t physically possible. “I should call Dad”. Sitting here in Llano, Texas so far removed from that setting, there is certainly water flowing.

The drops are partially the result of phone calls that can’t be answered and salty from those that simply won’t be. As Dad would say, “Ain’t that a helluva thing”?

I often think about Mom and Dad and the decisions they made. Right or wrong, for we are All a faulty lot, they made the best ones they knew how. Though comparison is the devil’s work and a fool’s punishment, I can’t help but draw them. Daily, I ruminate on my record, going so far as to flog myself for actions that were inevitable.

There isn’t a one of us that can alter the past, or who we are. Quite the contrary. We must strive to be our true selves, not denying inner for the outer everyone expects. I’ve witnessed the destructive and combustible results of that behavior. Still, we are human. Therefore, we long.

Each day I search deeper, Praying for answers that may never come. I try to Rise rather than fall. Then I sleep. Though I wake from Dreams, sometimes in my slumber those phone calls are answered from both sides of Tomorrow.

Hear the Waves Crash and Listen to what the Silence says in between.

I remain ever Hopeful.

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Choices




It is so easy to let the past or the future ruin today. The truth is there isn’t a damn thing we can do about either. As much as we’d like to control circumstances, we are not another and we are certainly not God. It seems there are three choices.

We can let fear and anger stifle what is Good and live life guarded, bitter and sad. A choice so easy and supported by powerful darkness that it rears its head at the slightest pothole we encounter.

We can quit. Just give up. Say enough is enough. Take our ball and go home. Ending any chance of happiness. A choice many people make. The saddest decision of all.

OR

We can Live our lives to the fullest. A Life filled with Love, Compassion, Trust and Hope. In truth, this is both the easiest and toughest road. This path requires exposing ourselves to an uncomfortable vulnerability.

I have chosen paths one and three before. And I will not say number two hasn’t beckoned; We can lie to ourselves, or try to overcome the shadows that darken our door. In the end there is really only one choice and, of course, it is the most difficult.

I have lost so much in the last few years; Pilling up by the minute it seems. Pain that has caused me to act and react recklessly. Ultimately adding to the toll. Through it All, I have had bright nights and dark days, but only when following a path of Love have I seen the Light in the darkness. This doesn’t mean hurt doesn’t come. It only gives me a chance. I like those odds better than the rest.

I’ll Love and take what comes, knowing I am just a blip on a Radar we don’t yet understand.

Will











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Graffiti

Handwritten sentiments and putting pen to paper are art forms that seem to be disappearing from the landscape of our lives. I so miss receiving letters from loved ones and, fondly, treasure boxes of old notes from friends that go back many moons. I’ve even saved a few letters I wrote, never delivered for one reason, or another. Though my handwriting has taken a turn towards the cellar (maybe it was never very good in the first place), I still write letters and record many thoughts the old fashioned way.

There is something about the act itself that is meaningful to me. Maybe it is the extra time it takes, as I try to make things legible. Perhaps, it’s envisioning my mom and dad sitting at their desks, penning their own emotions. For all the reasons it could be, it is undeniably the love I have for the person on the receiving end, that makes the process special. Read or not, understood or dismissed, I feel a little bit more of my heart is in the universe, where it belongs.

Recently, as I wrote, pages stacked one atop another, the indentions left called to me. Observing the inkless marks on page two, I thought about pressing through. It is easy to dismiss the impressions we leave on others every day.

Each moment, we make marks on the world with our touch. We help another, hurt a feeling, bring a smile, share a laugh. The simplest things may be the ones that matter most.

Scribbling through our day, we rarely see the affect of our actions. The stranger, who we helped for no reason other than the right one, goes home a little lighter because you lifted them. The waiter I admonished, because my day wasn’t going so well, ends his night dejected. Seen and unseen, the residual outcomes cut both ways.

