Admittedly, I am not good with limitations.
I like my music loud, my tacos spicy and my car moving fast. When I see a limitation imposed on me automatically my first reaction is, “I’m going to break that and break it bad.” Hey, don’t judge, we are all a little bit child of Adam and a little bit child of God, right? That tension pulls on the heartstrings of us all. Sometimes we feel the grace of God exploding through us like a raging torrent, completely dominating our actions and inspiring our minds and hearts to do the impossible. Other times, I kind of want to turn the torrent down to a trickle, sit on the couch and binge watch Everybody Loves Raymond while enjoying fatty foods and a cold soda. I am all at once ready to do God’s work in this life and at the same time one-step away from doing the exact opposite. I often find my heart at the crossroads between good and evil, biting my lip and wondering where the magic path in the middle is where I can have it my way. This brings me back to limitations. Have I mentioned I hate them?

Today started out simply enough. I woke up, did my morning stuff and got dressed. However, today was going to be very different from yesterday and every day before yesterday for about 3 years or so. Today I was facing a limitation I have ignored since my devastating spinal injury in June 2013. To make a long story short, I fell 18 feet from a ladder rupturing 17 discs in my spine. After 2 years of rehabilitation, physical therapy and one surgery (so far) I am no better than I was 2 years ago. But today was a new day. Today I was taking my children to go roller-skating. Today I was going to be the heroic father and surmount the obstacle that has held me back since my fall. Today I was going to show my kids that Daddy is the strongest man alive and nothing can keep him down. Today, against all odds (and reason, logic and common sense) I was going to lace up a pair of skates and show my kids the hockey player lying long dormant under the flabby shell of pessimism and impatience I’ve constructed while sitting home waiting to heal.


The drive to the arena was full of joy. Everyone expressing what they hoped it would be like. The lights, the games, the food; everyone had something particular they were looking forward to. I however had one thing on my mind. I am going to skate, even if it killed me. The jubilant little voices in the back were drowned out completely by the voice in my head screaming at me in a petulant tone: “You better not fail; you’ve waited too long for this.” I kept repeating, as if in a trance: I am going to skate, nothing will stop me.
We made our way into the rink, got our skates and I laced us all up. Of course, I am with children so immediately they all had to use the restroom. With bladders empty and hearts full of excitement, we made our way to the floor. To my credit, I did not fall within the first five minutes. Not even ten minutes. In fact, to my surprise, I did not fall at all. I did pretty well. I was feeling strong and limber and with every pass I made around the room I was gaining speed and remembering how to move. I cannot put into words how liberating the wind in my hair felt. Freedom; I felt like I had been rescued from my crippling injury.  I felt the dark cloud of despondency lift and give way to a radiant light. As I skated around, I was helping my little ones, giving them tips, encouraging their little hearts and bodies to press on through the pain and not give up when they fell. One of my boys, Anthony was looking at me as if I was flying! “How do you do that, Daddy? That’s awesome!” That’s right son, it is. Yes, it is. The passion for hockey, a love I long abandoned after my injury, was reigniting in my heart. All I could think of was having a stick in my hands, rolling down the rink, moving through the defenders and taking the shot on goal. Imagine if I could get suited up and play in goal again! Oh, my love for goaltending shot back into my heart, thinking of the days and nights spent training, playing and dreaming about hockey! I could finally have all that back again. Something was going right for me. Finally, I was experiencing a beautiful moment of unbelievable joy.

