Crazy Dreams

Usually I know how to begin a piece of writing work, be it a blog post, a research paper, or a marketing e-mail. I usually know because, usually, I plan these things out I think about them. Today I don’t have that luxury because I am writing this all on a whim. I think the overall post might reflect that, and perhaps that will turn out to be a good thing. For now it’s just context, we’ll judge the rest when it’s done.

It is 7:00 am on Halloween morning, 2011. Normally I would still be passed out asleep on my bed, only to stir when my phone insists I do so at around 9:30. Today, however, I was met with the combination of a dream only the most distressingly curious part of my subconscious wanted to continue and Lyra making a tiny bit more noise then usual in getting ready. As I am sure we have all experienced at one time or another, I was given the choice to wake up, or carry on sleeping (or at least trying to do so). After some hesitation I decided to get up. One reason was that I want to start getting up earlier during the week anyway, partly because I’m older now and that seems the thing to do, and partly because there are a lot of things I would like to get done during the day that currently I am not doing, and getting up earlier would create more time to do those things.

Another reason was the aforementioned dream and my subsequent desire to go hug my wife before she left for work. You see, my dream was very specifically about how my life would look if she died. I have to say, it wasn’t pretty. Of course, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t a nightmare, terrifying as it was, but it was a dream. Being a dream it was full of the sorts of weird things that only happen in dreams. In this case the whole thing took place on a weird small island that I can only describe as being like Mackinaw Island, MI. People had to take ferries to get there. Oh, and there were a lot of weird people around — weird here meaning not that they are necessarily strange people, but rather that it was strange for them to be making an appearance at all because I don’t really talk to them all that often.

Anyway, so in this dream it is our wedding day, only this time as I am getting ready in the morning I hear news that Lyra has passed away suddenly. Panicked, I head to the church and see her body for myself. Suddenly our wedding turns into a funeral — attendees stand up to give eulogies, we share our grief, and I mostly sulk in the corner reflecting on what all this means for me. The really strange thing is that I have all of the knowledge and memories of the real life me split with the anxiety of the pre-married me.

I guess what you have to know first is that Im not a super emotive person. Sometimes I would go so far as to say that I am not very emotional, but I have known this not to be the case often enough to say that is a hard truth. At the very least, the things that affect most people very deeply usually don’t hit me as hard. Not to imply that they don’t at all, because they do. But I seem to deal with pain and loss pretty well compared to how I see that in others.

But in this dream? Im not sure I can make that claim. The grief was very real — so real in fact it woke me up, or at least made me want to in order to stop it. The funeral was incredibly sad, incredibly moving. It was all so visceral I’d have been worried if it wasn’t sad or moving. There was a point where half-awake me was half-sure this had really happened, and that point — that point where your half-away self starts purposely influencing the dream to achieve certain ends — was when things really got scary.

Because you see, funerals end and then people have to move on with life despite their loss. In this case that meant heading home to an area where I have no friends. It meant living in apartment decorated with photos and memories we have together. It meant countless nights sitting alone in the dark eating noodles or takeout because I never took the time to learn how she cooked all those amazing dishes, and not wanting to turn on the tv because we had watched so many shows and movies together it would feel like cheating at the worst, or simply hollow at best. It meant trying to find out where to go or what to do with this young life I still had. I couldn’t stay in the apartment, partly because of the haunting memories, and partly because I just couldn’t afford it on my salary alone. I had to get out, so I pinned my hopes on moving back to the midwest, toward friends and the prospect of doing improv. Meeting another woman was out of the question. Maybe if the dream had kept going until I was in my 30’s, though somehow I doubt it. I simply don’t think there could ever be another woman for me, and this awful awful dream just slapped me in the face and told me to start appreciating her more.

I think unfortunately it’s pretty easy to take things for granted, but that’s dangerous! I think of everything Steve Jobs ever did or said, my favorite is “Death is life’s change agent.” Putting that quote in context is the knowledge that, just a year prior he had been diagnosed with the cancer that would eventually claim him. Faced with his own mortality, Jobs went on to accomplish some truly amazing things. I think this is probably the best lesson anyone can take from his example. On average, pancreatic cancer patients only live for about a year after it sets. Thanks to a liver transplant, Jobs lived for nearly 8, and in that time he brought about some of his best innovations. I would like to argue here that sometimes a “death call” can be the best wake up call. As awful as it is, maybe it is good to be reminded of your own, or in my case a loved one’s, mortality. That we can be snatched away from one another at literally ANY time should motivate us to live great lives.

