Happy 40th birthday, Shonnie!

Who would have guessed the path we would travel together when we committed to one another 15 years ago? First of all, we have supported each other to discover and fully live our life’s purpose. And in doing so, you became a coach and I became a writer.

In addition, we ran the equivalent of four marathons, moved from Austin to Asheville, consciously chose a simpler existence, wrote a widely-acclaimed book, created our home as our sanctuary, adopted three feline family members . . . and lost four others.

And most extraordinary of all, at your urging, we brought our darling Gracelyn into the world, giving you the opportunity to fully express your unconditional love, wisdom, generosity and patience as well as the willingness to provide Gracelyn the nurturing, support and space to grow into exactly who she’s meant to be.

I love you with all my heart, all my soul and all my spirit and look forward to the blessings of our family’s next 15 years together.

—Bruce (better known around here as Dada)

Wednesday, December 28th, 2011

Truly a Gentle Man: The Life and Times of Mack Mulkey

During his life, Mack Ross Mulkey was a son, a student, an athlete, a lover, a husband, a soldier, a father, an engineer, a manager, a coach, a grandfather, a mentor, a concerned citizen, a community leader, a gardener, a great grandfather, and perhaps, most of all, a gentle man. This is not an attempt to chronicle all of Mack’s life or to tell his entire story. It is an attempt to describe who Mack Mulkey was and how he affected our lives, in our words and, occasionally, his.

EARLY YEARS
Mack was born to Leta and Dunham Mulkey on February 19, 1922 in Fort Worth, Texas. He grew up in Fort Worth, occasionally living with his grandparents, John and Helen Clayton, (better known as Papaw and Mamaw) on their farm east of the city. Belva Clayton, a relative, sometimes resident of the Clayton home, and chronicler of the Clayton family history tells the following story in her book Thomas Nelson Clayton: His Descendants, His Ancestors.

This man (John Clayton) had the greatest zest for living of anyone I ever met. . . At one time he owned a big red dog named Rover. Rover certainly was not unusual, just a big old dog, but we liked him. Rover took sick and died. Uncle John, Roe Junior, Mack Ross and I took the dog down into the okra patch to bury him. While Uncle John was digging a hole for the burial, he casually remarked that we shouldn’t just bury Rover, but that we should have some sort of service; so, Roe Junior recited a poem, and Mack Ross sang The Eyes of Texas are Upon You and Cheer Boys, Cheer. Uncle John and I were the mourners.

Mack’s mother, Leta remembers Mack as a child in this manner.

Oh, he was a wonderful little boy. . . He didn’t play ball or anything like that very much. He was a real good boy. He didn’t chum with a whole bunch of boys. He was just real quiet and real good.

Dunham Mulkey retired from the duties of fatherhood when Mack was still an infant. Dunham later died of a heart attack at the age of 36.

My mother said that he (Dunham) never really realized he was married. He just went about his bachelor ways. . . . At the age of two, they (Leta and Dunham) divorced, and . . . I went to live my grandparents, the Claytons.

–Mack Mulkey

As a teenager, Mack lived with his mother in Dallas, earning money delivering newspapers. He graduated from North Dallas High School in 1939. Mack did not distinguish himself as a student, but he loved sports and played baseball, football, and basketball at every opportunity. After high school, Mack briefly attended the University of Texas at Austin and played baseball there. (more…)

Sunday, June 19th, 2011

Letting go of fear, ill will, and my trusty six-gun, Dec. 7, 2002

More fearful demons live in our imagination than ever lived on earth. ~Brad Brown

Well, they didn’t pry it out of my cold, dead hands. But my only remaining firearm has just left the premises.

Having grown up and lived in the South I’ve owned shotguns, .22 rifles, and an assortment of handguns. But over the years, my collection had dwindled to one old revolver that I kept in the bottom of my T-shirt drawer, a place where it would be handy if danger arose. My ability to actually use the pistol in an emergency was doubtful, however, since my wife, Shonnie, had only agreed to keep it in the house if it was unloaded.

What, you might ask, motivated me to hand over the gun to local law enforcement authorities? I got rid of it in response to a well-timed question about my possession of it by Shonnie after we saw Michael Moore’s movie Bowling for Columbine. The question: “What are you afraid of, Bruce?”

