What Did Horatio Know?

 
It's pretty easy to make fun of New Year's resolutions. Even the people making them don't take them seriously. And when you've lived enough years, the new ones start to look an awful lot like the old ones.

The best of them are forgotten by Groundhog Day. Why bother?

I think there might be a couple of reasons. 

I grew up in a river city, and even though I never spent any time towing barges like my brother-in-law, Cap'n Don and his boys, I've envisioned my life to be like a river for many years. There are currents to account for, channels to follow, locks to negotiate, cargo and shoreline to protect, and lots of stuff floating by that may or may not be worth paying attention to. Why not check your equipment now and again? Renew your training. Update your charts. Review the regulations. There are plenty of surprises that you can't foresee. Why make your own bad luck? Take your bearings. Look around. How else do you know what needs fixing? How else do you know if you are off course?

So before meaningful changes in the way I pilot the Good Ship Pennsy, it makes sense to me to take a walk around for an inspection. Everything shipshape and Bristol fashion? Or is there a little too much poop on the deck? 

First stop. How's the body holding up? Well, there are problems, just like you'd expect in any old tug. The heart is steady, if a little concerning. The arteries have started demanding more attention than I'd prefer. Nobody has been able to explain why I get dizzy so often, why I faint so easily, or why my important parts of my body seem to stop talking to each other from time to time. I will be investing lots of hours and dollars in the medical-industrial complex in the coming months. The tests and scans and diagnostic engineers haven't found anything life-threatening yet - so I'll stay the course. Keep falling down. Keep getting back up.

It isn't all bad news, though. I'm carrying a little less weight than last January. Around 10% less. That's good. Eating better food. Also good. I've started running a couple times a week again, and that feels terrific in my legs and in my spirit. Learning to bang on the heavy bag, which is improving my stamina, my upper body strength, and the way I imagine my arms look in the magic mirror I have in my bathroom. I have a crazy dream about running a marathon (#3!) before I turn 65 next year, and I'll need to crank up the intensity considerably in 2024, but I like the training plan I'm on. Again, stay the course.

Next stop. Time to check a little deeper. How's the mind holding up? How's your brain, old boy? I'm happy to report that it's not too bad. I found a splendid therapist this summer, and he is helping me to put a lot of things into perspective. I have a better sense of what matters to me than I have had in a while. Exercise, therapy, and meds are working together to keep me on a fairly even emotional keel, even with all the medical drama. I seem to be able to write and think and teach and make people laugh at a professionally acceptable level, and those are the ways I need my mind to stay strong. Just between you and me and the Internet, losing that strength is my greatest fear, but I've noticed no signs of serious trouble so far. I mean, I do the "why did I come into this room?" thing a couple times a day, but I haven't dropped any babies or started any fires or anything newsworthy yet.

So, Pennsy. How's your soul? 

Now, we're in troubled waters. To be honest, she's sprung a few leaks, Cap. 

What do you do when the old answers just don't patch up the holes anymore? I don't remember ever having any serious doubts about God. Then one stormy day I opened up the cabinet where my good, Christian life-vests used to be, and all I found were some discarded face masks and a half-empty bottle of hand sanitizer. And a note from God. "IOU one lifeboat." 

No. It is emphatically not "well with my soul." these days. Remember that old hymn?

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know

It is well, it is well, with my soul. 

It was first published in 1876 and written by Horatio Spafford. The story behind it is horrifying. According to this article in Wikipedia...

Horatio Spafford 1828 - 1888 

This hymn was written after traumatic events in Spafford's life. The first was the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, which ruined him financially. His business interests were further hit by the economic downturn of 1873, at which time he had planned to travel to England with his family on the SS Ville du Havre, to help with D. L. Moody's upcoming evangelistic campaigns. In a late change of plan, he sent the family ahead while he was delayed on business. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship sank rapidly after a collision with a sea vessel, the Loch Earn, and all four of Spafford's daughters died. His wife Anna survived and sent him the now famous telegram, "Saved alone …". Shortly afterwards, as Spafford traveled to meet his grieving wife, he was inspired to write these words as his ship passed near where his daughters had died.

I mean, holy shit. What a horrible story. What an incomprehensible response. You're a better man than I am, Horatio. 

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

Life's waters need a vessel that can navigate both billowing seas and peaceful rivers.  I want a map I can rely on. I want it to be well with my soul. 

But, it ain't.

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,

Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

I know that this should inspire me. I want to be more like this faithful, grieving husband and father.

But, I ain't.

My soul needs some attention. The kind of attention a marathoner gives to climbing hills or a boxer to slipping a jab. The kind of attention a frustrated old man gives to his to-do list so that the important things don't disappear into the cracks between "where are my goddam keys?" episodes. 

So, here is my 2024 resolution: after a lifetime of praying at God, I am going to spend some time every day just listening. Not reading or watching inspirational videos or blogging or practicing speeches or lectures or sermons or whatever other busy-ness I've been doing to paint myself into this spiritual corner... just listening. 

I don't know what I expect to hear. I guess I sort of expect to be surprised. I just know that something is missing. I do a lot of good things in my life. I teach and inspire. I give things away. I try to treat people with respect and honor their dignity. I'm a good scout, all-in-all. But in some, instinctive, lizard-brain place that I can't wrap up in ideas, let alone words, I know that something is being neglected. There is something in the water that needs my attention. 

And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend, 
A song in the night, oh my soul

I'll let you know what the river tells me.