Transitions are hard. Moving from one reality to a new one always involves a loss, or a letting go of something that was a more stable or known quantity for something that is less known. There is an inherent risk of failure involved in going to a new place or position. Sometimes those failures are minor, or more acceptable. Other times those failures can feel catastrophic.

The other night at dinner, I naively asked her to tell my kids a few stories from my childhood, not realizing that her long-term memory is now beginning to wane. She could not tell my kids stories I had heard my entire life. Yes, even this loss is yet another death I must mourn.

Why expend the energy and to what end? At Restoration Project we ask men to reflect beyond the timeline diagram of their life. We believe the activity is not most important, but the significance within that experience. We follow the wisdom of the early Celtic Church who would ask travelers not what they did on their journey, but what their journey meant

I’ve since learned that there is something profound about the experience of asking, hoping, and then patiently waiting. There’s something risky and raw about a gift being hidden from sight until it is revealed by the giver.

What is the gospel for today? We need a salve for our wounds. Salve is the root word of “salvation.” The word actually means healing. We need salvation.

The next few months proved to be some of the most difficult months of my life.

It was good work, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, there were moments that were downright frustrating. There are some parallels with wood splitting and story-work counseling.

But as my heart has been opened on the mountain top, making me more vulnerable to the evil fingers of shame and fear. They start their work quickly.

If you are still for enough time just about anywhere in Rochester and make any attempt to feel and discern the environment, you can feel the suffering. As I walked back to the hotel, I could easily sense the despair and weight of so many people being overwhelmed.

Just as easily as the sense of overwhelming engulfed me, the answer was right before me: fathers and brothers.

What my son wrote hit me on so many levels. Initially I felt like I had been exposed and sucker-punched. And quickly following that was the strong sense of heartbrokenness. And then pride and gratitude rushed over me like a wave.

Arriving early on a Thursday morning, the kindly man took on a fearsome gaze as he surveyed the hillside. It was defensible, but not unbreakable. His men would need additional protection if they were to survive what would come.