The Times They Are A-Changin' - Our Life in Graffiti

Ian,

We went through a Dylan phase when you were in Jr. High at Brentwood. During these days before Caylea drove, I would take you two to school since the trek up and down Braker Ln. took me by my UT office. Mom's office at UT the ACC was out of the way. The three of us would share music, study for tests and generally have conversation all the way to school each morning. If I could freeze time, one spot in my life would be in that car with the two of you engaged in a passionate debate about who knows what.

In my quest to introduce both of you to the world's best music - as I did with Danny - I bought a compilation of Dylan and shared it with you. I expected that the creeky voice, acoustic guitar and lack of traditional pop hooks may not "reach" you. But I was wrong. You loved the songs, especially "The Hurricane". The stories and compelling rhythms got to you, but the passion hooked you. With all the musical universe at our disposal, for weeks on end we listened to Dylan.

I had never been a Dylan fan per say before these rides - but Bob got to me too. Indeed the Bob's - Marley and Dylan - were our favs then. Dylan sang about heavy issues, social justice, broken relationships, truth and especially time. Three songs stuck out "The Times They Are A-Changin' ", "Forever Young" and "Turn, Turn, Turn".

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance ...
Eccl. 3:1-11 and Dylan's song lyrics

When your kids are in Jr High and High school, you see times change quickly, things turn from one interest or crisis to another, and you desperately want them to stay forever young. As I said. singing songs, debating music and sharing life in the car - I would give the world to repeat just one trip. 

But life is defined by change. Nothing stays the same. This change is the only constant. During High School, you introduced us to the Hope Outdoor Gallery or Castle Hill as it is affectionately called after the castle building at the summit. This unfinished building site became a place for top and novice graffiti artists to leave their mark in our fair city. But no matter how good or bad the art, it would not last more than two weeks. An amazing piece would be ruined by idiots spraying their name poorly over it, or dumping paint on the wall in drunken fun. In the place of the mess, a new new image would be left by an artist. It is a world of temporary masterpieces- an apt metaphor for our lives. Our fondest memories last but a moment, perfect days sink to night and the years overcome us all. Everything turns, turns, turns.

(Note the changes to the "window structure" in the park in the pictures distributed throughout the post.)

Breca Tracy took senior pictures of you among the graffiti art. It was the first time I saw the Gallery. I was hooked. I kept returning to capture pictures. I recorded lectures there. I showed the family pictures till they were sick of it. The regular transformation of the hill reminded me of Dylan with all his musical phases, his chameleon-like appearance changes and how life never stayed the same. My idiocy or the nature of life would spray paint streams on our lives ruining our masterpieces. But the Gallery held hope - new art could come again and cover the ugly.

Sadly, the Gallery is moving and the place that has been such a touchstone for you and I is going away this Spring - all in the name of progress. Once again, the Gallery shows the nature of change as now it will be destroyed and replaced.

Change. I have thought so much about this reality since you went home. How I long for that change to not occur! How I wish the change I now live in would promptly end!

So many scenes that were beautiful, just to stop them and dwell there longer - sleeping with you as a baby, you wearing the jacket, playing with Lego people, friends over, throwing you into the pool for the first time, basketball, frisbee, riding in the car with your music on, visiting you at school, doing our own graffiti in your room,  watching you best and fall asleep while we watched a family movie, hanging with you on the TAMU campus - these and so many more were masterpieces. Alas short lived and covered by time.

Our JAZZ graffiti wall in your room was painted over as shiny silver as you and Caylea switched rooms in High School and she came home to live from UT. Every time I see that wall I think of the joy under the silver. The wall was meant to be sports symbols, but we could not draw a circle - then you were inspired to infuse your other passion - music - to the composition. The JAZZ wall was born. I covered it well with j silver, multiple coats till it was hidden. Yet It is still there, covered by paint. I see it in my mind on every visit.

Relationships change. You and I still talk. Me more than you for once! I still hear you in my mind. I feel you are still close but just outside my grasp. Danny is so different now 27 months sober, in amazing shape, with strong relationships and we really click and share again. Good change. Caylea is my rock. We may have our moments but my girl and I stay close thankfully. Through all her growing up, added pets, working, living elsewhere we are still there together. Mom and I keep going through change - not always the good kind. MJ&PG are still with us - I mean walking with us as friends and family. But change is coming. Your friends are getting married - Terry this Summer - getting jobs, moving on. Good change for them. Hard change for me.