However, as with all moments, this one also came to an abrupt end. It started with one pain, a little one, barely even a pain actually. It shot from my right foot to my hip. No big deal, I thought. It’s expected not having laced up for at least three years. I moved on, relishing in the feeling of unstoppable flight as I raced around the rink. Then again, it shot up from my foot. Harder this time as if it was trying to get my attention. Like a stubborn child who ignores his mother’s call to come in for dinner, I brushed it off and obstinately clung to the fleeting moments of joy that I felt were about to be violently ripped away from me. Then it came a third time. Damn it, I could not ignore this one. It felt as if an arrow had just pierced my lower spine with extreme prejudice. Still I refused to give up. I had just encouraged my kids to bear the pain and push through it, not to give up. I cannot give up know. I will not give up. I want this too bad. I need this in my life. I pressed on in the hope that my body would not give up on my heart. Finally, after a fourth pain ripped through my spine to my neck, I knew my time was up. I had no choice but to acquiesce to the injury that had already claimed so much of my heart and what I love. I returned to my seat, utterly defeated, holding back tears, fists clenched in silent rage, wishing for one second, I could somehow change my circumstances.

I sat alone in the booth listening to the laughter of children, seeing their smiles as their fathers held hands and skated with them. The looks of admiration beaming from their little innocent eyes as their Daddies lifted them up after a fall. It was slowly killing me. I took off my skates and felt the darkness I am so accustomed to, once again crawl into my heart. I put my boots on and wiped away my pathetic tears as I made my way to spectator area. I took my spot amidst the Moms on their iPhones and settled into my seat, as I was lulled into complacency and boredom by the tales of lattes, nail salons and soap opera hunks. I was miserable.

Then my Gianna passed by my spot. She is so cute. Little smile showing her two front teeth, or more accurately the space where there will eventually be two front teeth. She was doing great, moving fluidly, and shifting her weight back and forth just as I taught her. She was having so much fun just breezing around. Next came Maria. I cannot believe she’s 9 years old already. I just looked at her and stared in disbelief. First time out and she’s doing amazing. That kids got a lot of her old Dad in her I guess. A smile crept across my mouth. A little happiness tried to shove its way into my heart. I let it in.

As I was watching Maria fly by, John-Marie came up behind her. Wobbling and unsure but trying hard to keep his balance, he moved along by the wall at a steady pace, carefully treading his path between the groups of sweaty teens. He was the most terrified to try skating but I encouraged him to do it at least once. Seeing his eyes now I know that same fire that had been lit in my heart as a kid, skating on this very same floor, has now been lit in his heart as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a mess of kids falling and creeping on the floor. In the middle was the storm that took down the six or seven unknowing skaters. That storm was my boy, Anthony. He was the polar opposite of Maria. Unsure and wobbly he made his way around the curve. Falling every two or three feet, he made sure to flail and scream as he went down so as to frighten everyone in earshot. He barely would try to get up as he couldn’t understand how to place his feet. He would try to maneuver his skates in such a way as to plant his wheels flat but could not and fall over again before he even was upright but he would not give up. Eventually, he would make his way to the wall, crawling between the skaters and rise to his feet. Always a sweaty mess, he would wipe his brow and continue only to fall pretty much as soon as his next step was made. He would then start the whole process all over again. I was in awe of this little dude. What heart! What an indomitable spirit! Where did he learn that? At this point, I was beaming with pride and taking pictures like a lunatic, calling their names as they passed and enjoying their fun more than I even enjoyed my brief moments of skating.

Then I saw my John Paul approaching my spot. Chubby cheeks, button nose and squeaky little voice, making his way slowly around the turn, calling my name the whole way.  I yelled encouraging sentiments to him so enthusiastically you would have thought he was competing in the Olympics. He floated close to me and reached out his tiny hand to slap me five. “I love you Baymax!” he called as he passed. “I love you too, Hiro!” I returned as he went by. The mother next to me offered me a tissue because at this point I was a mess. As I sat there reveling in this moment of ecstasy I slowly came to realize, if not for my limitations I would have missed everything I just experienced. If my spine would not have rebelled against my heart and caused me to stop and sit down, every encounter I just had with my children would never had happened. The smiles, the laughs, the encouragement, the love, all those moments would have been lost. A fool I was to think that I would gladly trade them in for a moment where I could recapture some of the enjoyment of my youth. Like a man who blinded himself to what truly matters, I sat there thinking of my young escapades as “the glory days” and descended into a bitter tantrum when the possibility of reliving them was taken away. 

