Life's Short

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost (from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening)

I have a seizure disorder. Had my first grand mal seizure in August of 1969 several weeks after a motorcycle accident, I was 15. I've had a number of seizures since then, not sure how many episodes (that's what they call it when you have a seizure... kind of like a TV series). My seizures try their best to kill me. Nothing pleasant about them. I've broken both shoulders during seizures- in different episodes- my heart's stopped, lungs collapsed, you name it... it's pretty much happened.

I'm extremely fortunate, I have my seizures in my sleep, there's a name for that- just don't remember it. I've not had so many that people steer clear of me, point fingers or try to tie me to the stake- maybe a dozen total, possibly less. I've gone as long as ten years without one and had them as close together as 6 months. Had a pretty rough night of several seizures 2 and a half years ago- those took out my right shoulder and an entire summer of healing. Some people have ten or twenty a day... I've been blessed.

My family's amazing. People with seizure disorders face medication and thoughts of mortality on a daily basis. At 17 a neurologist told me I wouldn't make it to 30... beat that by a few. But when it's in YOU... whatever it is that triggers it, from stress to MSG to doctors who think it's time to take you off of medication after ten years without seizures, you learn to cope. Your options are limited. I don't know how mom's, dad's, sister's brother's, wives’, husband's, significant other's, son's, daughter's and friend's survive the lifetime of stress and worry. It must be brutal. I've surfed, backpacked, traveled, worked and played around the world... often by myself in some pretty sketchy situations from Siberia to Kenya, Tahiti to Mykonos and plenty of points in between without much thought of the concern it must cause my loved ones... and to their credit, they keep on loving me right back.

Seizure stories: I have them going back to 1969. Some are heart breaking tales of days in unconsciousness in lonely hospital rooms... none are funny... some seem to scream out life lessons by the circumstances that surround them, all carry a heavy fall out. I try not to dwell on them. It seems like a good way to keep "the beast at bay."

One story always stands out- it's the short end to this long introduction. Nine or ten years ago we switched insurance carriers and their neurologist decided I was cured and didn't need to be on medication- that didn't work. After six or eight months of slowly weaning me off of each of my three daily meds- I had a series of killer seizures in my sleep -my family surrounded me in love, paramedics worked feverishly to save my life and after some time I was transported to the ER where I waited in semi-consciousness for a room to open.

It was during that very gray period, in the middle of the night, someone sent my mother, who along with my father and other family members had made a mad dash in the night to the hospital, to sit beside me. She said she was confused as she pulled back the ER curtain surrounding my gurney, because she heard my voice: weak and fragile, yet speaking words she knew with certainty. From somewhere in the dark recesses of my recovering brain the words of Robert Frost slipped across my lips. She said it haunted her and broke her heart to watch her youngest son in painful recitation bring new life to those old words: “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Sometimes, when I feel like quitting, throwing in the towel, chucking it all away because “the woods are lovely, dark and deep…” I think of my wife, my mom, my son and daughter at my bedside on nights they were sure they’d lost me and I remember that “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Tomorrow’s not promised to anyone: we have today. I’ve long since learned that though my seizure disorder might make me medically unique it doesn’t separate me from the people I share today with. Each of us have our own individual concerns, conditions and heartbreaks that weigh heavy on our souls. We’ve all been given the opportunity of today- living well in it is our choice. I choose to give my best, to think, to live, to love… I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

Blessings,

Eric

Big Dreams... in action!

That's my buddy Joe's, (aka Aloha Joe), Pumpkin Patch. Stopped by to visit on my way down for Jackets for Jesus, our work with the homeless on skidrow. Joe's a dreamer who's put his dreams in action. He left a job he was unhappy with to start his own business with party jumpers and he's now parlayed that business into his first pumpkin patch- using all his jumpers- and a Christmas Tree lot in the same place once the pumpkin's are gone.

He's deeply invested. He's giving it his all. He's having a blast. Joe's a people person- thrives on being in a crowd- watching his pumpkin patch sprout and grow has definitely been a highlight of this month for me. I drive by, scan the lot, look for his face or maybe the face of one of his family, stop in when it looks like they're not too busy and drive by smiling when the place is packed. Pretty cool.

Might sound like a simple dream- sell some pumpkins, give a family a safe place to hang out and have fun together in the middle of what's become a pretty scary holiday, hopefully end up a success at the end of the day... by my measurement he's already there... he's doing it, living his dream.

