NickydocDocs

It is Christmas Eve EVE, and I'm chilling out at the house.  Joe is at 'Music Over Lexington' at Bakers360 tonight, and I'm left with the run of the house.  I took a long hot shower and put my special mix on iTunes--it's the mix that Joe absolutely hates, so I'm always excited to conjure the tunes out of the digital ether.  The first track is titled 'When I Die Tomorrow' by Sweet Honey in the Rock.  It's an old school gospel song with an african flair that I fell in love with when I was broke and backpacking around Kenya and South Africa.

There's something about this song that reminds me of my southern baptist roots in northeastern Kentucky; there's a vocal joyousness about it that evokes some sort of altered state of consciousness in me.  One of the lines goes something like,

"When I die tomorrow

I will say to the Lord,

'Oh Lord, you've been my friend--

thank you Lord you've been my friend."

When I die tomorrow,

I will say to the Lord,

'Oh Lord I'm your child.

Oh Lord I'm your child.'

When I die tomorrow,

I will say to the Lord,

'I had a hard tedious journey--

had a hard and tedious journey,'

It's a simple song but filled with a quiet pleading of faith that leaves me shell-shocked.  It will surprise more than a few people to know that I've had a deep and abiding faith in something greater than me since I was a young boy.  In fact, I came home after my first week of 'World Religions' class and Centre and talked to the preacher at my church for the better part of a weekend.  There was this overwhelming body of evidence that can pretty much obliterate the beliefs of the rational being.  I read the old King James from cover to cover for the class.  In my study, I read the commentary from theologians called the 'exegesis'.  It was scholarly, inordinately well-researched, and left me struggling--a struggle between the rational part of me and the spiritual part of me.  All of a sudden, everything I'd ever believed...on faith...seemed to be slipping away from me.  It made me feel lonely and afraid thinking, 'Is this it?  After all this, is THIS all there is?'

Very quickly after, I met one of the true loves of my life, Jennifer.  We fell instantly and madly in love, and, to my genuine surprise, I found her to be a being of faith and hope.  While her spiritual beliefs are incredibly personal and authentic, she incorporates them into her life with ease and grace.  She struggled (and continues to do so), but at the end of the day, her resonating internal spiritual life informs her attitudes and decisions on a daily basis.  I learned a lot from her, and still do to this day.  Another spiritual believer, albeit in an entirely different way, is my mother.

One of my sisters was born with psoriasis.  As a young girl, she tried every ointment, tincture, and concoction out there.  When phototherapy came about, my parents would load up our green station wagon and head to Duke University every weekend so she could stand in a claustrophobic closet with blinding light beating down on her.  I remember hearing her cry from her fear of tight places, but she absolutely refused to come out.  It was devastating.  I'd sing to her to pass the time; talk about this and than; anything to get her through.  It was a test of faith.  For all of us.  (I'm proud to say that she went on to be runner-up in the Miss Kentucky pageant--the only thing that kept her from winning was a fall and a beaver shot to the front 4 rows...)

At any rate, when the study at Duke ended (at the tender age of 11 for her), her psoriasis had cleared up.  Unfortunately, the psoriasis came back with a vengeance.  My mother, in an act of humility and blind faith, took a little piece of cloth and had the church deacons say a blessing over it.  When we would get ready for school, my mother would pin that tattered old cloth to the inside of my sister's shirt.

Now people from my neck of the woods all have a testament to faith.  I listen with interest each and every time now because I'm here to tell you--that cloth worked.  I raise my hand to heaven and swear on all things holy, it actually worked.  For about 6 months, her skin was absolutely clear.  

Believing these days--well, it's not easy.  In fact I think it's impossible, without some sort of grace.  I suppose you could call it 'willful disregard'--disregard of fact and convention; disregard of logic; disregard of history and plausibility.  Faith in things unseen and unproven is hard to come by.  I struggle, but when I listen to some really good gospel music, or chant...or pagan drum circle, it gets easier.  It helps me access that weird complex of neurons that convene to pitch off my doubt and cynicism.