You see, the central theme of Moore’s documentary is the high level of fear that prevails in America—a fear that’s fed by the media (If it bleeds, it leads.), by our political leaders (Osama’s going to get you if you don’t watch out!) and by our own minds (We’ve got to get them before they get us.).

In times like these it’s not difficult to get caught up in this anxiety and trepidation. And that’s where I found myself until Bowling for Columbine and Shonnie’s question hit me with the force of a two-by-four upside the head. The truth that I realized in that moment: I have no need of the pistol because my fears have no foundation. I’m probably more likely to be killed talking on a cell phone while driving than by someone breaking into my home. Another case of FEAR—False Evidence Appearing Real.

When the government’s color-coded terror alert system is raised a notch, I always have a choice: I can react by buying guns, installing a security system, supporting the expenditure of billions of additional dollars on armaments and cuddling up to my TV. Or I can realize that not even the highest ranking or most brilliant official in the CIA, FBI, or other agency can predict the future and live my life accordingly.

Near the end of Bowling for Columbine I got another proverbial whack on the head as I watched Charlton Heston shuffle off after an interview with Moore. I realized in that moment how angry I’d been at Heston, at Bush, at Cheney, at Daschle, and all the rest and how fearful I’d been about the momentum that was building toward war. But when I got this wake-up call, I understood that each of us is connected in some mysterious way and that I am then linked with this aging man as well. I may not agree with much of what Heston stands for, but I can nonetheless feel deep compassion for him as a fellow human being.

In order to live a life of joy, love, and consciousness, it is essential that I cleanse myself of ill will including the resentments I hold toward those who appear to be leading us in the wrong direction. I must free myself from the downward spiral of fear so that I may see my vision for myself and my world more clearly. I must take time to regularly connect with that inner part of myself—my heart, my soul, my intuition—that knows. I must discern right action in confronting my challenges and make choices from the multitude of possibilities that exist rather than reacting and falling into old, automatic behaviors. I must liberate myself from the hope that the man on the white horse is coming to lead us to a better future. I am the one who is responsible for the quality of my life; me and me alone.

Monday, January 17th, 2011

Breathing new life into my purpose

“What is your purpose in life?” the guardian of the gate at the men’s retreat demanded.
“To work toward a more compassionate, just and sustainable world,” I immediately replied.
“You may enter!”

I guess I’ve known why I’m on this planet for 15 years or so,
And at first I organized workshops that encouraged folks to wake up,
To get off automatic pilot,
To live and love more fully.

Later I took to writing,
Hundreds of op-eds for a variety of publications,
On peace, simple living, climate change, treating our children well, the connection between us all,
Taking a few potshots at George Bush and his pals in the process.

Next I endeavored to shift the course of our nation by working for worthy candidates,
As a field organizer for Obama in Ohio in’08,
As a campaign adviser for Cecil Bothwell’s victorious campaign for the Asheville City Council in ’09,
And as the communications director for Patsy Keever’s successful race for the North Carolina State House in ’10.

And now on the final day of 2010,
I sit down to reflect on how I’ll help bring about,
Compassion, justice and sustainability in the coming year.

I call out to Life: “I am your instrument; I am ready; show me the way.”
And when I get no response, the relentless planner in my head jumps into overdrive,
Maybe I should complete my book on happiness . . . or my essay on gay rights,
Or I maybe I should go to work in the 2011 city council campaign . . . or the 2012 presidential race.

But Life finally answers my plea with the joyful giggle of a 16-week-old baby girl.
And immediately I understand,
This is my mission, my purpose in life:
To honor the sacred responsibility of consciously parenting this lovely, loving, loveable child,
To love Gracelyn unconditionally,
To trust my intuition,
To allow her her independence,
To be fully present with her . . . moment by moment by moment.

With Shonnie, to create a safe, secure, loving, fun, enlivening space,
In which Gracelyn is empowered to grow into exactly who she is intended to be.

Thus we three begin our 18-year meditation retreat . . .
And I follow my breath as I change Gracelyn’s diaper,
I buckle her into her car seat, and I breathe,
I gaze into her brilliant blue eyes . . . and I breathe.
As she cries and I wonder what to do . . . again, I breathe.

And something imperceptibly shifts . . .
Within Gracelyn, within me, within the universe,
And nothing will ever be the same again.

Monday, January 10th, 2011

The birth of Gracelyn Lavender Mulkey

This blog post was written by both of us (Shonnie and Bruce). Shonnie’s words come from the diary she’s keeping for Gracelyn and are italicized and indented.

