To The Metal

Had a long day of work today. The job I’m in, at least once a month I have an on-call shift which requires me to work all weekend. I’ve long since gotten used to it, I even enjoy the flood of things to fix. During a quiet spot I decided to test the bypass valve on my water softener. It’s a plastic valve that lets me bypass the device for maintenance, etc… Simple task that I’ve done before.

Turned the house feed to bypass, no problem. Turned the inlet to bypass, no problem. Turned the outlet to bypass.

BOOM.

Water exploded everywhere. The valve had gotten filled with silt and other…stuff which kept it from sealing properly. I killed the well pump from the breaker box (which is maybe 3 feet from the water gushing out, yes, I know)… Flushed the toilet, turned on the slop sink, turned on the kitchen sink, did my best to depressurize the system. I then hit the switch to depressurize the water softener tank.

As I ran around looking for towels, my phone started going off. Work paging me. Ok, let me put these towels down to soak up the water. I hop on the computer, take care of the problem, check a few other things, then call my plumber. Phone’s microphone isn’t working. I reset my phone and try again, I leave a message. During the gap in work and flood I go to Google to see what I can do.

Zero information on a leaking bypass valve. I look up some schematics to get an idea of what I can do. Outlet valve has a pin on the bottom to hold it together. I pull the pin, push the valve up out of the casing, a bunch more water comes rushing out (thankfully landing in the bucket I placed below). I run a towel around the casing, cleaning out the silt, cleaning off the O-Rings that are supposed to prevent this from happening, and put it all back together.

Now at no time in this mishegoss am I panicking. No worrying. It’s a problem. I troubleshoot problems. I fix problems. I turn the valve off and on a few times, it’s smooth, no more crunch of silt. I switch all the valves back and turn the water on. One or two drips, and that’s it. Disaster averted, or at least diverted (water joke, get it?). I clean everything up, call back the plumber and leave another message that I don’t need more help.

I dive back into work for the rest of the day and I start to feel it creeping up on me. Anxiety. I work through a handful of new problems. Doubt rises up in me. Work’s over. I need to hit the supermarket, but my church is having a chili cook off tonight, and nothing should ease my anxiety and doubt like the epic combination of chili and Jesus.

I think about going to church, the anxiety and doubt ramp up. I’ll go to the supermarket instead. I get in the car, but push through the resistance, I go to church. Had some chili, some good conversation and laughs, but in the back of my heart the anxiety and doubt was reaching a climax. I kept pushing back. I started praying.

I left church and halfway through Warwick a car is on my ass. Any closer and I could have read the VIN number from behind their windshield. I’m 2nd in line, I can’t speed up, and I really don’t care to. The adrenaline is pumping, and I’m starting to get angry on top of everything else. I caught a break when we both reached a yellow light at Price Chopper, I made it. They didn’t. I’ll take the win.

So I get to the supermarket with my list in hand. First item on the list is out of stock. I stood there staring at the empty shelf, confused and dismayed. Confused and dismayed over a freaking GROCERY that I didn’t really NEED yet. I message my best friend, tell her the enemy is banging around in my head like crazy right now. I go through the store, check off my list. Anxiety. Doubt. Anger. Dismay. Confusion.

The enemy was all up in my business. The louder I prayed the worst it got. I’m texting my friend. Telling her what’s going on. Telling her that I am absolutely craving a drink right now. I haven’t had such a thirst in months. I’m driving and I’m praying. I get to Edenville and I absolutely CRANK the Christian worship station on Sirius. The music is blaring, I’m praying, and then… a whisper.

A flash in my head. I’ve got a bottle of Evan Williams, a bottle of Everclear, an airplane bottle of Sambuca, 3 beers, and a hard cider in the house. The urge to drink is replaced by the impulse to dump it all out. God just commanded me and made it clear how to push the enemy back. The radio is still blaring, but all I say out loud is “I will.” Anxiety? Gone. Doubt? Gone. Anger? Gone. Dismay? Gone. Confusion? Gone. Urge to drink? Gone. Resolve? Overwhelming. Clarity? Crystal.

I get home, and I’m on a mission. I kept the bourbon in case my dad came by. I kept the Everclear because it’s really good for cleaning electrical contacts. I kept the beers for cooking. I completely forgot about the Sambuca and cider. EXCUSES.

