The whole truth

I can't pull the trigger on ending this marriage. It is such a difficult thought, and I'll tell you why.

I have not been true to myself or my wife and children since they left. I simply and honestly have not. I can't look at Heavenly Father and say that I've tried everything. I have not. Not even close.

No, Cherie doesn't love me. Yes, she wants to be split from me for good. But I ask myself, can I blame her? What has she seen from me? Let's recap:

A man who is balky at best in paying his financial obligations. That's not going to get me to the temple any time soon.

A man who sees things only as he wants to see them, and not as she does. There's a saying I used to tell Cherie all the time: If she's happy, then I'm happy. I certainly am not happy. I don't think she is, either.

A man who constantly finds ways to fault the woman that deep down inside, he truly loves. That's my fault, not hers.

A man who still harbors more than a grudge against the woman he professes to love. Now, seriously. If I love someone, why don't I show it?

A man who has criticized his wife for the choices she's made. They're her choices, after all, not mine. Those kids are not in danger. If they were, that would be a different story.

A man who knows deep down inside the hurt he caused, yet finds it difficult to fully admit what he's done. I know I've fessed up a lot, but perhaps I haven't taken full responsibility.

A man whose animosity, real or imagined, toward his wife, keeps him from being close to his children. Perhaps this is the biggest crime of all. Those kids did nothing wrong but love us. They deserve my love no matter what's going on with Cherie and I.

I guess I could go on. I wish she would see this, to know that I am well aware of my faults. They are numerous. The best thing I can do is treat her right every time I see her. I can't say what's going to happen, but I must and have to try.

Country music parallels

In 2003, just about to the day my son Isaac was born, Cherie got a call from her sister. Her sister and her husband were splitting up. It was a piece of very sad news for Cherie that I was glad was tempered by the birth of our son.

Her sister, Crystal, made a comment that she could no longer listen to country music because it was too sad to do so. Her husband, Eric, I guess, liked the genre of music.

For about six months after Cherie left, I stopped listening to the radio. I didn't have it on in the car, I never played it at home. It was, I guess, too sad for me. And that's saying a lot, because even now, I don't sing along to the radio as much as I used to. It just doesn't sound the same anymore.

But the lyrics? I listen to them intently now. There are so many songs that have added meaning to me now, and I could go on for a long time. Here are just a few:

Chris Cagle -- "I Breathe In, I Breathe Out"
Keith Urban -- "Making Memories of Us"
Zac Brown Band -- "Whatever it Is"
Taylor Swift -- "You Belong With Me"
and my current favorite, Lady Antebellum, "I Need You Now."

Some may consider these songs cheesy pop with a steel guitar and occasional fiddle, and that's fine, but they have words with definite meanings in them. I never really paid attention to the lyrics of a song before, but I realize that most songs by most artists in most generes (there are obvious exceptions, of course) are talking about love in some form.

Country music, I believe, says it more often and better than most. There was a time that it was very difficult for me to listen to the radio, and especially country music, because my wife and I shared such good memories of listening to that music. It still is hard to listen to this type of music, and it's even hard to sing some of it. I sang a song on Friday -- Ty Herndon's "Living in a Moment" that talks about two people finding each other after suffering lost loves. When I sang that song, I was genuinely thinking about making things right with Cherie so that I might be able to sing it to her at one point.

I think people at the bar where I sang it enjoyed it too. It's not terribly complex, the song, and it's about 10 years old, but it meant something to someone enough for the gentleman to record it.

Before I was married or in a relationship, I used to wonder what it would be like to sing a song to a special someone, to express my love for them with words and music. I know exactly what that's like now, except that I'm back at square one, trying to figure it out all over again.

Perception vs. reality

Yes, it's Sunday. I'm on my way to church.

Spent the weekend helping Cowboy Jason look for work and formulate a gameplan. But in that space of time, I also spoke a lot to his landlord, Mary.

Mary is one of those kinds of ladies that would probably be a "hip grandma." She lives in this old house in town, and Jason rents a room from her. Well, suffice it to say, Jason and his lady Cindy have come to an understanding, I hope.

But you know something else? I had the absolute most enlightening conversation with Mary for about an hour...and I realized that now, today, 18 months after the fact, I have been all wrong about Cherie and this concept of "unconditional love."

I haven't shown it to her. It doesn't matter if she wants it or not. I wrote about this earlier. It's perception. And that perception is what I've been showing her. Forget abut what she's doing. What am I doing? I get on the phone with her the other day -- texting, actually, and I freaking blow up in her face. I mean, what the heck does that accomplish? What she sees then is what she's been running from this entire time. Would anyone in their right mind want to be with me? Heck, I wouldn't want to be with me.