I think that’s all I’m going to say for now. There is a lot more on my mind than I have printed here, and maybe I’ll get to it in the next week or so. I hope I do, but if I don’t I like to think it’s because I was distracted by making the most out of my time with my beautiful and amazing wife. In short, I’ve been feeling fairly introspective of late. Ive got a playlist now of songs that I feel define the kind of life I want to live or avoid, and I feel that I’m close to a crossroads in making key choices that will subtly define which way I go. I’m also glad I had this dream because I sometimes worry that I am borderline unfeeling because of how well I tend to cope with grief, but ever so sporadically I have moments like this one that remind me of my humanity. I think there is some good to be found in our sadness.

Scott

1 year ago
0 notes

Matthew 6:34

I love this picture.

This was taken before we were married. Before we were dating. Before we were friends.

We were barely acquaintances.

Part of why I love this picture comes from the fact that Scott had subconsciously ate his pop-tart into Minnesota’s dear shape, which also happens to be where I was born and raised. Ever since I first caught a glimpse of this picture, I liked to tease Scott that it wasn’t just a mistake that he “accidentally” ate his pop-tart into the shape of Minnesota while doing other thing. It was obvious that he wanted to be a part of the wonderful state that I call home.

But all joking aside there is some truth to this.

Before the idea of marriage, or boys, or college, God had Scott Alaric Hale from Manassas, Virginia in mind for Lyra Rain Schweiger of Montevideo, Minnesota. And I think that’s the other part of why I love this picture so much. 

because

regardless of what we know, or may be unsure of

for both our near future

and far future

God already has a plan for us.

image

1 year ago
0 notes
This is our house. Kind of. We have been living here for the past six weeks since we moved from Minnesota to Hampton, VA. We took a flyer on the house, not having the chance to check it out before agreeing to move in. Quite frankly, our landlords took a flyer on us as well. We arrived on my birthday, a sweaty August afternoon spent unloading our uhaul and putting together our dismantled furniture. Our initial impression of the house was not good. We were used to a luxury apartment in one of the country’s finest cities. This was not it. There were holes in the walls, missing baseboard, and the bathroom door was nowhere to be found. But as I was the impetus behind our relocation to the area, it fell to me to be Mr. Positive. And positive I was as I installed our toilet, previously kept on the front stoop. And positive I was as I helped repaint the living room to cover the holes. And positive I was as I strategically placed furniture over cigarette burns in the carpet. And positive I was as I trapped mouse after mouse. And positive I was as I removed a backyard “water feature” so ill attended that it’s only remaining function was to provide Mosquitos a place to breed, all while smelling strongly enough to knock you out at ten paces. Positive I was. But as the cost of renovations added up, and as the hours of my labor ticked past, and as my lovely wife who deserves the world did her best to hide her discontent, I found it difficult to remain so positive. I began to realize how much I was investing into someone else’s house — a value we would never see. And what’s more, the owners of the home seemed disinterested in, or at least incapable of, putting the work in themselves to make this house livable once more. By five weeks in we still had not seen a lease agreement to sign. We still had not had our locks changed, with known copies hanging on past tenants keychains. We still had no bathroom door. We were told “sorry” when our kitchen floor was damaged, followed by “just so you know, we won’t be fixing that.” We were told the pile of mouse droppings was “just a bit of dirt.” And we were told that when the old custom fit fridge went bad, it was replaced with the cheapest one off craigslist, explaining the 5 inch gap between the fridge and the walls on all sides. Finally, I said to Lyra “you deserve better, and we shouldnt be doing all of this work ourselves, paying for it all ourselves. Lets find a new place before we are presented with a lease.” And so we looked, and within 3 days found a beautiful apartment with the same square footage as the livable portion of our house. And to boot it would be cheaper in base rent, and we would have half the utilities on top of that. Needless to say, we applied, were accepted, and then were faced with a very difficult phone call to our landlords. How do you tell someone “Your house isn’t worth half the rent you’re charging, especially if we’re doing all the work around here, so we found a new place and will be out in one week” in a kind way? Well, I’m not sure you do. But I tried. And the week passed quickly, and with no contact from our landlords, who were understandably upset at the sudden loss of expected revenue. My texts went unreturned as I tried to keep them updated on our expected move out date. And now the move has arrived. We spent the day loading up, and will unpack in our new apartment tomorrow. We could not be more excited. Yet as I sit here in this house, as unfinished as it is unfurnished, I can’t help but reflect on my interactions today with it’s owners. They left us a note on our door this morning, letting us know we were expected to pay compensation for leaving, that we had five days to vacate the house, and that if we failed to comply they would seek legal recourse. Frankly, I was pretty taken aback when I saw the notice. It read like a threat, and we had always been cordial with the owners to this point. My initial response was anger. I felt they had no legal claim to compensation, as we have never in six weeks seen a lease contract. I felt it was bold to expect so much when the reality is that they have disregarded this property for years and are now paying the price for not investing in its upkeep. I felt they should be happy we are leaving the house better than we found it. I felt we were showing the same commitment to the house that they were, and that it was fair for us to leave. I felt justified to feel these things. But now I have to wonder what the proper response, the Christian response, should be. Surely Christ would not have us create conflict with one another. And even more surely Christ would want us to be sacrificial, loving, and selfless, even in this process of leaving. As a follower of Christ, there really isn’t an excuse for cheating someone. I don’t think he would mind us leaving at all. I hardly think it matters. But what does matter is our attitude, our spirit in this whole process. Our landlords know we are Christians. Heck, they know about my plan to start a ministry (www.stealthforceseven.com). So they are watching us, consciously or otherwise, and judging our actions as representatives of the Church. Woah. Suddenly I don’t feel my anger is so justified. So what to do, then? We are leaving, that much is certain. We couldn’t be more excited to get out of this house. But how can we handle this situation graciously? We don’t feel we owe all that much to anyone for our stay here, considering the condition of the house and the time and resources we invested in it. But it isn’t our house, and we lived here for six weeks, lease or no lease. Although legally we could most likely move out and never look back without so much as a penny in consequences. But is that right? Is that moral? Does that help to further Gods kingdom? It is this last question, I think, that is most crucial. Ultimately the money we save or don’t save is meaningless. It is our work to further the kingdom that really matters. If our actions save us money now, but hurt the general perception of the Church, it profits us nothing. It does us no good either to handle this with bitter words and resentment. Though to instigate would fuel that inner desire to serve ourselves, it would destroy any good image our landlords may have of Christians. And it is this that should concern us most gravely in our day to day decisions and interactions, yet so often I forget. How scary it is to realize this outside of a sermon setting. That ultimately, things don’t matter. Money does not matter. People, and the way we treat them, is what matters. This realization became more profound tonight as I watched the movie Contagion. At one point a blogger has people believing this one drug will cure the rapidly spreading disease, so people line up to buy it. Supplies are limited though, and people resort to rioting. A woman catches the sickness and arrives at the bloggers house, hoping to acquire some of the medicine before the virus claims her. He days he has none, so she presses him by offering money. A lot of money. He really doesnt have any, and he turns her away. She dies within 24 hours. What struck me was the realization that, in the face of death, that stack of money is worthless. What will it buy you that you may keep after you stop breathing? It was more important to this woman to live without money than to die with it. Anyway, this post isn’t supposed to be about money or paying rent. It’s about being in a situation in which it is easier and more desirable to act selfishly, but much more important cosmically to serve others first. In this case I think that means working cooperatively with our landlords to find a workable middle ground that addresses our concerns about the value of the house and the work we did while honoring the fact that it is their property we used, regardless of it’s condition, and that we are leaving them in a tight spot, all while treating them with the love and grace we receive from Christ. And with that thought, I take my leave. Scott