What we love affects everything. My love for my past was affecting my present and my future. Left unchecked the only trail I was blazing was one of cynicism and disgust for myself, my life and all who I blamed for my circumstances. I was proudly walking into a realm where I would become a father bereft of joy and utterly dependent on fantasy to bring a moment of relief from the pain. I was becoming Mr. Incredible or Bob Parr, as it were. A man so lost in the past, he almost sacrificed his future.

In the movie, The Incredibles, Bob Parr is the epitome of what a superhero is. Mr. Incredible is handsome, brave and strong. He had everything going for him until in a blink of an eye it was all taken away. Now he lives a secret identity with his family, forced to leave behind what he loved: fighting crime and saving the day. He keeps a shrine in his house, erected in remembrance of what he calls, “the glory days.” When given a chance to relive them he imprudently jumps at the offer and unknowingly puts his whole family in danger. Not until they are all captured and about to be killed does he realize what he was missing all those years.

He starts by apologizing to his family:
“I'm sorry. I've been a lousy father, blind to what I have. So obsessed with being undervalued that I undervalued all of you.”
Then says one of the most beautiful lines in all of modern cinema:
“So caught up in the past. YOU are my greatest adventure and I almost missed it.”

I learned that very lesson earlier today. Blinded to what I have now because I was stuck in the past. Judging my life and worth based on my limitations I fell into the trap of believing life was worth something only if I was able to do what I want. I was living life on my terms, for myself alone and alone is what I felt. No man is an island and no man can live only for himself. Only in the gift of self can one find the meaning of life. Today my limitations forced me to be a gift to my children and I learned what I could have missed every day from here to eternity if I choose not to be a gift. My greatest adventure was not my rock band days, my hockey days, my wrestling days or my reckless days. My greatest adventure is my family and regardless of my limitations, I can always be what they need me to be. The hero they call Super Dad.
 

“What you are in love with will affect everything.”

Last week a friend shared that profound thought on Facebook. I was unmoved at first reading but then after re-reading it for a second and even a third time, I began to see the profound implications this little thought would have on my life moving forward. It was simple, eloquent and true. The best thoughts usually are. After reading it repeatedly, I stopped and started to process it. It began to unravel at a furious pace in my mind and heart. To give you a visual of what I was watching in my mind it might help to imagine a small fire starting. The smoke trial starts out as one tiny little stream but as the fire grows, the smoke billows outward in every direction, as branches growing off of a trunk reaching wistfully towards the stars. As love has the tendency to do, all of a sudden I found myself hoping, wishing and reveling in a joy that seemed to well up from thin air.
My mind and heart observed as the idea of LOVE, of what I love, branched off and grew into every area of my life. My hobbies, my joys, my skills, my idiosyncrasies, my time off, my time working, my friendships, my enemies, my family, my desires, my sins and finally my relationship with Jesus Christ. With some of these thoughts, I was pleased and right away saw the reason I was so attracted to a certain behavior or person. Clearly, my love inspired this particular relationship or hobby.

Take my love for books. I have a large library. It is my mancave. It is where I go to be me. To relax, to be alone with my thoughts, dreams and fears. As I thought of the maxim above, the reason I feel so comfortable around books became clear to me. It hit me as hard as a cold breeze on a winter morning. From as far back as I can remember I have always felt different, like I did not belong; as if I was a mistake, never meant to be alive at this time or any time really. I have yearned to feel what it is like to not be an outsider, a reject, an outcast. Yearning for an escape from the pain of loneliness, I turned to books, to fantasy. In the old, musty pages of large tomes, I found my escape. These books welcomed me to their world. When I entered the novel, instead of the lonely loser I was here, I became the hero. No longer awkward and chubby, I was transformed into everything I ever yearned to be. Most of all, I was noticed. Somebody saw me. Whether I was defending minorities in courtrooms, or charging the black gates of Mordor, I was SOMEBODY. My love for books was cultivated by my deep longing to be somebody remarkable, to do something remarkable; to be the man that everyone loved. To be the man that one woman loved.
As I watched the smoke rings become more intricate, things became clearer to me. The things I love now are related to certain parts of my heart; some because of mysterious wounds I have hidden away into the cavernous recesses of my soul, some because of the great joy I have experienced in my life. Either way, I was discovering the reasons behind why I love what I love. The possibilities were jumping out at me, offering explanations to questions I have always asked of myself. Excited and apprehensive at the same time, I was unsure of how to progress, so I grabbed a pen and began to write. Two poems came out, both polar opposites. One dealt with light and hope, the other, darkness and despair. Both however were related to the love of a person. The more I delved deeper into these thoughts the more I craved to know what this pain was. It seemed bottomless, yet I felt like I was making progress. I yearned to know what it was that drove me on in this mad quest, yet as I pressed onward, I felt in my heart I knew the answer but for some odd reason was avoiding it. So I stopped avoiding “it.”  I looked it dead in the eyes. Damn, I was immediately sorry.