I awoke around 12:30 a.m. on Monday, September 6 with my first notable contractions. I was delighted to know that we were officially beginning your birth journey. For the next few hours I lay next to your Daddy as the contractions came and went. Around four o’clock (a.m.), however, I went into the nursery . . . Our two boy kitties—Desmond and Bandit—kept vigil with us, sleeping on the floor near the ottoman on which my legs rested.

When I woke later on, Daddy got up too and as he has all throughout this pregnancy, did everything he could to care for and comfort me. He made me creamy wheat cereal which would turn out to be the last solid food I would have.

[ . . . ]

We decided to call Mayari (our birth doula) and say we were ready for her support, especially since contractions were about a minute long and five-or-so minutes apart. She arrived around 3:00 p.m. and was a great comfort. . . . Mayari and Bruce read me affirmations, walked with me, massaged me and did lots of other things to help you and me progress in this journey.

[ . . . ]

Around 8:00 p.m. or so, I decided I wanted to go to Mission, the hospital where you would be born. Daddy called Dr. Lisa (our physician), who talked with Mayari, and we decided to meet up around 9:00 p.m.

Shonnie’s labor progressed slowly—a long and arduous process. In addition, she was nauseous and couldn’t keep anything solid down, which lowered her energy level. According to this powerful, athletic woman who’s trained for and successfully completed several marathons and extremely challenging trail races, “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done . . . and the most rewarding.” At Mission Hospital, Dr. Lisa continued checking Shonnie’s progress throughout the night. And while dilation and effacement were gradually increasing, getting to 10 cm. dilation and 100 percent effacement for birth to take place was still a somewhat distant goal.

Mayari filled the tub as your Daddy supported me to labor in bed. The water felt wonderful and I labored there for a couple of hours. I was able to get into different positions, including belly down, and labored with lots of vocalizing and visualizing . . . The nurses—first Pamela, then Sheila—were incredibly supportive too, providing coaching and encouragement right alongside your Daddy and Mayari.

I continued to have nausea and vomiting and by now it had been about 24 hours since I’d kept down any solid food. Exiting the tub, I was supported over to the bed where I collapsed shaking and shivering through my whole body. . . . I felt exhausted. When Dr. Lisa checked me again, I was closer, yet not making progress to match my efforts. At this point I felt truly overwhelmed. My body and spirit were working as hard as they knew how, yet I was afraid I couldn’t physically endure more labor with the nausea and lack of food.

It was really difficult for me as Shonnie’s contractions became more frequent and challenging to deal with, especially when she began to run out of energy. At this point I found myself silently but fervently praying to any deity that might listen—God, Allah, Yahweh, the Universe, Life, the Big Kahuna, whoever—“Please lighten Shonnie’s load and give some of it to me.” But, alas . . .

I wept unconsolably and told Dr. Lisa that I was afraid that the only way you (Gracelyn) could be born was by Caesarean. . . . Dr. Lisa comforted me and reminded us of some other tools we could use—an epidural to numb me from the waist down and allow me to get some much needed rest and pitocin to strengthen my contractions and get my cervix to fully open.

Dr. Lisa also told me how hard this process was for your Daddy, who wanted to do whatever was possible to ease my labor. Your Daddy and I held each other crying—in part for sadness in needing to use these drugs, in part for our love and unconditional support for each other, and in part for wanting to make the best decision for the three of us.

Though we’d planned to forego the assistance of drugs, the epidural allowed Shonnie to rest and gain the strength she’d need for the pushing stage. It’s clear to us that this was the proper course of action. Progress began to take place more rapidly after the epidural and the pitocin were administered. In addition, Mayari and Sheila moved Shonnie into a position in the bed that encouraged our baby to move from a posterior position to an anterior position and, thus for baby to move more easily down the birth canal.

Finally all the pieces had come together, and I was almost completely dilated and fully effaced. As Dr. Lisa, Mayari, Sheila and your Daddy gathered around my hospital bed, Amazing Grace (by Judy Collins) played from our computer, and we all began to sing. It was a sacred time as we got ready to welcome you. The time was very near!

The birth itself was truly a sacred moment. Life bursting from the womb. And the expression on Shonnie’s face when we immediately placed Gracelyn on her belly . . . words can’t really express Shonnie’s passionate joy and delight. I realized and announced, “It’s a girl!” And once the umbilical cord had stopped pulsing, I cut it, allowing Shonnie to pull Gracelyn closer and embrace her fully.