This is our house. Kind of. We have been living here for the past six weeks since we moved from Minnesota to Hampton, VA. We took a flyer on the house, not having the chance to check it out before agreeing to move in. Quite frankly, our landlords took a flyer on us as well.

We arrived on my birthday, a sweaty August afternoon spent unloading our uhaul and putting together our dismantled furniture. Our initial impression of the house was not good. We were used to a luxury apartment in one of the country’s finest cities. This was not it. There were holes in the walls, missing baseboard, and the bathroom door was nowhere to be found. But as I was the impetus behind our relocation to the area, it fell to me to be Mr. Positive. And positive I was as I installed our toilet, previously kept on the front stoop. And positive I was as I helped repaint the living room to cover the holes. And positive I was as I strategically placed furniture over cigarette burns in the carpet. And positive I was as I trapped mouse after mouse. And positive I was as I removed a backyard “water feature” so ill attended that it’s only remaining function was to provide Mosquitos a place to breed, all while smelling strongly enough to knock you out at ten paces.

Positive I was.

But as the cost of renovations added up, and as the hours of my labor ticked past, and as my lovely wife who deserves the world did her best to hide her discontent, I found it difficult to remain so positive.

I began to realize how much I was investing into someone else’s house — a value we would never see. And what’s more, the owners of the home seemed disinterested in, or at least incapable of, putting the work in themselves to make this house livable once more. By five weeks in we still had not seen a lease agreement to sign. We still had not had our locks changed, with known copies hanging on past tenants keychains. We still had no bathroom door.

We were told “sorry” when our kitchen floor was damaged, followed by “just so you know, we won’t be fixing that.” We were told the pile of mouse droppings was “just a bit of dirt.” And we were told that when the old custom fit fridge went bad, it was replaced with the cheapest one off craigslist, explaining the 5 inch gap between the fridge and the walls on all sides.