I did not want to see the answer. I was right; I knew what it was all along. I worked relentlessly and without remorse to attempt to bury this pain so deep, I would forget it existed. But again, it reared it’s ugly head. I recoiled in anguish as I recalled the reasons I buried this. Back from the grave again, it began to torment me. Angry and ready to break under the pressure of bearing this burden for even another second, I immediately quieted my heart and the longing it was expressing. “What I love will affect everything.”  I cannot argue with that truth. Whether my love is wrong or my reactions to the denial of what I love are the problem, I do not know. I am too blinded by pain to see the path I must tread to achieve healing. I am not ready to go there yet. Yet, I’ve never been more ready to begin than right now.
               
Loneliness;  I’ve always been crushed under the burden of it. I bear too many sins upon my back, carrying not only the guilt of poor choices, but also the pain of excommunication because of them. It is as if one day the curse of my sinfulness took over my life and cast me from the joyful childhood I was living into a realm of obscurity and shrouding. A dream turned into a nightmare. A smile deformed into a scowl. Songs into dirges, light into dark, hope into despair, life into a living death. Throughout it all, I have learned nothing but how to wear my mask of happiness. Joyfully parading around as if life was a party while underneath I howled in unquenchable rage to encounter one person, just one person who would truly understand me. What I love has affected everything I see in my life. It has burdened me with a desire to see everything as a beautiful gift, as a mystery, as fireworks exploding in a cavalcade of lights and promises, against the growing storm of discontent and hatred. My love has bestowed such a vision upon me of the world that I fear what I would have become if not for the yearning that tears me apart. My grief did not wound me mortally, quite the contrary, it gave life to my desires, meaning to my wishes, fulfillment to the promises and a sliver of hope to all that I was hoping for. What is that hope? Someone to see in me something that no one else has ever seen before.
               
As I mentioned before my love for books drives me, encourages me and comforts me. I have always felt close to certain stories and one in particular is my favorite. Clever readers would have noticed it already. I cannot help but go back to this narrative and see in it a chance for someone like me to find what drives me, to quench the thirst I have always had. The story inspires and urges one to have hope beyond all darkness that the dawn is coming. Nevertheless, my heart is weary and not ready for another battle. Yet…what I love…what I love will affect everything…
I am roused to believe that I will not despair, I will not cry out, “Let them come!” in hopeless defeat when I sense the demons of surrender gathering around me. I will fight, I will pray and I will strive to be the man I yearn to be. Hoping against all hope that my heart will taste the sweetness of the love I thirst for. The maxim that inspired this rambling collection of sentences rings even more true to me now than ever. What I love affects EVERYTHING. I am the man I am today because of what and who I love. I am not perfect, but I am what I am. I am wounded and broken, soiled and unclean, poor in body, mind and spirit. But I am me and I believe that because of my ability to love, I am worth something. Yes, what I love truly has affected me and effected change in my life but what I love is not my wound. My wound is much deeper and I fear, unable to be healed.  

​For who could ever learn to love a beast?