How do I deal with the change. When my masterpiece moments are covered by life's change - often marring in a frustrating or heartbreaking way? I am reminded that this is nothing new. The ancient Israelites sang:

In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands.
They will perish, but you remain;
they will all wear out like a garment.
Like clothing you will change them
and they will be discarded.
But you remain the same,
and your years will never end.
The children of your servants will live in your presence; their descendants will be established before you.” Psalms 102:25-28

Even the mountains change, the ocean changes. I am not the only one bound in change. Indeed change leaves me feeling like an old shirt, worn out and ready for discarding. I must lean on the eternal God - who promises to never change - amidst the ravages of time. The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. Deut. 33:27. The old song says it well, "Leaning, leaning, I'm leaning on the everlasting arms."

I must preach to myself that God's constancy amid life's change is cause for hope.

For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God. For, "All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever.” And this is the word that was preached to you. 1 Peter 1:23-25

I either believe His word as true and lasting, allow His promises to steady my ship buffeted by the waves, and know that the change of this life will be overcome by the eternal change He promises. Indeed, it is this Jesus-brought change I most hope for - for I will see Him; I will see you again!

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed — in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”
“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 1 Cor. 15:51-57

A long quote but did you catch that we will all be changed when He comes again? What was ravaged by change, what seems to be perishing, will be made imperishable by His grace. We will be imperishable as God says He is. The dead and Christ will appear bodily alive again in His presence. Your beautiful self I will see. Life changed in an instant - during your accident, but it will change again, even more quickly and definitively for the better one day.

I know what you would tell me now - "Dad, in that moment we will all be looking a Jesus not each other." You are correct. But I long to have another masterpiece moment with you. One that will never be covered by time, change or paint. I long for death to be swallowed in victory and usher in a new age together again.

So my hope is not in you, but I look forward to you joining me again and our broken family will be whole again. In the meantime, I must take Paul's advice and:

Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain. 1 Cor. 15:58

 I am flying back from India. I have invested my time, sweat and energy for a week with locals trying to build companies. I have talked to people about our hope in Jesus. I hope that I made a difference. I feel that this is the Lord's work. This work too would change. UT is always redefining priorities - it is only a matter of time when change will occur here as well.

I am thankful for quiet times to collect thoughts, talk with you in depth, and prepare to head back to the real world.

As the graffiti on Jo's Cafe says so well, I love you so much E,

Dad

You may say I'm a dreamer...but I am not the only one

Ian,

Had a dream about you quite recently. Only the third since you went Home. This dream was different than the others, different than my normal dreams - more tangible, archetypal, and felt as if I was living it, not dreaming it. My normal experience is to forget a dream in minutes once morning comes. I can scarcely recall really any dream I have had. But this one felt real - sticking with me for more than a month. I need to tell you about it. 

Our family, the five of us, went on a camping trip like we did often in California. But this time there was much more hiking involved. We headed for a destination - that was for sure. But what or where the destination was - this was not clear. We hiked up a valley where a mountain range split the valley in two - a picture taken in New Zealand when Mom and I were there illustrates the setting somewhat.

Mom, Danny, Caylea and I kept hiking up the right side of the valley. Soon we realized that you did not follow our path. We could not see you. We lost you, Ian. We looked all over the campsite, through the trees, around the rocks and snow and could not find you anywhere. Panic set in; fear and sadness of loss gripped each of us. We had lost Ian!!!

I set out back down the valley to the point of the "V" where the mountain split the valley. I then headed up the other path, the one to the left. I hiked for a while through snow and rocky terrain looking everywhere for signs of you.

After a while I saw smoke coming from ahead. As I closed in on an apparent campsite, I saw two people there - one person seated and a larger person standing. As I entered the campsite, you leapt up from your seat and ran and embraced me in one of your patented bear hugs. I wept, laughed and cried out "I found Ian!!!"

It was then the second person at the campsite came into focus. Indeed, it was an older, large man who approached. He had long white/grey hair and a mid-length beard below his chin - longer than mine, but not as long as Santa's in our pictures. He reassured me that you were not lost. You had joined his party and were traveling through this valley on another path - we would meet up at the summit where the valley path's reconnect. He assured me that we would be reunited as a family. I was thrilled, ecstatic beyond words with this joyous news. I hugged you, Ian, so tightly. Your hair obscured my vision to glimpse your full face and your beard scratched at my face as we embraced. It was indeed you, Ian, and you had been on this hike without a shave or haircut for a while.