Dr. Lisa encouraged me to give the pushes my full effort, and soon your head was outside my body. I reached down and felt you for the very first time. I was elated and amazed! With one more contraction, you popped out, and your Daddy and Dr. Lisa caught your strong, pink body and placed you up on my belly. You cried lustily and I too wept with wild joy, jubilation and thankfulness that you had made your way into our lives. 

I know I’m not the first person to make this observation, but if it were up to us guys, I’m pretty sure our species would have reached extinction thousands of years ago. Being with Shonnie as she lovingly, graciously and purposefully carried our child was a revelation in itself. I don’t think I’d have had the willingness or fortitude to do that. But more than that, the manner in which she courageously persevered during labor and birth . . . I can pretty much guarantee I wouldn’t have displayed her heart and tenacity. I stand in awe just remembering her gutsiness and her intentionality in bringing our child into the world. I am blessed and honored to be her partner in life and in raising our baby girl.

Our care team

We want to express our profound gratitude for our care team during labor and the birthing process—Dr. Lisa Lichtig, Mayari Waymouth, our birth doula, and the Mission nurses, especially Sheila. We’ll be forever grateful for their generosity of spirit and loving support.

Dr. Lisa Lichtig, our family physician who is midwife trained, was available for consultation by phone from the moment Shonnie’s labor began. Then Dr. Lisa arrived at Mission Hospital shortly after we did and remained there for approximately the next 30 hours, until the birth of Gracelyn and our transfer to the Mother-Baby Unit. She, of course, was on board with our desire for a natural childbirth, and she was there to provide wise and compassionate support when medical alternatives were necessary for the labor to progress and to give Shonnie some relief. I have never witnessed such a combination of deep caring, gentle humor and medical skill in all my days (and that’s quite a few days).

Mayari Waymouth, our birth doula, was also available for consultation by phone from the time labor began. Mayari joined us at our home mid-afternoon, accompanied us to the hospital that evening and was with us every moment until Gracelyn was born with the exception of a couple of visits to the cafeteria to get us and herself some food. A birth doula is a person trained and experienced in childbirth who provides continuous physical, emotional and informational support to the mother before, during, and just after childbirth, and it was obvious that this work is Mayari’s calling. She was loving, intentional, focused and present in the moment. She was ready and willing to perform any task we asked of her. And at the same time she was lighthearted and a delight to be with. We couldn’t have asked for more from this powerful young woman.

With a few minor exceptions, our experience of the nurses and other care providers at Mission Hospital was beyond reproach. They had gotten a copy of our birth preferences in which we indicated that we wanted a natural, sacred experience, and they were on board with our desires in this regard. Of special note was Sheila, our nurse in the Labor and Delivery Unit. Sheila knew that we attended Jubilee as she had previously, and her powerful spirit, calm demeanor and knowledgeable support were essential during the most intense part of Shonnie’s labor and during Gracelyn’s birth. Sheila even stayed with us after her shift had ended to make sure all post-birth details were handled impeccably. Service above and beyond the call of duty.

Unyielding support of friends and relatives

We’ve said this before, and we’ll likely say it again numerous times: It really does take a village to raise a child. And we are so fortunate to have such generous relatives and friends who have been there for us in ways too numerous to name and who were holding us in their consciousness and their hearts during Shonnie’s labor and the birth process. The profuse outpouring of love, acknowledgement and celebration was a joy to behold, and let us know that our community was definitely delighted by the arrival of our little girl.

Gracelyn Lavender Mulkey

We’d talked about Grace as a possible name for our child in the final weeks of pregnancy. And we discussed Lavender as a middle name if she was a girl, with Mulkey as the last name (We also thought that Mulkey might be a boy’s middle name with Lavender as his last name.). The day after Shonnie had given birth, Dr. Lisa came by to check Momma and Baby out and said that the name Grace had come to her on the drive home after the delivery. Then early the next morning gazing at our nursing child, a name popped into Shonnie’s head: “Oh, you’re Gracelyn!” And that was that.

Needless to say, we are totally enthralled by Gracelyn. She is a good-natured, loving, lovable child who readily let’s us know when she wants something (usually breast milk, a diaper change, more/less stimulation or a blankie). She’s taken to nursing with reckless abandon. And since she’s sleeping with us, at night all Shonnie has to do is align her breast with Gracelyn’s mouth, and let the feeding begin. Well, it’s not quite as easy as that, but Shonnie really is enjoying being with Gracelyn in this intimate and time-honored way.

