Basic Progress - Prologue

I am the son of a preacher man, oldest boy, second born of two boys and two girls. Mom was a student, and later an English and Spanish teacher. I was raised in a Christian home where I was taught to pray and read the Bible. My parents loved us and cared that their children learn to love God; they didn't care about anything else nearly as much. The story of my life has as much to do with their love and patience as it does the grace and faithfulness of God. It also pertains to the potential of the human experience. This is my story.

I was two years old when my older sister was diagnosed with a rare form of epilepsy. My parents moved to Memphis to avail her of the medical care found at St. Jude's Children Hospital. She was a tremendous concern to them. Looking back, I presume that because of all the energies and concentration invested in her illness, I felt a need to be a "good" boy. As early as I can remember, I didn't want to cause any problems. I was one that would stay quiet and stay out of the way. I don't recall ever feeling animosity or jealousy toward Teresa. As her condition improved, I remained withdrawn.

After three years in Memphis, my father seized the opportunity for missions in Latin America. From then on, every couple of years, my parents packed us and we moved to different parts of the western hemisphere. We lived in Panama, Puerto Rico, and Colombia.

I always loved spending time with my father. Although he was often gone for extended periods on missionary journeys, he always brought each of us a gift. My father's calling was to establish preaching schools in Latin America. He is the founder of the School of the Americas in Panama, and vital in the formation of the Caribbean Christian School in Puerto Rico. These are preaching schools that train natives to teach natives about Christianity. I was raised in a vibrant household that was identified with Christian discipleship and a dedicated response to 'the great commission' in Matthew 28.

My mother was the disciplinarian and the 'manners police:' "no elbows on the table," "chew with your mouth closed," "sit up straight," "wash your hands" and "wait until your father gets home." She rarely forgot anything during the interim. She eventually received her masters degree in English from the University of Texas. It seemed like she was always studying. As a child, education was a given.

My childhood was rich. I spoke two languages fluently. I was exposed to culture and experience that few ever see first hand. We accepted our difficulties and were relatively content as a family. By the age of fifteen, I had been to a dozen foreign countries. I grew up loving the game of Soccer. I was a fullback and I ran fast and learned how to play well. I was the third ranked student in a Spanish speaking school. The upside to that lifestyle is tremendous. I would never consider trading those experiences.

There is a downside: we were nomads -- without a place to belong. Friends were left behind. I did not like that part.

Over the course of time, out of necessity, I learned to develop superficial "acquaintances." It was a combination of survival and convenience. It is easier to stay aloof --much less painful. I guarded heart with relationships that demand minimal emotional investment. I yearned for long-lasting friendships, but for the time being, how people responded to me and my relationship with them was short term. Having left so many behind, I accepted that friends and acquaintances would ultimately be ghosts of my past. Concerning others, apathy developed. My sense of identity with society became less and less important to me.

My father always encouraged me that I could become anything I wanted to be. Hard work, sweat, and a persistent determination would seat me firmly as the boss of my own fortune. He assured me that I had a reservoir of abilities and a flair for leadership. Driven by a suspicion that if I maneuvered people, places and events into the appropriate sequence, position, and environment, I would certainly gain the respect and social strata due me. I admired my potential.

During my ninth grade year, my father accepted a position as a pulpit minister in Indiana. The move was partially, if not primarily, motivated by the need for my now stable oldest sister and myself to receive American high school diplomas. This last move was the most difficult. Long before we arrived, the social cliques of high school had been established. I never did really belong to any group; jocks, clubs, debate, band, church group --I always felt different.

There was one exception; two weeks of every summer was different --church camp! Life was good. God is great, God is good. I loved church camp! I felt like the president ought to make a law that every United States citizen ought to spend two weeks every month at church camp. For me, it was a protective shield from the pressures of society. I also regretted that it was a fabricated environment and only temporary. I was growing up.

I remember the first car I owned. My parents helped with the down payment. It was a bright orange hatchback. Looking back, it is by far the ugliest car I have ever seen, but, I had bragging rights. I now drove to school. The emotional reassurance of property or things was a foreboding of the misery that was to come. Security in the material world is never to be achieved.

Sex was a very intimidating proposition. It was a sin. In high school, I wanted to be with someone who was virgin because I wanted to marry a girl who had only been with me. It is incredible that I was always thinking 'marriage,' but it makes sense given my desire for permanent relationships. I gave myself no real opportunity to enjoy a friendship with girls. There existed peer pressure that said that I wasn't a man unless I had been in the sack with a girl, and my conscience understood that, unless married, it was wrong. Hormones and morality mix like oil and coffee. For me, as well as many males, enjoying a female as a friend, without sexual undertones, is one of life's enduring challenges.

My senior year, I enjoyed a fun boyfriend / girlfriend type relationship / friendship. We were buddies and constant companions. I carried her books. She would hold my hand in public. She was active in many of the high school activities. We were fifth in the prom processional. I was important --at least it looked like it, ...and that was REAL important!!! The emotional reassurance of people and pageantry was a foreboding of the misery that was to come. Security in the social world is never to be achieved.

