Lamar Howell's Weblog

I  must spend half my free time looking for houses and property in North Carolina. I dream of the life I might have had if we had moved there in 2016. But, that life is a mirage, appearing now and again to a thirsty soul. I drink water, but the mirage remains. “Two roads converged in a yellow wood, and I looked down one as far as I could to where it disappeared in the undergrowth.”(Robert Frost). My eyes keep straining down that path, I wonder what friends and faces it would have brought. What satisfaction I might have had teaching again, being needed again, having my siblings near me again.

I want a piece of land. A place to wander. A crying spot. A place to reflect while I break small sticks into fragments. Dirt to filter through my fingers. My ‘Trip to Bountiful,’ so to speak. A place for hymn-singing, and humming with the accompaniment of insects buzzing.

A life without brothers and sisters around . . .  It breeds a loneliness that perhaps people with small families never feel. There are slots in the soul, carved out like paper doll spaces. Some boy shapes, some girl shapes. Empty spaces which emit a hollow cry now and again. A longing to connect to a natural relation, a blood line that is never broken. Sure, we’ve had disagreements and disappointments, failures and forgiveness. I know the chain of complex connections has been rerouted and re-welded time and again, but the chain still clanks and jingles out a familiar sound: I’m here.

It’s no accident I was born into a big family. You can say we didn’t have electricity or TV but our lives were meant to be, and destined to mix. In some ways I’m looking back toward a more hopeful past than I am for building a brighter future. A cloudy sunset looks better in some ways than a clear sunrise. Why, I don’t know. Seems I can choose my past but others are choosing my future. Getting old means being set aside. Memories swell and hopes shrink. I’m just being honest. Without God, there would be despair. But I can never despair. Despite all my mistakes, regrets, angry outbursts, tears, and repairs, I can still have hope. I pray I will mean something to many people, and a great deal to a few. More than anything, I want my life to have meant something to my saving God, Jesus the man I want to be like at the end of the day.