But you see, as I pray for her and the kids each day and night, I'm certainly not practicing what I preach. I still give her a cold reaction to most things when I speak to her. That's what she sees. That's what I give her. I don't give her any of the love I supposedly hold in my heart. As a matter of fact, I hold it away from her.

I wish I would have thought of this earlier. I am not a perfect person. And in fact, I am not even as good a person as I project myself to be. I'm not going to say I'm as bad as I once was, but I certainly have not given Cherie and the kids the love that I know I can. What is that at this point?

Keeping in touch with them. Helping them out financially...and emotionally, if I can. At every turn, having a positive exchange with them. That's what Christ would want me to do. He does not care if they're not going to church -- obviously, in Cherie's eyes, church hasn't done me much good, because I'm still not someone she wants to even talk to, let alone be with.

I hope this makes sense. I have good friends and family who love and care for me. But it appears that I have not exactly held up my end of the bargain. I want to, but as I've said many times before, wanting to do something, and actually doing it, are two completely different things.

There are things I want to accomplish in this life. I helped Cowboy Jason get started on that positive path. Now I need to start doing the same things.

Sad

There was a time, not so long ago, when even thinking about my wife brought a smile to my face. I got so excited just waiting to come home, or waiting for the start of a weekend, to know that we would be together for a long time, uninterrupted.

Now, it's like we can't even talk to each other. I actually was feeling OK about myself until I decided to text Cherie. She said Isaac started Cub Scouts. I simply said that I hoped that might bring her closer to the church. She told me that the Cub Scouts had nothing to do with church. I then said that I didn't think she would ever go to church, because she would never have the courage to go and have to admit her role in the dissolution of our marriage.

Thus began the next 45 minutes of absolute stupidity. And I did nothing to stop it. I played right into her hand.

WHY, GOD, WHY did I do that? Did it accomplish ANYTHING? Of course not. And I feel like a piece of crap for hours afterward. And our relationship stays the same, and she's left saying I'm the same old good-for-nothing as I was before. I know people will say, "well, there are two sides to the story." And there are. But what the world doesn't understand is, it's not what she has to do, it's what I have to do. I have to be the better person. And I just crawled in the mud pit with her. Worse, I not only fell in the mud pit, she watched me dig a hole and bury myself in it.

I have no one else to blame but myself.

I feel like a piece of chewed up and spit-out gum. I feel like garbage. I don't like it. I still love those people, even though I said I didn't. Who am I kidding?

If I love them, then why don't I show them, even when they're tearing me down? Why can't I be Christ-like and do what they ask...and be the person they know I can be?

What on Earth is stopping me from doing this?

Can anyone tell me?

Am I being taken for a ride?

I'm writing this blog at an unusual time...in the morning on a Sunday. Not really great, but I have to get a few things off my chest.

First of all, I think because I'm seen by so many people as a "nice guy" (sorry, friends and neighbors, but there are times I'm not as nice as people would think) it often leads to me being taken advantage of.

Take this past weekend. Cowboy Jason and I just returned from an evening in Lake Tahoe, where one of Jason's friends was having a "girls' night out." Jason wanted to go. I wanted to help him get over his funk. We left later than usual, thanks to me, and rolled up to Lake Tahoe in the truck just after dark. Jason caught up with his old friend and talked and reminisced. That part is fine. What isn't fine is that a guy without a job or a car takes me for a ride. I care about Jason a lot, but this is getting a tad bit OLD. We go out, and next thing you know, my wallet is like a vacuum. And it's not like I'm buying something to eat, here. I'm buying drink after drink for the guy, and they're like $4.25 a bottle for the beer. My stinkin' Cokes are $2.25 for a plastic cup. What is this? Refreshments at the Plaza Hotel in New York?

(As an aside, I think a casino is just about the most un-Christlike place I could be. If the people I hung out with yesterday only knew where I really wanted to be...)

Yep, there was a giant sucking sound from my wallet. And when the night waned (we're like two and a half hours from where I live), we fell asleep in the truck in the Harrah's parking lot cause I told him my money was being shut off. But before that, I got pretty upset with Cowboy Jason. My buddy needs a job, and I need to stop wasting money that could go to my kids that instead is going to some brewery up in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. I am finished. No more going out with Jason. The guy needs to get a job and support himself. I need to help my kids.