I’ve been sober for 99 days.

Thank you, Jesus.

No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.
1 Corinthians 10:13 ESV

So, as God’s own chosen people, who are holy, and well-beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, greatness, and patience.

And may the Lord cause you to increase and excel and overflow in love for one another, and for all people, just as we also do for you.

Rust Bucket, that is.

A few months ago, I was sitting in Church on a Sunday as I do, and during a moment of silent contemplation a whisper in my mind spoke to me…

“It’s time to sell the truck, Sam.”

This truck. Fully loaded, brand new, every option box ticked off, LOVED that truck. I babied it. Thing saw maybe 300 miles a month after my commute changed, so I was paying a small fortune to keep something I barely used.

I’d been praying for some time for an end to my sadness, my depression, and my loneliness. I even put in a prayer request at my church for just that. Someone did. Since then, God has been surgically removing things from my life that don’t make me happy. It started with this truck.

That morning when God spoke to me, the first thing I did was speak to my pastor. I asked if he knew anyone who needed a good truck. The next thing I did was put it up for sale on the Internet.

Within weeks, it was gone to a new home. I won’t lie, I wasn’t exactly sure why He told me to sell my truck, but I’m of the mind that He has a much better view of things than I do, and disobedience never crossed my mind.

Still, I’m a homeowner and I like trucks. A truck can be a handy tool, so I started looking. A brand new truck was out, God wouldn’t tell me to sell the GMC for me to go right out and buy another one. I had a price in my mind that I couldn’t exceed.

I looked at a few old trucks, but most in that price range needed much more TLC than I was ready to provide. The whole time I kept passing this 10 year old Silverado that only appeared to be moving when the owner needed to cut his grass. It looked good from a distance, so I automatically assumed it was out of my price range.

Turned out it came in just under what I was willing to spend and the condition was good enough for Government work. With a handshake and a bank check, I had myself another truck.

That night when I parked it in my driveway, the anxiety hit. What was I doing? I had a brand new truck, sold it, bought this old beater, and now there’s a laundry list of things I have to do. Doubt poured into me as my chest tightened up.

“God, I give this anxiety to you, in Jesus name I pray. Amen.”

Like a flash, the anxiety was gone. It was replaced with logic and a plan. For the big things, I’d bring it to the only mechanic I trust that isn’t a blood relative who has a strong dislike for General Motors. Everything else, I’d fix myself.

So the next day I head over to the car wash to get it inspected, and decide to fill the tank before I do. The kid tries, and repeatedly fails to do so. The tank won’t fill. I hop out and put in a few gallons, and that’s when the CEL (check engine light) came on.

After a few days with the mechanic I get it back with the big problems solved (wheel bearings and fuel leak due to a rotted out fuel pump), but I still can’t fill the tank, and that CEL is still glaring at me from the dashboard.

Yesterday morning I got up around 7am, went to Autozone to pick up a few parts, then I got down to work. Slowly and methodically, I took apart the system that had the problem, checking each component and replacing what I couldn’t fix by hand.

For 4 hours I worked, covered in rust, dirt, sweat, and grease. I was completely in my element. Smiling. Laughing to myself as I discovered something new. For the first time in years, I was alone AND I was happy. I wouldn’t trade anything for that morning fixing my old truck, my rust bucket.

I simply couldn’t find that feeling, that purpose, that joy with something brand new. As I pulled up to the pump that had previously rejected my efforts to fuel the old girl, I was nervous. Within a few minutes the tank was full, and I had an ear to ear grin. Only 3 words came to mind.

“Thank you, Jesus.”

Last year I had a blowout fight with my family. After which, I didn’t speak to them for months. I really had no desire to, I had written off the people who raised me, who made me the man I am today over pent up misguided anger that I should have let go of long ago.

Then one day in a church I’d been attending for only a few months, the pastor was discussing Matthew 21:12-13, which covered Jesus entering the temple and overturning the tables to return it to being a “house of prayer” instead of a “den of robbers.”

That day everything changed.

I’m no stranger to religion, or God. I was raised Roman Catholic. At least every other Sunday I attended a Catholic church with my parents. I was indoctrinated in the faith via after school Confraternity of Christian Doctrine (CCD). I can tell you that beyond the most common topics of any given Sunday, I can’t recall a single thing I learned there.

