Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Psalm 116:15

This afternoon at about 2p.m. Francisco Aranda died.

He was a hero to me – & was one of the key people that God used in my early days here in Reno to keep me standing, living on task, & what it meant to be faithful to the call of Christ.

I’ll never forget his answer any time he was thanked for one of the myriad helpful things he had done, for the people he fed weekly, for the odd-jobs he did to keep the physical building of the church looking good, & the prayers from the church flowing. He always responded:

…unto the LORD.

Heaven rejoices today.

#2 son has been asking a lot of questions about my brother Johnny – wanting to know him, reconstruct his likes/dislikes, experience the personality of the one uncle that he knows only through pictures, a few home videos, & the stories of those who knew him. A part of Johnny’s story involves his battle with cancer – & UCSF is where almost 5% of his life was lived – for treatment, recovery, & the like. And #2 son wants to know this place – & as difficult as it is for me to go there, with the painful memories, sorrow, & loss… we’re going.

I don’t want to choose negativity, to speak words of ‘reality,’ death, nitpickiness, complaint, slander, criticism, harshness, destruction – over & about me or others. I think that I’m finding that a person will find just what it is that is looked for. And if my lens is negative, down, destructive, ‘reality based,’ I will find those things – & think on them. Talk about them. Spread the cloud of negativity like a flu-virus in the wintertime spreads.

I’m challenged to take on a new lens, one that almost feels forced, like a new pair of glasses that have never been worn, all the while knowing that the new glasses are the right prescription, & they fit like they should – but I’m so used to ill-fitting, poorly prescribed glasses that the real deal, the good ones don’t seem right. Its upside down, & I want to be right side up.

The new lens is to look to enjoy life’s relationships – rather than to pick them apart as inadequate, to place blame where its due -instead to be a radical extender of grace, esp. where it’s not ‘deserved’… as if I have deserved it ever? To look for joy instead of sorrow – to hope & to be filled with hope, even when the ‘track record’ tells me otherwise. To have faith, to believe against all odds that the One I serve really is able to move mountains. To perform what He says. To rescue. To deliverer. To transform.

Maybe this makes me an optimist. A deny-er of so-called reality… So be it. And my answer to you is:

Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things – trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia…. [W]e’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Puddleglum – The Silver Chair, from The Chronicles of Narnia

Here’s to looking for Overland.

Maybe it was because Disneyland is/was such a happy memory for all of us – one of our favorite places on earth to go together & spend time & build shared memories. Perhaps it was the Mickey Mouse pancakes that we ate at the River Belle Terrace… (which, by the way, my dad could make better & more of, for cheaper… :)

When Johnny got sick, drawing Mickey was a miniature vacation, I think, for him & for us. Throughout the illness & treatment, Mickey (along with baseball cards,) remained a way to escape the reality of what was going on, if just for a few minutes.

And one of the things he liked, was Mickey. And when Mickey Mouse is around, it doesn’t seem like my brother is so far away, & it gives me hope for the time when we’ll be reunited.

Last Saturday, I got a Mickey tattoo on my left shoulder blade – because it reminds me of my brother, John Leavy Locke.

Life IS pain, highness. Anyone who says different is selling something.

I can empathize with Westley, (after serving on the Pirate ship “Revenge” under the dread pirate, Roberts, separated from his true love for 5 years… yeah, that would lead to such an outlook. But I don’t want to live carrying pain, as though the pain happened just yesterday, never working through, never getting past. Living in hurt. Woundedness. I think what I’ve found over the last year is that a key (THE key?) component of moving through & past pain, hurt, etc. is the grieving process. I have intentionally (& in some cases melodramatically) embraced the grieving process, staying in it, without apology, almost without regard for what others might think (have thought? & felt free to discuss amongst themselves…) Grieving. Feeling the fullness of the pain, the hurt, the sadness, the loss. And coming back to God’s truth about me, my life, my family, my relationships, my identity, my hope.

And the wounds haven’t festered. And I’m not minimized by my grief, my weakness, my own frailty. I feel as though I have perspective that I didn’t a year ago. I’m comfy in my own skin, & ok with the imperfect brokenness all around, & in me. Sigh.

One of the things that I’ve been learning about myself over the last 18 or so months is that I need to keep a watch on my emotional gas tank… it runs out way, way, sooner than does my physical tank. The problem is, my emotional tank lies to me. Tells me everything is OK. No worries. Coping just fine, thanks for asking. I’m doing Well.

It could almost lead one to think that the emotional gas tank was doing just fine. But I’m catching on to it…

So far, I’ve found that doing things & being around people that I enjoy (or enjoy me, take your pick) makes me feel about 83% better. And the rest of the refill might just be waiting for the time to pass to allow healing. I feel weepy, & cry at the drop of the proverbial hat. Oh, the joy of being around me.

And wondering… what refills your emotional gas tank? Or, have you discovered that you HAVE one?

I remember the 1st time I prayed after my brother’s funeral… it was bedtime prayers, of course, just me & the Bean. I was covering all the bases (meaning praying for family & extended family,) & I prayed for Johnny, Joel, & Ben… (their birth order btw…) It took about 10 seconds before I realized that I’d prayed for Johnny. And that he had died. And I knew it, & wasn’t in denial. But at that moment, I had thought, “I need to pray for him…”

And I cried w/the Bean. Tears of grief. Loss. Sorrow. Loneliness. And I thought about my brother, & wondered if praying would ever be the same again…

I wish more people who knew my brother, talked to me about my brother. Cause, Man, that is the best. My kids never met their Uncle, as he died in June 1990, & the Pasty Gangster didn’t enter the world until 9/1991. I wish they could have known him, because he was a piece of work. (The closest to his personality is #2 son, Prince Darrell – esp. when he doesn’t get his way…) So, I want to reminisce – look at videos, & ‘introduce’ my kids to him… Because then, his memory is carried on by more than just a picture.