dear doug,

I am an out-loud, verbal processor. Instead of listening to me yesterday, you listened to God while I spoke with you about my aloneness. Thank you.

As much as Kathie and I long for a community, we have often felt alone. I'm sure that much of this has come from my own fears and insecurities... if others keep me at an arm's distance, it probably began with my stiff arm to them. And I am such a strong drink of water to most folks, still big and brash, loud and large, foolish and frightening.

As we spoke at Panera my mind was led back twenty years ago to a book I still cherish, Henri Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son. I'm sure it was prompted by the comment you made to me of how lonely it can be to be a father to so many. Nouwen says:

I see clearly the truth of my vocation to be a father; at the same time it seems almost impossible to follow it. I don't want to stay home while everyone goes out, whether driven by their many desires or their many angers. I feel these same impulses and want to run around like others do! But who is going to be home when they return - tired, exhausted, excited, disappointed, guilty or ashamed? Who is going to convince them that, after all is said and done, there is a safe to return to and receive an embrace? If it is not I, who is it going to be? The joy of fatherhood is vastly different from the pleasure of the wayward children. It is a joy beyond rejection and loneliness; yes, even beyond affirmation and community. It is the joy of a fatherhood that takes its name from the heavenly Father and partakes in His divine solitude.

Nouwen speaks to me of a Godly aloneness that is to be embraced. But there is also an ungodly aloneness that I can place myself into that encourages others to avoid me, thus making me feel alone. You can see my prayer emerging from these words. I will pray for you in your pilgrimage this week, as you pray for me.