Hope you're living yours today. I'm heading down to skid row to live out part of the dream God's given me. There's something for everyone. God's good.

blessings,

Eric

Surfing Online

http://www.aspworldtour.com/2007

The link above will take you to the site that's kept me awake early for the last couple of weeks: live coverage of a WCT Surf Contest at Mundaka, Spain. Mundaka's an almost mythical left in the Basque region of Spain that I've never surfed. Spent a month or so surfing just north of there back in the '70's on the waves around Biarritz, France... never made it down to Mundaka... I regret it.

What can I say, I live with more than a few. That's not even in the top ten.

The best surfers in the world have worked their way into the quarter finals at a neighboring beach break in pretty junky surf in hopes that the final days will be held on the main wave with a swell. This weekend- October 13 & 14 - will have Mick Fanning surfing against Bobby Martinez, while Taj Burrow and 8 time world champion Kelly Slater fight into the final. With the time difference from California, for me, it could be as early as very late tonight.

Most people on the planet could care less... but high speed internet has become a surfing fans dream. Live coverage of the best surf spots with the best surfers in the world right on your lap top- get fancy and plug it into your big screen and bore the entire household- mainstream surfing -available to millions, recruiting even more people into the lineup... I would've been stuck to the screen if they'd had this when I was a kid... even still, it's the nightmare we never even imagined- international recruiting of MORE surfers!

My buddy Brad, who's surfed Mundaka to his heart's content, use to talk about surfing becoming unpopular. He'd say: "Don't worry, it's just a fad, when it passes we'll start to have the waves to ourselves again." That didn't work out. I've been in the water just a couple of times in the last year. Brad lives on his favorite surf break and doesn't surf anymore. There's two old guys out of the lineup. But when the boys are surfing the hot spots and Kelly's pushing for another title, you'll find me staying up late- or waking up early -with a heat always on in the background, checking in on the boys who still chase the endless summer... and dreaming.

One of these days I'm going to get back in the water.

Coming and Going

The wicked man flees though no one pursues, but the righteous are as bold as a lion. Proverbs 28:1

Getting a haircut was a ritual growing up. Three boys in the family, dad would haul us down to Oscar's where we each dreaded our turn under his cigar breath and not so nimble fingers. Hair was kept short and it seemed my ears were continually knicked by his wayward shears. Things changed. From my freshman through senior year in H.S. I had my hair cut exactly once, up to my shoulders. I had long hair. I liked my hair long. Never missed my time in Oscar's chair.

Adult living and careers slipped in and hair needed to fit the "social norms." I learned to dress for work; whether that was when I galvanized steel wearing denim, waited tables in a tux, was a bank teller in a tie, a school teacher in permanent press or my early years of ministry in a suit everyday: I kept my hair short. Sometime in the '90's I decided to skip most trips to the barber. Even with friends more than willing to cut my hair - at my office, in their homes, in our home... I fell back into the habit of letting it grow, not really long, but longer than most... one or two cuts a year. Hey, it's my hair.

When I was a kid, my parents and adults in general hassled me about my hair. It was a pain in the neck. As an adult, my kids and their friends hassle me about my hair. It's still a pain in the neck. Today I was out to get a sandwich for lunch- a young man from church, early twenties, saw me and the first words out of his mouth were: "You need a haircut!" Oscar's revenge!

Proverbs teaches that the wicked run from that which does not pursue them... >I'm not going to let all these kids get me down!< But the righteous are as bold as a lion. >Don't lions have long manes? And no one messes with them.

Here's the problem: short hair is so much easier. But if I get it cut all these people will start saying "Finally!" Just like when I was a kid... people even wrote songs about it: "Almost cut my hair..." Think I'm going to take the path of the righteous- bold, without fear and get a hair cut... so much easier than getting stopped right before lunch. Some kids never grow up.

Eric

My Brother Tim Likes the Yankees

I couldn't believe he said it out loud... he had a great excuse- the same one so many people use -Mickey Mantle. He'd been his baseball idol as an elemetary school kid and it's never quite rubbed off. Overall he's an overkill Dodger's fan- he and my dad have probably watched more Dodger games in their lives than time spent in church. With some of the teams and players the boys in blue have put on the field across the last decade, they should have been at the altar praying for 'dem bums.

But I could relate- Mickey was cool but it was the "Say Hey Kid," Willie Mays that turned my heart towards the Giants... and truth be told, I've found myself rooting for the Giants, usually in silence, and always from a distance, ever since. Not like a big fan, but like a kid who read The Willie Mays Story one too many times in 4th and 5th grade. Just seeing the old paper jacket brings back good memories.

The man was a star and lived out loud long before the world of "bling" began to dominate. Not to mention that watching he and Willie McCovey carry the team attack was a thing of beauty in the early years of the Dodgers/Giants rivalries.