I even cut CCD. My church’s school was known for having a very holey roof (not Holy). My parents never questioned when I said CCD was cancelled due to a leaking roof. That held until I overplayed my hand and the teacher called them to ask where I had been the past few weeks. I wasn’t exactly one of God’s faithful followers.

The day I turned 18 years old was a joyous one. My parents dictated that I had to go to church until I was 18, after that – I didn’t have to. I can’t say I went often (besides Christmas and Easter) for the next 12 years. I wasn’t missing anything. Sit down. Stand up. Reading 1, Reading 2, Gospel, Sermon, Tithe, Handshake, Leave.

So clinical. So detached from God and the community. Then I experienced the Episcopal church. As a former in-law put it, Catholic-Lite. Similar, but different, it was a smaller church, a more tight-knit community, and I finally felt like I was part of something. I’m certain God was there, as he always has been, but I was still blind.

I didn’t go to church because it was God’s house. I didn’t go to worship Him. I went there because it made me feel good. It made me feel part of a community. My ex-wife’s family was heavily involved in the church, and it all just seemed to be lining up. My crooked path was being made straight, or so I thought. What was coming was a grand lesson.

As the relationship blossomed and the wedding approached, friends, family, and clergy kept pushing. Push, push, push. Blind in love, I went along with it. God had to be with me, right? All of this was happening because of a church! Oh, how wrong I was. I won’t get into the details here, but I did say “ex-wife” (who is actually one of my best friends today, but I digress).

I left that church behind in December of 2013 after we separated. The last time I would set foot in a church to worship for 5 years was March 13th, 2014, the day I filed for divorce. I walked into Saint Stephens during a daytime service, sat in the back row, and wept. My marriage had failed, I had broken my promise to God, what began in an Episcopal church ended in a Catholic church.

When asked why I refused to worship, I simply said “God and I had a difference of opinion.” I blamed the church for my failed marriage. I blamed God for my failures. After the divorce, I used to think I was an atheist, but how can a man blame God and NOT believe in Him? I was depressed and angry. I embraced as many sins as I could find in rebellion.

Middle fingers in the air, I sat back and stewed as my life crawled to a stand still. I would proclaim my hatred of church, religion, and God in anger and despair. Years went by as I watched out my window (across the way is a Church) – I laughed to myself as I saw the faithful walk in and out every Sunday. Every day angry, depressed, and alone. Friends were getting married, having kids, settling down and living the life I wanted as the bitterness ate away at me from the inside out.

Then something started to change in me. One evening I lay in bed and began to contemplate what it would be like to not exist. No heaven, no hell, no afterlife, I die and I am gone. It terrified me. Anxiety gripped my chest. In desperation, I remembered how going to church made me feel, before the divorce, before the pain. I remembered the peace and joy I would leave that building with, so I went to church.

Nothing happened. I went through the motions, I recited the creeds, I shook the hands. Maybe it’s an off week I thought, so I went again. Was God angry at me for my sin? Was He punishing me, depriving me of this joy because I took His name in vain so many times I lost count? Another week, nothing. Maybe it was the church? I crossed the field and entered the church I’d laughed at for 5 years straight. Still nothing.

I was crying out for God to forgive me, to take me back, to give me a sign that He still saw me and loved me. Every time I cried out and prayed all I heard was a busy signal. WHERE WAS MY SIGN??? I went through the motions, I checked off the boxes one by one, I did everything I knew to do. I was physically and emotionally numb, a side effect of depression is a condition called anhedonia. I was convinced that I simply would never feel joy again. Whatever I had felt before was fake, and this was my new reality.

Then one day, without planning, I got in my car and drove to a church my friend had been attending for some time. It was based out of my old elementary school. It was my last resort. I walked in the door and people who didn’t even know who I was, were friendly to me. The music was great. The people were openly filled with joy and worship, hands in the air, singing aloud. I was absolutely confused.

Where was the tradition? Where were the readings? Where was the absolutely depressing music I was used to? What were all these people feeling that they looked so joyful? The lead pastor spoke for nearly an hour, he preached the Gospel. As he spoke a feeling kept rising within me, I don’t even recall what book he discussed, but with every word the feeling grew stronger. I could feel my heart beating again.