Because we are, we touch. Just remembering that, on occasion, helps. I know it is cliche, but there is certainly a fine line between pleasure and pain. That mid-court barrier just may be our next word, our next press…

The indentions we leave will be interpreted in many ways. A story may be deciphered without the ink. Some are recreated as we trace the pattern left behind. The ridges, when felt, may read like a mysterious form of brail. All in all, the mark is made and has importance, beyond the author’s intent.

However the typeset is received, remember, it will be. A friend of mine once said, “Good writing is not written, it is experienced”. In life, the same is true for words less eloquent.

Our love and it’s opposite are left through the pressure of our pencil, whip of our tongue, lift in our embrace. My unsolicited advice for the morning is three fold:

Press – Live and experience what you write. Know each moment matters to many more than just you.

Feel the indentions – Understand, there are multiple ways to embrace the grooves; Accept.

Wonder – because, isn’t that all we can really do.

The story we are living is mysteriously amazing. We contribute our individual entry every moment; Words, sentences and paragraphs that bleed through to the next page, because we are.

Press,
William

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So Many Ways


So, is there more to this than hauling the wood of our history around? More than just replaying our patterns? Whether yesterday or five thousand years ago, there has always been the need to break
our habits in the world- the need to give up what no longer works. – Mark Nepo



So Many Ways

The first time I remember falling was through the center of a jungle gym. They weren’t fancy back in those days. Just a bunch of iron bars built in a modulated square, with a similarly shaped box perch on top.

I was alone after school, long after all the other kids were gone. Waiting for a ride that was sure not to come for hours. Climbing to the top, I dreamed I was the captain of a ship far out at sea. I could feel the wind, see the Porpoises frolicking in the bow’s wake. Scanning the horizon for enemy vessels, I ordered the crew to the guns. Just then a wave hit hard. Except it wasn’t my imagination.

I was overcome by a wash of dizziness and fell straight through the middle shoot, hitting the ground hard. Malleable as my young body was and completely limp in a half conscious state, the impact inflicted no harm. Dusting myself off, even at that young age, I was aware how lucky I was that my head had not hit any of the bars on the way down. Had it connected solidly, who knows.

I haven’t thought about that moment in years, though I have fallen so many times since. Innocence long departed, the stumbles now inflict pain. To this point, my thick skull has not struck the steel squarely. I’ve suffered cuts, bruises and even deep gouges, but the giving side of impermanence has shown me mercy.

I have spent the last two days writing about my dad. Through his words and my memories, I have ridden with him at the helm of great vessels. I have felt the sting of his stumbles. I’ve asked Him for his wisdom; That born of his imperfect experience. We have walked together once more.

Years ago the two of us crouched alone on the Galveston jetty. A thirty foot high wave, we’d noticed building minutes before, steadily approaching from the ship channel. I gripped the bow of our, twelve foot, Jon boat with white knuckled fury. He held the craft with one hand and my arm in the other. I knew, if he had to let go of one it would not be me. Though he had fallen plenty, he would not fail. It was a moment as surreal as the slow motion we experience with the imminence of a car wreck.

Though the sound had to be deafening as the massive wave crashed into and over us, all I remember is silence. We were together at the bottom of that jungle gym, dusting ourselves off and preparing to climb the tower again. This time with more knowledge than the last.

Learning,
Will


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I Am

I Am

I am a good person, but have done bad things. Some were carried out with malice, others self-serving. The ones that have cost the most have always been unintentional. 

My heart and soul seem to play host to a war I often lose to self-sabotage. I am all too aware that I am no victim.  

The learning process, that is life, is full of euphoria and it’s exact opposite. Why is it that those two polar enemies always rear their heads so near one another?  

I have no excuse for my behavior in the moments that have led to loss, I’ll never get over. Yes, in some instances there have been contributing factors; Alcohol usually number one. That said, looking at each incident, I give myself no quarter.  
Often, there was a misunderstanding; a comment taken the wrong way, a joke gone awry. None of that matters.  We are all responsible for our own actions. As for reactions, I’m the worst at those.  