I eventually became an Angels fan. Took tons of abuse from my brothers. Even hitting against "my" team, there was something of the "fall classic" in Boston's Manny Ramierez, finally coming through in the post season and hitting a walk off in the 9th at Fenway. It's the stuff that makes little kids that live a million miles from Boston start rooting for the Sox.

Found this video online- enjoy it. Sums up a bunch of my childhood dreams. While watching it I couldn't help but whisper a silent prayer: "God, help The Angels to sign Alex Rodriquez AND Barry Bonds for 2008." My brother and I could go to a game together and cheer from the heart. I'd pray for the Dodgers to get them both... but just the prospect of Barry Bonds in Dodger blue would probably rattle the universe. As long as he doesn't put on pin stripes!

blessings,

Eric

My Daily Run

That's a satellite shot of my neighborhood. Look closely and you'll see a little blue line with arrows: my daily run. Just under 5 and a half miles, the way I can put it off one would think it's a marathon. Weather's been perfect for running; cool, clear, an invitation to get outside... still I find a way to brush my teeth, check my email, read the newspaper, even cruise all my favorite www sites before pushing this old frame out the door.

But here's the deal- I'm out doing it again, everyday.

I'm a runner. People ask me about my running when I go places. I've been running for decades. In the '60's ran like a kid- (I was a kid!) In the '70's ran mornings when there were no waves- getting in on the fitness craze. Injured my knee running a 5k in '84 and cycled the rest of the '80's. Ran my first marathon in '91 at LA, spent the next decade running a marathon a year. The new century brought a bit of a slow down. Weeks that used to be filled with 40-45 miles were now lucky to break 20. It's been a roller coaster, filled with getting back at it and falling away- old age? No excuses. Too busy... life's definitely been... but I've run through busy times before. Think it's just time to get back at it, again.

This morning I'm blogging- one more excuse not to go outside and play... to run. I'll strap on my heart rate monitor, latch my little computer- a Garmin 305 -to my shoulder to track speed, route, etc... by gps... then go out and run the same little 5 mile loop I've been running for 14 years. Hope you've got something to pull you outdoors today.

still running,

Eric

Someone Will Take My Hand

My mom wrote the following words. They're the final chapter in her wonderful book: My Alabaster Box. That's Mom and Dad at a book signing some years back at our home. They encourage me, I know they can bring hope to you when you're a little down... or maybe even devestated. My mom's known dark moments: her brother killed in WWII, her dad died not long after, her oldest son served overseas during the Vietnam war, her middle son was stabbed by a serial killer (and thankfully survived), I've had health problems I wouldn't wish on to my enemies... the kind that keep mom's up in the middle of the night. Through it all, mom's been there.

Today Debi and I are going to spend the afternoon with my parents while my sister-in-law and brother have to be at the doctor. Mom hasn't known that she wrote these words for years. Her memory has slipped away. Her words and lessons remain while she and dad live in a downstairs room, watching CNN all day at my brother's house. It's enough to break your heart. My prayer is that in her moments of confusion and loss that there is always Someone there to take her hand.



SO MANY YEARS. . . .so many months. . .hours. . . .minutes . . .and not all of them happy. Count them up – perhaps the sorrows outweigh the joys. It’s strange how one joy can cancel out many sorrows!

The past year seemed to add up more sorrows than joys…nothing evened out when I tried the system of one joy canceling out three sorrows. But the thought came to me as a bright diamond in the dark….these sorrows MAY bring joy SOMEDAY.

When a mother holds her infant until the five-o’clock hour of the dawn as the baby fights for the breath of life…I shall be able to say “take my hand….I understand your anxiety”….when a family lays away a beloved member and the tears fall, fall freely, and they long for a view of a rainbow…I will be able to say, “I’ll cry with you…hold my hand…I’ve walked this way before.” When the heart is bound with grief-a sorrow so deeply hidden within because of a prodigal child…I will say, “Yes, take my hand, I too have walked this way before.” When a mother sits by the hospital bed of her near grown child as he struggles to hold onto the thread of life…I will softly whisper, “Here…hold my hand let’s share together.”

When dreams lie shattered in the dust…the dreams of years of planning and waiting-and the future seems dark, I will say, “Take my hand, I have walked this way before.”

But someday the dawn will break and I shall see the rainbows and the long journey’s end and I reach the moment we all must face when eternity looms out ahead, I am sure at a second’s fraction of time I will reach out and someone will take my hand and say, “I’ve walked this way before – come follow me.”
And this one final joy will cancel out all sorrows.

Ione Denton