I was feeling again.

I went back and the feeling grew stronger. I still tried to deny it. Every service I was told that my attendance was an answered prayer. Every preaching of the Gospel connected with me, with my soul. Every couple weeks, the pastor would ask us if we were ready to give our life to Christ… Every week, I held my hand down. All along I prayed for a sign that God still saw me, He was all around me and I fought it. I couldn’t believe that what I was feeling was real.

Then came Sunday, March 24th, 2019. A week prior, I made the decision to accept Christ, to give my life to Him. When the pastor asked of us who was ready and willing to make that decision, instead of fighting to hold my hand down it shot up without a moment of hesitation. I was saved. On March 24th though would be the first time I truly heard God.

After the Gospel had completed, the pastor related Jesus’s decision to overturn the tables in the temple to those of us in the congregation. He asked us to close our eyes and take a moment to think of what tables needed to be overturned in our own lives. I closed my eyes and in a flash I had a vision of me pulling up to my parents house, and stepping out of my truck.

It had been months since I saw my parents. I was resolved to never see them again. The message was clear, go home. God commanded me to go home. When the service ended, I told my best friend that I was going home. She said “Ok cool, I’ll see you later.” Then I repeated “No, I’m going home.” She then knew what I meant, her jaw dropped, I told her what I saw, and I headed out. All this time I begged for a sign, something loud, obvious, and unmistakable. What I got was a whisper, and it changed my life.

When I got there, my Mom opened the door and didn’t look too happy to see me. She asked me why I was there, I simply told her “God told me to.” I sat with my parents and spoke, for the first time in months. They told me their side of things, of how they felt and what they’d gone through as a result of the fight. From that moment the healing began. God brought my family back together because I obeyed his command to go home.

There have been several other instances since then, and I’m sure there will be more to come. On April 28th, 2019 I was baptized at Grace Community Church, I rose out of the water born again into a life devoted to Jesus Christ. Each day since, my paths become a little more straight, and while I am still a sinner, I am doing my best to grow closer to God.

Thy will be done, Lord. In Jesus name I pray. Amen.

It’s been a while since I had an old-school driving rant, so here we go!

At least twice a week, I have a 40 minute drive to the train station to get to work. It involves a fair amount of twisty back roads, and other drivers who aren’t quite as alert or clear thinking at 5:30am.

Today I’m heading in, haven’t even left Warwick yet and I catch up to this red Subaru doing 35mph. It’s a 55mph zone. The fastest they went was about 40mph. There’s a truck behind me who is likely also wondering why we’re traveling so slowly.

So as we reach Route 94, I make a move I rarely do, as I’m trying to avoid being stuck behind a red Subaru all the way through to Sterling Forest, I hang a left on Hathorn Rd which is a decent shortcut even if you stick to the speed limit of 30mph.

The Subaru ends up going left, the truck ends up flooring it to get ahead of me, no big deal. I pull out and there was a white Ford work van (I love aggressive drivers in clearly labelled work vehicles!) who apparently floored it the moment they had a green light and was approaching rapidly from behind.

Now State Route 94 is 45mph in Warwick, it goes into a 30mph zone when you reach the village. I pulled out, hit 45mph, and had this jackasses headlights in my rear view within seconds. This pretty much continued straight through town (I’d already aimed my rear-view in a manner so it was out of sight, out of mind) and nearly into Sterling Forest.

I’ll admit part of it may have been my fault, as I did something I normally do NOT do, I flipped the jerk off the second they were on my rear bumper. 5:30am, not everyone is thinking clearly, old reflexes kick in, but still… Wet roads, you’re in a van tailgating a sport coupe… come on.

Upside, apparently if you hang a left onto Mountain Lake Road from 17A, continue onto Old Rt 17A, then hang a right onto Old Tuxedo Road, that completely loops around Greenwood Lake, avoiding the usual bottleneck that is Greenwood Lake and dumps you back out on 17A, hopefully ahead of the slowpokes.

A Kia Stinger took that route this morning and wound up a quarter mile ahead when they pulled back out onto 17A, I never saw the taillights again since I was sandwiched between a slowpoke and the aforementioned jerk in a work fan.