Adolescent curiosity outweighed moral judgment. The absoluteness of right and wrong was questioned. I began to consciously fight the directives of well-meaning parents and a supportive group of acquaintances. I didn't want to be a bad person, but what is the benefit of being good?

As a lad who was always in attendance at every church function, it was obvious to me that some people, (a minority), have an effective relationship with Jesus' Daddy. I could tell by the way they reacted and responded to life's turbulence. Even the moments of celebration were humbling for them.

Unfortunately, the majority of the masses were the ones upon which I targeted my venomous verdict. These were the people who attended worship services on a regular basis, prayed gothic prayers in public, and were pagan the rest of the week. The sad conclusion that one could deduct is, "Hypocrites, Oh those hypocrites! I'll never be like that!" Probably, the most devastating thought in my life.

'Healthy' friendships became those who would not bother me about my behavior. I didn't want to be around "squares" anyway. Church people were arrogant. Heck, they didn't even like each other! The sermons that were being preached had condemned me. "Sinning wasn't just the action, thinking about it was just as bad!" That was the final straw: They were not the people that were to help me get ahead in life. I had to avoid them and their teachings at all costs... ...and, there is a price to pay.

The revelation that I could never meet up to the standards of divine supremacy should have tossed me violently to my knees with the concession that the church is not for the perfect, but for anyone, however inadequate, seeking God's help. The notion that my upbringing had to be abandoned to realize my potential was one of many unfounded grievances. I was running as fast as I could in the wrong direction!

At the age of 17, I had my first drink. It was a blast! I had encountered the magic. I laughed and joked and I didn't concern myself with impressing others. When drinking, I was "Jay, He-man," ten foot tall and bullet proof! I now had an accomplice, an ally that, along with my abilities and know-how, would soon catapult me to positions of responsibility and prominence! I liked my potential. I really was impressed with what I could be.

I was hired by a truck stop-lounge-restaurant-hotel as a busboy for their banquet facility. Drinking age in Indiana at the time was twenty-one. With a full beard, I looked the part. When I didn't buy booze, I stole it. My lifestyle was predictably shortsighted and frivolous. With the coming of age, goals, motivation, and ambition had ceased. A song entitled, "Rolling with the Flow," had caught my attention. I was living life in the fast lane!

Unfortunately, my conscience did not allow me to enjoy my lifestyle. I knew that drunkenness wasn't "right." I knew that this wasn't the 'Jay' that God had intended me to be, but so what,... "I'll get around to church stuff later. They are all a bunch of hypocrites, anyway."

Rather than repent and go back to the values I had been taught, the internal debate commenced to do away with all that religious nonsense. Without realizing what I was doing, I commenced to do away with that bothersome "god" idea.

Shortly after graduation, my parents moved back to Latin America to continue their work. The morning my father left has haunted me. He didn't want to wake me up! I awoke in time and ran outside as he was getting in the car. I hugged him and I sobbed. My mother was to leave in a week. I wanted so bad to keep my childhood. It drove off. I was scared.

As a young adult, I enjoyed the perception (my own) that I was truly a "man's man." Unfortunately, one of the characteristics of alcohol is that if one consumes an abundance, drunkenness invariably ensues! I was always remorseful the next day. I worked harder than others to compensate. This cycle was to repeat itself many times over the course of the next decade. I had to be 'better than' just to feel equal. My heart was telling me that I wanted to fit in, but mind was telling that I was unique. To complicate matters, God did not like me!

This pattern of overcompensation, having to be 'better than' to be equal, defines the quest to fill the inner void. Oh,... the spiritual ache of loneliness. I was so lost. If photographed, the darkened soul is the emptied shadow of the Great Reality. This neurosis manifests itself as iron butterflies in the belly and a bingo hopper of scattered ideas in the mind. The sufferer leaps cow chips with a pole vault, imagines himself an honorary lifetime member to the honor roll, and carries a big stick with which to self administer a plague of chastisement and chagrin. The godless life is a soul sickness that drives the possessed to loud music, racing cars, lustful carousing, overindulgent consumption, shopping sprees, gambling and/or chemical addiction. The list can go on ad infinitum. Any individual under the illusion that happiness can be found in materialism, behavior, physical pleasure, society, or excitement, is unknowingly a prey to idolatry. King James called it "mammon."

I know what that means: Temptation is rarely ugly.

Early on, I had a lot of good times. When drinking 'socially', I felt like I belonged,... I felt like I was a part of,... In fact, I could dance better and I could laugh and I was the center of the party and, man, I had craved that feeling. I had fun. My life became centered around the times when I could drink. Anytime my comfort and my character were in conflict, --I found a way to get comfortable!

From moment to moment, I could be ecstatically engrossed to solemnly remorseful or bitter. Balance was something I only knew of as the midpoint somewhere in between. I was a prey to misery and elation, I couldn't make a wage suitable for my 'lifestyle.' I was unhappy. There was a deep hole in my belly that screamed out, "I want to belong!" but my mind, filled with nonsense and self-deception, argued back, "Yeah, but you are better,... special!"

In retrospect, I know now that I never was comfortable. I had just wanted to "fit in," part of the "in" crowd. It didn't happen. I never did like me.

Tomorrow is a different day, but life does not get better on its own. What goes around goes around and around and around and around.