The Superman/Captain Marvel suit

The organization thinks it has lift-off, and only realizes after the fact that what they really have is their own creation to be the repository of blame for whatever is the latest complaint.  The church has devised many ways to give an out to the wearer of the suit so they can go to another congregation, and if necessary blame the change on the uncooperativeness of the prior congregation/individuals/board.  Isn't it interesting that no one seems to notice the little kid inside the suit, trying to use sticks and stilts to make the suit look impressive.  And all that little kid wants is someone to really care for him and nurture him -- and that is almost a life story.  Makes you wonder if getting into the church was an attempt to get that care and nurture without taking the risk that accepting the care and nurture might produce growth and change.  Scary.

Capes, Supermen and Captains Marvel

Strange subject for my friend and me. Somehow it floated to the top of the pile of our brain clutter and we decided that it always does us in when we put on our capes and pretend we are the Supermen, the Captains Marvel of a particular situation. We have both been pretty good at it. We needed to don the cape to survive at times, especially when we didn't want anybody to see how frail and afraid we were. It felt good to fold it up and put it in a drawer for a while.

There is a way of applying the cape/Superman/Captain Marvel thing to veterans organizations and churches. Perhaps one reason why they degenerate into less participative institutions is because they spend too much time and energy looking for a person with a cape to take charge and solve all their problems. There are always a few Superman aspirants around, ready to jump into the role, eager to fix things. The members are content to sit on the sidelines and let Captain Marvel do his thing. After he completes his tenure, he gets a pat on the head and usually a certificate of some sort -- perhaps a better assignment. Never once does it enter the minds of members or their Superman that one mission of the organization is to engender participation, love, acceptance and mutual support. So it rarely happens.

But we have lift-off, we think. There is a man with a cape at the helm. Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Who'd a' thunk it?

Yesterday was special. Perhaps this was because my friend Bill and I made contact at a level that scared us, encouraged us, made us cry and laugh together. In retrospect, at one point, I can picture the neighbors shaking their heads, convinced that we had lost it. That was about the time Bill unparked the electric wheelchair he had gotten for Margaret and I drove it all over the back yard. Backward, forward, around and around, fast and slow. We even considered going around the block in it, but that event had to be rescheduled for the future. Margaret would have been so pleased! Definitely more class than our dinner at Red Lobster and our trip to Radio Shack.

The activities and thoughts and sadness and joy and wheelchair rides were not attempts to cover up our grieving for a wife or a friend. These things gave the grief substance and helped us to walk through it with hope. Or so it seemed to me as I landed in Huntsville, bringing the visit to an end. Whatever it was, I am grateful for it.