Since we’re cocooning and getting accustomed to our new way of life, you may not see much of us or hear from us that frequently for a while. Just be assured that we feel your presence and look forward to introducing you to our little girl when the time is right.

Monday, September 20th, 2010

We’re in the home stretch now!

Well, tomorrow (Sunday, September 5) is our due date, and we’re prepared. The nursery is ready, our home is well-organized and clean, the refrigerator is stocked with easy-to-prepare foods, our bags for the hospital are packed and, yes, the email to relatives and a few other folks is back in the “Drafts” folder ready to be sent . . . for real this time.

In anticipation of the big day we’ve read the books, taken a childbirth class, participated in a breast feeding class, toured the hospital, conferred with our doctors and doula regularly, chosen our birth preferences (as natural as possible), prepared the feline family members, been blessed by Rev. Howard Hanger and our fellow Jubilants and received and responded to good wishes from friends and relatives throughout the U.S. and beyond.

So, now we wait. As some of you may know, I am not a particularly patient man. I like to make things happen. And I’m pretty good at it. This is not one of those times, however. Baby arrives when he or she is ready by releasing a hormone that starts labor and the birth process.

FYI, when labor begins for Shonnie, we’ll stay at home for a while, and Mayari, our doula, will join us here for support. Once labor becomes more pronounced, we’ll all head for Mission Hospital, which is very momma/baby/dad friendly. One our physicians (either Dr. Lisa or Dr. Susan) will join us there, and a Mission nurse (who’s on board with our birth preferences) will also become part of our team.

I trust that Shonnie instinctively knows what to do as does Baby. My job and our team’s will be to be there for Shonnie—physically, emotionally and spiritually—for this sacred event while having faith in the process.

Once Baby is born, he/she and Shonnie will be inseparable, skin-to-skin, and nursing will commence soon thereafter. After a short stay at the hospital, we’ll head for home where Shonnie will rest for several days before attempting to do anything other than just be with Baby. We’ll do our best to get word out to friends and family about the birth, but communication may be inconsistent during this time.

For the first month, we plan for just the three of us to spend time together, getting to know one another, bonding, enjoying one another, deciding on a name (first, middle and last). So you may not be seeing much of us until sometime in October.

It’s already apparent that Shonnie is going to be a marvelous mom. In fact, the joyful, conscious, loving, devoted manner in which she’s carried our child is a testament to the way she’ll mother Baby after he/she arrives. And until then, we relax, share dinner and movie (perhaps the last opportunity for the two of us to go out for a while) and anticipate our little bundle of joy’s arrival during the coming days.

[Cross-posted at The Lavender-Mulkey Baby Blog]

Saturday, September 4th, 2010

Born to be a mama

Well, we’re in the home stretch. At 37 weeks, Baby Lavender-Mulkey is now considered full term. The arrival of our little bundle of joy is no longer out there somewhere; in fact the due date is only three weeks away. However, it’s actually a due month, since birth could take place any time between August 22 and September 19. Yikes, time to get that bag packed for the hospital!

Now that the changes we’ve made to make room for Baby are almost complete, our earlier thoughts of needing a bigger home seem a bit foolish at this point. Our friend Cecil helped hang some cabinets, create some shelves and make additional storage space, and Shonnie’s done a fine job of organizing and decorating the nursery. If you know Shonnie well, you know that she’s found a place for everything and everything is in its place.

It’s been intriguing (and sometimes amusing) to observe the various perspectives of friends and relatives regarding the path we’ve chosen and the manner in which we’ve undertaken it. Almost everyone continues to be extraordinarily supportive—physically, emotionally and spiritually. Yet every now and then, I get a sense that someone doesn’t really “get” the choices we’ve made. But then, we’re doing this because it fits for us regardless of what might work for someone else.

If a doubt ever arises about bringing a child into the world, all I need do is look at Shonnie and my mind is at ease. It’s clear to me that Shonnie was born to be a mama. From the graceful way she moves (yes, even as she rolls herself over to get out of bed); to the joy, excitement, love and intention with which she’s carried our child; to the curiosity and serenity with which she anticipates the birth process, it is clear to me that this is the path we were meant to take together.