I told you and the older man that I was going back to our family - I had to tell Mom, Danny and Caylea that I had found you. My dream continued as I ran with great endurance back down the pathway on the left of the mountain and then pivoted to sprint up the path on the right. It seemed to take no energy to run; I was carried by joy.

I came upon our camp, the family waiting for my return. The air split with my call's as I approached at speed, "I found Ian!! I found Ian!!!" Mom, Danny and Caylea leapt from their camp seats by the fire and ran to me. We embraced, wept and laughed for relief and joy. Ian had been found! I told the story of the finding the left path, seeing the campsite and hugging you, Ian. I told of the old man who was guiding you along the left pathway and his assurances that our paths would meet at our destination.

We packed up camp, and quickly set out - up the mountain trail to meet you where our paths would meet again. I am not sure of our destination, but another picture from New Zealand illustrates the impression left on me - of the trails leading to an ultimate destination, such as a great mountain like Mount Cook. Emotionally, I knew our destination - to be five again, a family once again complete. The dream ended with each of us on our independent paths headed to a mutual destination.

So what does all this mean? Is this merely a brain fart, blowing off old images and deep longings? Is it a collection of memories linked together by hope? Or is it prophetic or symbolic? Could it be a revelation of meaning behind great tragedy and the promise for reconciliation? I have no certain answers. All I know is that it was a powerful, concrete and tantalizingly provocative. It sticks with me.

I am not the only one to have such dreams rich in imagery, feelings of reality and hopeful in meaning about you and where you are now. Mom wrote about her dreams, especially of her meeting you in your heavenly home, in her blog. Many of your friends have reported deeply meaningful and engaging dreams of you in Facebook posts. I am clearly late to the party as a "dreamer" - but I am not the only one.

The dream makes me anxious for our paths to converge. I am reminded of the uncomfortable, in-between-ness of faith and hope. We know the promises, but we live in a reality somewhat short of them. As said of Abraham, "By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God." Heb. 11:9-10.

Abraham and generations after him knew that the land they lived in was theirs by promise of God, but they did not possess it with permanence. They had to live in tents moving from place to place over time. The "waiting is the hardest part." They wanted a solid, lasting foundation - not just shelter - a city that would last; one built by God. We likewise are awaiting the promises of God - of return, reunion, and full eternal life. In this earthly path we hike, it seems like we continue to live in tents, living in a tent of a body, and everything seems a bit hollow with you not here. We yearn for a city with a foundation, a heavenly dwelling, where we will rest together. God grant us the faith to walk by faith, living in tents as we await His promises to be fully fulfilled.

I will choose to be thankful for this dream and hopeful about its meaning. The imagery of paths once diverged reuniting again is my hope and prayer. I look forward each day to that time when our pathways do meet again and we embrace again.

Until then, I love and miss you,

Dad

No Shave November to Locks of Love

All, 

When I think about the distinguishing characteristics of Ian, what I remember most there are the intangibles: his empathy, sensitivity, humor, love, persistence, bullheadedness and the like. I miss these everyday. Just to have another conversation with Ian - he made you feel as if you were the center of the world. His focus and attention exuded these concern and these intangibles always just connected you with him. But I also remember physical characteristics of Ian - the giggle which said he was coming, the smile which greeted you (this seemed to always inhabit his face), floppy hair as he bounced toward you, broad shoulders and big chest where you would rest as he embraced you in powerful arms, then you would remember the beard that scratched your face or mingled with your hair. 

Ian,

Each November, I am reminded of your beard - from the scraggly thing it was in Jr High and early High School to the full beard that made all your friends jealous. A friend at work was growing out his beard with his college-aged son this November. What a great thing to do - what a pang of sadness shot through me as I remembered the November’s we shared. I could grow a beard. It was scraggily, reddish, curly and a mess. The mustache stayed, then the goatee joined. Each kept short to easily maintain. Danny is growing out his beard. It is dark, patchy and looks great as a three day stubble look. We both struggle with thin hair and we need to keep our facial hair strategies simple. 