Visited cornfest at Wright Family Farm today, some city people packed a bag of corn from the corn maze, were trying to figure out how to cook it…

“you really don’t want to eat that”

“why not?”

“it’s cattle corn, made to feed livestock, you’ll break your teeth”

“what are you, southern? How do you know this?”

“lived here my whole life”

Good deed for the day accomplished. Southern. LMAO.

That’s 40 years for the millennials among us.

Another year alone, another birthday on my own for the most part. With a few exceptions, I normally spend my birthday alone. No party, no get-together, no celebrations, nothing.

I’d suppose you could say its by choice, as I don’t quite go out of my way to advertise it like some of my peers. This year I also made a point to quit Facebook 2 months prior, so fewer than 10 folks actually wished me a happy 40th as opposed to the 100+ who 364 other days of the year don’t know I exist. At least I know I crossed a few minds today.

I don’t mean to come off as negative here, as the sting as abated over the years, and besides – the vast majority of those 365 days I’m surrounded by solitude. Nothing gained, nothing lost. I’m used to being alone, almost to the point that I’m not sure I could handle NOT being alone.

This year I had lunch with my folks which was nice, made my first real cheesecake from scratch, and decided to top the day off by watching the second half of the IT remake.

I won’t lie, the movie was absolutely horrendous, despite the excellent casting. Every single jump scare had me in tears… of LAUGHTER. The near constant quips from Hader and off the cuff comments did wonders at re-establishing my disbelief.

It just wasn’t scary, it wasn’t tense, there was no thrill, nor horror. It loosely followed the book, and while it did an excellent job of not coming off like a remake of the Tim Curry classic mini-series version, it did so in all the wrong ways.

Tack on the SJW aspect woven throughout, including the very first scene involving the typical white bullies than can only exist on film… I was fearful (the only time I was fearful) that the movie was setting up for failure my propping it up in progressive nonsense.

One of the more surprising things I experienced tonight though is just how maddeningly stupid some parents and grandparents are. There were CHILDREN at this movie. If I had to guess, there were maybe a half dozen CHILDREN ranging in age from 3-10 within a few seats of me.

Right next to me was a kid no older than 5 who SCREAMED at every jump scare, that is when he wasn’t coughing his head off and half-heartedly being told to sit up by his grandfather. Who brings CHILDREN to a HORROR movie? SHAME! Those kids are gonna have some wicked nightmares, I guarantee it.

First movie related nightmare I ever had was a result of watching Mommy Dearest with my folks. I can only imagine the mental horrors that’ll be visiting these CHILDREN tonight generated by a killer clown with glowing eyes and rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth.

I know I shouldn’t judge people, Matthew 7 says as much, but I consider my conscience clear when it comes to exposing a CHILD to such things. Get a babysitter or wait for the Blu-Ray people.

On that note, time to make some dinner and continue my binge watch of Outlander on Netflix.

I was driving to the supermarket after the end of a long on-call shift for my job, when I wound up behind this innocuous Hyundai. Never really had use for my dashcam until tonight.

We’re heading into Warwick on County Route 1A when a black dog crosses into the road, then a white dog. The black dog makes it, the white dog gets hit by the Hyundai who doesn’t brake until the last possible moment.

Now that doesn’t make them a scumbag, accidents happen.

The car’s owner drove off. I couldn’t hear anything over my radio, but according to the homeowner I stopped in front of, they heard the hit, they heard the dog scream. It raced away from the car but had a pretty good limp and a bloody paw. Looked like the passenger’s side of the car hit it, and it may or may not have gotten caught by the front tire before it flipped away from the car.

While the dog huddled near a backyard fence, I called the police. After they arrived I started pulling off my dashcam video to see if I got enough, thankfully I did. The officer told me the video of the hit very clearly showed what happened.

Eventually we tracked down the owner, the dogs apparently weren’t supposed to be outside (the white dog had no tag on it!!!), and after talking to the police they took the dog to a local emergency vet.

The police left to talk to the driver, and I haven’t heard anything yet. Seriously folks, if you hit an animal – especially someone’s pet – stop and get help. Either call the police or try to locate the owner. This was someone’s family member – I hope it survives OK.