Shonnie says that Baby is our teacher, and I’ve already gotten verification of this. A few days ago, I was feeling the anticipation of the birth that’s upon us, and I suddenly realized that this is the way my Mom and Dad, Sue and Mack, must have felt as my birth approached. I’d never really comprehended that, and when I told Mom, she confirmed my hunch. The powerful love and deep devotion that she expressed toward me and my siblings reminded me of the extraordinary loyalty a lioness feels toward her cubs, an instinctual impulse to fight to the death to protect them. And my guess is that Shonnie’s parents felt very similarly about her arrival into their lives.

A second realization came to me out of the exceptional generosity of those around us. I don’t think I’ve been very consistent about acknowledging the special events in other folks’ lives, especially the profound experience of bringing a new life into the world. I hereby commit to doing this differently going forward.

Monday, August 16th, 2010

On becoming a dad again . . . at 67

“I didn’t think old people could have babies.” That’s what my 13-year-old granddaughter Molly said when her mom (my daughter) Lilla told her that Shonnie was pregnant.

When Lilla explained that it was only older women who couldn’t have babies, Molly reflected a moment, then replied, “I thought they were just going to have cats.”

And for approximately 12 years together, Shonnie and I figured we’d only have cats too. When we broached the topic of children, which happened fairly infrequently, Shonnie would typically say that she really enjoyed our life just as it was and didn’t want to do anything that’d change it. And I’d respond that I’d already partnered in bringing one precious life into the world, and that was sufficient for me.

However, as Shonnie reached her late 30s (37 to be exact), she wasn’t so sure about our position on this matter. In early 2009, we began to talk about the prospect of parenthood . . . during quiet moments in the evening, on trail runs and, sometimes, during our monthly family meetings. I wasn’t 100 percent sold on the idea, and though I maintained my ambivalence, it was apparent that Shonnie was beginning to lean strongly in the direction of parenthood. Together we decided that she’d go off birth control, and we’d let nature take its course. No plotting menstrual cycles, basal temperature or fertile periods; we’d just continue to have sex when the mood struck. And whatever happened was exactly what was meant to be.

As 2009 progressed I became more and more certain that my boys weren’t swimming as they once did, or perhaps something in Shonnie’s reproductive cycle wasn’t working quite right. Whatever. Consequently the notion that I might become a 60-something-year-old dad gradually diminished.

The year of 2009 had just run its course when on January 1, 2010, Shonnie walked out of the master bathroom holding something that looked vaguely like a thermometer and gleefully exclaimed, “I’m pregnant!” Shock, amazement, excitement, trepidation all washed over me at once. But it was impossible not to be caught up in Shonnie’s profound joy. And after a deep breath, I took her in my arms and joined her there.

Upon learning Shonnie and I were becoming parents, the response from friends and family has been overwhelmingly supportive. Yet I sense a few folks are wondering about the advisability of a 67-year-old man fathering a child. Well, don’t think I haven’t spent some time thinking about that myself. And after some serious contemplation, here’s my response.

From the beginning of our relationship in 1996, Shonnie and I have made conscious choices that fit for us regardless of the conventions and dictates of our culture. To wit:

• We have chosen to live our lives together even though we have an almost 30-year age difference.
• We left a wonderful life in Austin and moved to Asheville because we had a strong sense (and it has proven to be true) that it would be easier to be who we’re meant to be in this unique little city in the southern Appalachians.
• We have chosen a life of voluntary simplicity and forego the consumerism that our culture promotes.
• We have chosen to follow our true callings rather than working to make lots of money to buy more stuff we don’t really need.
• We have chosen a spiritual path outside the bounds of traditional religion.
• With Shonnie’s unwavering support, I heeded the call to serve as a field organizer for Barack Obama’s presidential campaign in 2008 even though my fellow staff members were all in their 20s (I’m pretty sure I was the oldest Obama organizer in the nation.).

And now we’ve made another conscious choice outside the bounds of conventional wisdom; we’ve chosen to have a child even though I’ll be 85 (hopefully a hearty, energetic, spirited 85) when he or she turns 18.

Out of this choice, it’s clear to me that I’m being called to be more of who I really am, to love more deeply, to become more generous, to work more diligently to create the kind of world that I want to leave behind for my children and their children.

And should I leave this mortal form before Shonnie (and odds are that I will), I’ll be deeply thankful that our child will be there with her after I’m gone.

Friday, March 26th, 2010