Finally, I said to Lyra “you deserve better, and we shouldnt be doing all of this work ourselves, paying for it all ourselves. Lets find a new place before we are presented with a lease.” And so we looked, and within 3 days found a beautiful apartment with the same square footage as the livable portion of our house. And to boot it would be cheaper in base rent, and we would have half the utilities on top of that. Needless to say, we applied, were accepted, and then were faced with a very difficult phone call to our landlords. How do you tell someone “Your house isn’t worth half the rent you’re charging, especially if we’re doing all the work around here, so we found a new place and will be out in one week” in a kind way?

Well, I’m not sure you do. But I tried. And the week passed quickly, and with no contact from our landlords, who were understandably upset at the sudden loss of expected revenue. My texts went unreturned as I tried to keep them updated on our expected move out date.

And now the move has arrived. We spent the day loading up, and will unpack in our new apartment tomorrow. We could not be more excited. Yet as I sit here in this house, as unfinished as it is unfurnished, I can’t help but reflect on my interactions today with it’s owners. They left us a note on our door this morning, letting us know we were expected to pay compensation for leaving, that we had five days to vacate the house, and that if we failed to comply they would seek legal recourse.

Frankly, I was pretty taken aback when I saw the notice. It read like a threat, and we had always been cordial with the owners to this point. My initial response was anger. I felt they had no legal claim to compensation, as we have never in six weeks seen a lease contract. I felt it was bold to expect so much when the reality is that they have disregarded this property for years and are now paying the price for not investing in its upkeep. I felt they should be happy we are leaving the house better than we found it. I felt we were showing the same commitment to the house that they were, and that it was fair for us to leave. I felt justified to feel these things.

But now I have to wonder what the proper response, the Christian response, should be. Surely Christ would not have us create conflict with one another. And even more surely Christ would want us to be sacrificial, loving, and selfless, even in this process of leaving. As a follower of Christ, there really isn’t an excuse for cheating someone. I don’t think he would mind us leaving at all. I hardly think it matters. But what does matter is our attitude, our spirit in this whole process.

Our landlords know we are Christians. Heck, they know about my plan to start a ministry (www.stealthforceseven.com). So they are watching us, consciously or otherwise, and judging our actions as representatives of the Church. Woah. Suddenly I don’t feel my anger is so justified.

So what to do, then? We are leaving, that much is certain. We couldn’t be more excited to get out of this house. But how can we handle this situation graciously? We don’t feel we owe all that much to anyone for our stay here, considering the condition of the house and the time and resources we invested in it. But it isn’t our house, and we lived here for six weeks, lease or no lease. Although legally we could most likely move out and never look back without so much as a penny in consequences. But is that right? Is that moral? Does that help to further Gods kingdom? It is this last question, I think, that is most crucial. Ultimately the money we save or don’t save is meaningless. It is our work to further the kingdom that really matters. If our actions save us money now, but hurt the general perception of the Church, it profits us nothing. It does us no good either to handle this with bitter words and resentment. Though to instigate would fuel that inner desire to serve ourselves, it would destroy any good image our landlords may have of Christians. And it is this that should concern us most gravely in our day to day decisions and interactions, yet so often I forget.

How scary it is to realize this outside of a sermon setting. That ultimately, things don’t matter. Money does not matter. People, and the way we treat them, is what matters. This realization became more profound tonight as I watched the movie Contagion. At one point a blogger has people believing this one drug will cure the rapidly spreading disease, so people line up to buy it. Supplies are limited though, and people resort to rioting. A woman catches the sickness and arrives at the bloggers house, hoping to acquire some of the medicine before the virus claims her. He days he has none, so she presses him by offering money. A lot of money. He really doesnt have any, and he turns her away. She dies within 24 hours. What struck me was the realization that, in the face of death, that stack of money is worthless. What will it buy you that you may keep after you stop breathing? It was more important to this woman to live without money than to die with it.

Anyway, this post isn’t supposed to be about money or paying rent. It’s about being in a situation in which it is easier and more desirable to act selfishly, but much more important cosmically to serve others first. In this case I think that means working cooperatively with our landlords to find a workable middle ground that addresses our concerns about the value of the house and the work we did while honoring the fact that it is their property we used, regardless of it’s condition, and that we are leaving them in a tight spot, all while treating them with the love and grace we receive from Christ. And with that thought, I take my leave.

Scott

1 year ago
31 notes
# Rent
# Landlords
# House
# Hampton
# Virginia
# VA
# Minneapolis
# Minnesota
# Mn
# Court
# Lesson
# God
# Jesus
# Christ
# Christianity
# Attitude
# Money
# Grace