You did not take after Danny or I! You inherited Poppa Gene’s thick and wavy hair on one side and your Mom’s curly thick hair on the other. The reddish tinge came once again came from both sides. So, growing a mop of hair was easy for you. Extending this to your face was natural. For Five years, you varied from the three day stubble look to the full beard.  

Your beard growing superpower created the illusion of “age”. You looked like a college kid while a freshman or sophomore in High School! Women came into Starbucks and hit on you not knowing you were “jailbait” (and Amy would inform the ladies of their misunderstanding!). 

You also explored the creativity of the beard - stubble for prom, 70’s porn star look for kicks, etc. At A&M, you started with stubble that soon grew to a full “mountain-man beard” - and even when you shaved it off, it seemed to reappear over night. No Shave November was the time you regularly launched into the full beard experience. Yes, I was jealous; of course I was proud. Mom, Danny, Caylea and your friends each must have different stories, memories, and thoughts about your “growth period” each November.

Your beardedness seemed to inspire you to explore the next phase of creativity - growing out your head of hair. You moved between short and medium lengths of hair at home. 

But you became inspired at A&M to grow your hair long, real long - but for a great cause: donation to Locks of Love. That a guy would grow out 6 inches of hair to donate is not very common - I would guess. But that was your goal. Fits with your intangibles so well...

Your accident precluded your donation. We asked and were told it was impossible to have your hair to donate. Enough said. That was very hard to hear. But your friends and family stepped up and multiplied the gift in your place, from Jacob to Nancy Talbot, your peers, moms, sisters, etc. gave their hair to bless those suffering from the effects of chemotherapy. On the eve of your celebration, Aunt Megan cut hair till she was sore and exhausted - so many of your friends wanted to donate - each following your example. 

Your intangibles rubbed off. You inspired sacrifice, giving and love to those who the donors would never see. Mom and Caylea gave. Danny and I could not - we lacked your follicular superpower. All told 20+ donations were made in your place. What started with No Shave November multiplied to blessings for lots of little girls suffering from cancer through Locks of Love.

We never know how our intangibles fit best with our physicality. We never know how our giving multiples into grater blessings. It sometimes is surprising. Truly the Locks of Love experienced fulfilled this promise in God’s Word:

     You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us 
     your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God. 2 Corinthians 9:11

Your love, care, concert and sacrifice (maybe a bit of pride in your hair growth superpower!), was expressed in hair donations and blessings to those in need of physical needs. 

As I reflect on your attitude and these events, I am reminded of our Savior’s words, why He came, what He was to do:

     For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom 
     for many.” Mark 10:45

You were no Jesus, but you did choose to walk in your Savior’s footsteps. Thank you for your example Ian - not putting boundaries on your love, but being willing to express love through whatever means available to those in need. It is an inspiration and encouragement to follow. 

I love you. I miss you,

Dad

Hearing Your Song - Ian with Guitars 2

Ian,

This recording Mom found on your phone. Many recordings were there, bits and pieces. A unintended gift from you that God allowed us to find. Most were works in progress. Then there is one where your creativity, sensitivity, ability and composition is fully present, revealed and unpacked.

You left us many songs - sung, played and those in our hearts. This one is the most complete recorded song showing how a kid raised on classic rock, who progressed to RHCP funk, on to screamo, then to power trio-indie-garage rock and finally lighting on indie folk and Americana. No, not much country there.

Within this composition, we hear artifacts of your journey. The mash-up in your brain arranged with your skill, expressed through your fingers. I remember how the song evolved over weeks and months. You would play us a bit in your room, a part in the common room. I remember you teaching me parts of the song. I see you playing me the completed piece. We both sit in your room, on your bed. You concentrate. I smile.

Hearing your song, first through my memory of you and the Takamine guitar, then with your hands on strings playing:

Bought in California
Moved to Texas
Transferred from father to son

Cedar, single-piece top
Jumbo cutaway
Koa back and sides

Rosewood fretboard
Elixir strings
Tuned to dropped D

Bright yet warm
Perched on your knee
Sitting on your bed

Fingers stretch
Mind flexes
Creativity expands

Melody escapes
Rhythm pulses
Harmony unfolds

Your song emerges:

(click play for video and you can size the screen)

Love you E,

Dad


Post production mixing: Matt Smith 6-String Ranch

Stop Me if You Heard This One Before: Songs of Grief and Hope

Ian,

We enjoyed the Smiths. I introduced them to Danny, Danny then to you and you back to me. Love the way music networks around, within our family.
 