All we can do is pick ourselves up off the floor, say a prayer, or 1,000 and hope that Love conquers anger. We must learn from our mistakes. Some of us need a little more loss to realize that the one ingredient in all the heartache is ourself.

I change a little every time I lose a piece of me. Somewhere in the pang in my gut, I get better. I do not expect forgiveness from those I’ve hurt, but I must drop the whip I punish myself with. Only then can I grow. 

Love will win

Me

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D Day

D Day

They clearly needed each other to experience peace – Mark Nepo

On this day in 1944, many of your Fathers and Grandfathers stormed the beaches of Normandy, France to commence Operation Overlord. An invasion that ultimately led to the defeat of Nazi Germany and the liberation of Western Europe. Young men, our Children’s age, from America, Britain and Canada laid their lives on the line as they stormed the beaches, code named: Omaha, Utah, Gold, Juno and Sword. An estimated ten thousand casualties were suffered.

At the same time, the American Pacific Fleet departed Pearl Harbor for the invasion of Saipan in the Mariana Islands. It was during that battle that my Dad suffered a near fatal wound, as a bullet pierced his breast.

I have always been in awe of the men and Women of this Greatest Generation. They sacrificed, so that we may thrive. The Courage it took to jump from those Higgins boats, fly and parachute out of those rickety aircraft and scale the cliffs of Pointe Du Hoc is unfathomable.

I am the last of eleven children; Five and half years younger than the tenth. For my whole life, I have thanked God that Dad was one of the lucky ones who made it through. I’ve also always worried that generations younger than mine would forget what those brave Souls did for us. The events in Washington DC yesterday seem to say my fears were well founded.

The majority of us have not donned a uniform and risked our lives to give the future of our Nation and World a chance to survive. To those of you that have, thank You. My respect for the armed forces and appreciation for the protection they have given us is indescribable. I’m heartbroken by the actions and disrespect of a few.

Years ago, I followed the Overlord trail throughout the countryside of France. Walked on every beach, but Juno. Stood in the massive bomb craters at Pointe Du Hoc. Visited the Church at Sainte-Mere-Eglise, where our Paratroopers were picked off mercilessly as they drifted to the ground, blown off course by mis-judged winds. I Walked across Pegasus Bridge, with chills running over every inch of me and stopped at every little roadside museum. Finally, I visited every cemetery (both German and American) I passed; Prayed for Every Soul.

On this day, as many of us enjoy the world starting to open back up, I want to express my gratitude for our Heroes of World War II; Those with us and gone. The events of this day changed the course of history and our lives forever. Teach your Children, so They may teach theirs.

With the Deepest Respect and Thanks

William Joseph Nelson

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The Gift of a Thought

I have been in a bit of a funk today. I’m sure the uncertain time we are all living through has more than a little to do with it. As I struggled to make the one more call I knew I should. Ruminated on business messages and how to keep the simple sending of them from looking incredibly insensitive, I put it all down for a minute. Then, I picked up a book. 

As I made it through a few pages and contemplated the messages within, a post card fell out. It was a note from a good friend of mine who gifted me the book. I hadn’t noticed it previously, as I had read the inscription inside, upon receipt and assumed that was that. 

It was one of those notes we don’t see all that often anymore, starting with the fact that it was written in an immaculate hand.  Concise and to the point, as that was what the 3 by 5 monogrammed stationary allowed, and loaded with heartfelt sentiment. It’s never the number of words that reveals the feeling. 

I have known the author for going on 25 years now.  A man I met through business. A mentor that helped me make some big decisions, back when I was young and even less capable than I am now. We keep in touch, but as is life, not as often as we use to. Still, when a big event in my life occurred, He was there. Selfless thought shinning through. 

Whether we are fighting off demons, or soaring with Eagles, there is always beauty in knowing we are in the hearts of others. There is no thought too small, no regard insignificant.  The simple knowledge that we are loved is what makes the world go round. Reach out and touch somebody my friends, whether you think they need it or not.  

No quarantine can stifle the power of Heart.

WJN

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