I was born at 7:36 a.m. on the 12th day of July, in the year of Our Lord, Nineteen Hundred and Sixty. According to my mother, I nearly died at birth. Due to some complications (which my mother would have to explain), I wasn't breathing. The nurses dipped me in warm water and then in cold in order to make me breathe, as the traditional fanny slap just wouldn't do the trick. But breathe I did, screaming out at the top of my lungs. I haven't shut up since.
I was born in the tiny community of Clayton, New Mexico, about a mile above sea level, about 35 miles south of Colorado and about ten miles from the borders of both the Oklahoma and Texas panhandles. I opened my eyes to the world of the Great Plains. Looking north across those plains, a person could see blues skies and the Rabbit Ears. And that's about it.
I was born to working class parents, Baptists and Wesleyan Methodists who were married in a Pentecostal Holiness church. They were border dwellers of the Hi-Lo country, living in Texline, Texas, but working (and bringing me into the world) in New Mexico. My Dad quit smoking while driving my mother to the hospital for my arrival.
I was born fortunate enough to know all my grandparents and five of my great-grandparents, losing my last grandmother only after I myself had become a grandfather.
I was born on July 12. Which means that I am honored to share my birthday with Julius Caesar, Henry David Thoreau, George Washington Carver, Buckminster Fuller, Pablo Neruda, and Van Cliburn.
I was born nine minutes before the same doctor delivered another baby boy in the same hospital. I have wondered, once or twice, who this other fellow is, nine minutes my junior, and how he's doing in life.
I was born for a reason and a purpose. We all are. One of the great joys in life is in coming to a peace about who you are and why you are here. I'm still on the prowl for the meaning of it all. And perhaps the search for meaning and joy is a good chunk of the point. In Surprised By Joy, C.S. Lewis writes about "..the quality... of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction."
I was born, if for no other reason, for the journey.
I was born in the tiny community of Clayton, New Mexico, about a mile above sea level, about 35 miles south of Colorado and about ten miles from the borders of both the Oklahoma and Texas panhandles. I opened my eyes to the world of the Great Plains. Looking north across those plains, a person could see blues skies and the Rabbit Ears. And that's about it.
I was born to working class parents, Baptists and Wesleyan Methodists who were married in a Pentecostal Holiness church. They were border dwellers of the Hi-Lo country, living in Texline, Texas, but working (and bringing me into the world) in New Mexico. My Dad quit smoking while driving my mother to the hospital for my arrival.
I was born fortunate enough to know all my grandparents and five of my great-grandparents, losing my last grandmother only after I myself had become a grandfather.
I was born on July 12. Which means that I am honored to share my birthday with Julius Caesar, Henry David Thoreau, George Washington Carver, Buckminster Fuller, Pablo Neruda, and Van Cliburn.
I was born nine minutes before the same doctor delivered another baby boy in the same hospital. I have wondered, once or twice, who this other fellow is, nine minutes my junior, and how he's doing in life.
I was born for a reason and a purpose. We all are. One of the great joys in life is in coming to a peace about who you are and why you are here. I'm still on the prowl for the meaning of it all. And perhaps the search for meaning and joy is a good chunk of the point. In Surprised By Joy, C.S. Lewis writes about "..the quality... of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction."
I was born, if for no other reason, for the journey.