Listening again, I recognized how the mixture of Morrissey's melancholy lyrics and joyful jangle of Johnny Mar's guitar illustrate the confusing mixture of emotions in maturing grief. This tension is odd, unnatural - but accepting the dissonance seems essential to continuing to live. This is a long, strange trip of ever changing emotional landscape - I still am hiking it. I wrote about the interplay between grief and hope over this past year - especially as your 4th anniversary of going Home approaches. Writing stuff helps me process feelings; Maybe it will help others too and provide support and understanding.

So, here are my songs: songs of the night and songs of the day (had to add in a little Phantom - you loved that!). Without further ado, strangeways, here we come!

One

There is nothing new here
A retooling of what has been said
Loss slows new memories
Clouds old ones

Therefore I must keep repeating
Say again what has been said
Go to the same places
Force my mind back

Walk with you again in the house
The driveway, the street
Watch the old TV shows and movies
Go to the haunts, play old games
Just stare at Bessy, pluck your bass
Listen to your songs
Remember your face

Should I be encyclopedic and focus on every detail
Or be empathetic and just feel
What if I loose a memory
What if one escapes
I fear loosing you again
But there is power in memory
To discover something new
A detail, an experience, a word
It is like seeing you again in my mind
Joy floods, conversations renew
Grief mitigated in memory
But for a minute -
But I will take that!

Two

I hear music in our house today
The thumping and popping on a bass
The strumming and picking of a guitar
The sampling and sounding of tunes

I hear voices in our house today
The sharing and telling of stories
The debating and pressing of opinions
The laughter and giggling of family

I hear play outside our home today
The dribbling and leaping with a ball
The running and catching of the disc
The pressing and pushing of the weights

I hear silence in our home today
The ringing and singing slowly stops
The talking and texting tappers away
The bouncing and bounding becomes still

Space unoccupied
Energy trapped in inaction
Pause, peculiar quiet
Loneliness and yearning

I feel hope surging once again
A promise made, a promise kept
A place missing, reunion coming
A home empty, a mansion full


Three

Music man moves through the house
Living and dining room entertainment
Bessy blends notes with effortless slide
Fretless resonance through rounded strings

A Bugera booming with Big Muff fuzz
Hefty Trace Elliots transport and elevate
Tele snaps and twangs in spite of distortion
The Tak discovers a dropped D melody

Bass and guitar groove and blend together
Dancing in intertwined melody
Amplified strings as surrogate voices
United in sound, rhythm and heart

Such was our music, such was our song


Four


Four years

126,230,400 seconds
     2,103,840 minutes
          35,064 hours
               1461 days
                    48 months
                         4 years

How is it possible?
Answer my text, take my call
Just come home
Silence just silence
Worst fear realized

Deep, lifelong wound
Joint out of socket
Straining to breath
Just to survive
Realize and rationalize
Hope to believe, believe to hope
Take trembling steps
Learning to walk again
Find a sort of balance
With a lifelong limp

Time itself is hard
Everything reminds me of you
Time we spent together
What we missed
Time is not enough

 19 years,
     231 months
          1007 weeks
               7053 days
          169,272 hours
     10,156,320 minutes
609,379,200 seconds

Don't get me started about
Awaiting your arrival
Cuddling as a baby
Legos as a child
School, pretend, action figure
Xbox, Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh
School, projects, cars and girls
Too much to remember
But hungrily grasp at each frame

Hanging out at home
Riding together in a car
Playing in the yard
Grabbing Chick-fil-A
Working out
Jamming on guitars
Singing at church
Playing in a band
Discussing life's mysteries
Finding truth
Laughing
Falling asleep watching a movie
Running in the rain

A song, lyric, muscle roller, trip to Sam's, a chord
Shakes me from balance and I fall again
Feel the break, the rip and the tear
I limp more obviously
The wound bleeds

Hope cannot be found here
Amid dirt and flesh
Too weak, too fragile,
All starts but to end
Hope springs not from change, adaptation
Nor from gradually getting used to your absence
All is still interrupted
The wound reopens

Hope springs beyond these stars
Beyond myself
Through wood and nails
A folded cloth
A herald's song
Conviction from the bones

I am Jacob
I walk with a limp
Yet I know His Name
I am graced by His blessing
I will meet you again
You and He both
Where end meets beginning

Love you E,


Dad