My first marriage lasted about ten years, and the military was the secret to our success, because I was always gone. When I came back from Iraq, I filed for divorce and got custody of our two children.
Later, I moved home to California and remarried to the perfect women, a Witch. Who knew. But my ex wife took the kids and refiled in California courts and there was a year long battle for custody and visitation. In the end we were awarded joint custody, and the kids were to spend a year with each parent, flip flopping back and forth.
But my daughter was old enough to remember what happened and why I divorced her mother in the first place, and refused to to see her at all. My son, loved his mother like every son should and wanted to stay with her.
There has not been a day that goes by that I do not lament his absence and often in the late hours when everyone else is asleep, I sit on his bed and remember him cliff diving at the river, he has always quiet, but so fearless. I try not to let it spill out, and I wait for those Saturday morning breakfast rituals we do together.
I have had so many irons in the fire, but much more that usual lately. Some are not ready to be announced and some are, I'm just not ready to announce them. I had a good idea for a post here, it was going to be about my day lecturing at Fresno State's Religious Anthropology class again this year. It's something that I am quite proud of, not just because its a state university, as it turns out they round up "all sorts" to do this. No, I'm proud because I do a good job, I am proud because when I look at the faces of the people I am speaking to, I get that independent confirmation from them, that they get it.
Perspective is an incredible thing, and it's always changing. A single phone call changed mine, again. After a day of lecturing to four separate classes, I took a detour on my way home to pick up my son, and all of his possessions.
He has come home, to stay.
Somehow none of that other stuff seems as important as it did before.
Thank you Lord & Lady, for the return of the Son.