I'm sure Heavenly Father isn't very pleased with me, either, and I'm not pleased with myself. I hated that scene, I tell you. It was not fun at all. It's not what I want either, not at all. By the end of the night, Jason was so sloshed, he was pissing all kinds of people off. I told him to cut it out. How do you communicate with a drunk? It's not easy, and most of all, it's not worth it.

And you know what? The scene at 2 a.m. at Harrah's Lake Tahoe was the same as it is here in Grass Valley...except there's no last call. Same stupid scenarios, same stupid games, same superficial individuals. I must be out of my gourd to be a part of that. But then again, it is a choice I made. I could have put my foot down. I told Jason we would not go to Chico this weekend because we had to save money.

Did we save money this week? Um, absolutely not. This after I helped Jason with his unemployment paperwork and job applications. I'm starting to wonder what the guy would do without me. I don't dislike him...but he and I are grown men, each with our own problems. I've got to concentrate on mine, and he on his.

If this sounds harsh, well, I apologize. I don't like to use profanity, but will make an exception. But I guess it's like Jimmy Buffett sings in "Margaritaville" --

"Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, but I know/
It's my own (damn) fault."

It's not a mistake I plan on making, ever again. Next time, everybody pays their own way.

Being kind, when others won't

I'm not always the kindest person, though I try. I guess I have to try harder, because there are some people that I find it hard to show unconditional caring for, no matter what the circumstances.

Today, however, I tried. There's a woman who is a frequent reader of my newspaper. She often finds the need to take us to task when she finds a grammatical error in the paper or something like that. The other day, she sent me a note saying she had found the same mistake in the paper twice in a week -- the use of the wrong form of a word.

We spent a day exchanging emails, with me basically saying that as a journalist we deal with hundreds and thousands of words each day and that we were human beings bound to make a mistake now and then. I've written at least two stories where I've gotten the entire person's first and last name wrong, for example, and I lived to see the sun come up the next day.

So I invited this woman to lunch with me. We ate at this deli, and she seemed fascinated by the way the newspaper worked. It should be noted that this woman is often persona non grata when she calls the newsroom, just because people aren't gonna like what she has to say. I even said her complaints were "legendary."

Anyway, I talked with her about how many different kinds of things we do as journalists -- that it wasn't just sitting there and typing all day, like a stenographer. It actually invovles more than just reporting. We're blogging, posting live updates to the Web site, taking photos, shooting video, and when deadline approaches, actually writing the stories that will appear in the next day's paper. In between, we're dealing with phone calls and emails from the outside public, meeting with sources, interviewing, etc. So even if you see one story from me in the paper, it still means we're doing a whole lot more.

This woman was fascinated by our job. She said she'd like to visit the paper some day. I encouraged her to do it. She said she was scared, that people might not accept her.

The thing is, when I returned to the newsroom, people rolled their eyes at me for even meeting with this woman. They were as unkindly to her as she had apparently been to them in some of the notes she sent.

Honestly, my first reaction was to look to the heavens and tell Heavenly Father that these people did not know who they were spitting vitriol at. They'd never even tried to meet her! Yet I took it upon myself to reach out and see her. She wasn't a woman with horns and fangs: she was a middle-aged, slightly overweight woman dressed in a blouse and black slacks. She seemed like she genuinely cared about our job, and even about me -- an almost middle-aged balding man with love handles. This wasn't Khruschev-Eisenhower, either. It was just two people who seemed equally curious about each other.

Sometimes journalism is fairly petty, and people forget that we're humans first, and "journalist" falls about 10th on the list of importance.

I'm not perfect, but I certainly don't want to judge people I haven't met. I'm glad I didn't do it this time.

The best friends I could ever have

Spent the evening with Gordon and Camille. Every time I go over there to their house, I feel like I haven't done enough to be given what I have from them. I tell myself each time that I won't dwell on my situation much; that they've heard it all before.

And yet, when I tell them the latest or give them an update, they both listen with such intensity and with such a sense of caring I wonder if I deserve such good friends at all. Unloading on people takes quite a bit of effort on the part of a person who is being unloaded upon, and the Southams take it as if it were the weight of a feather. I am exceedingly grateful to them.

My heart is full tonight as I write this, because all I can think about is Isaac and Savannah and being with them forever. Gordon brought up a good point to me: Even doing the unthinkable at the moment would mean I would have a better chance of seeing the kids than I do now, which is almost zero.

I wish it never had to come to this, but waiting for someone to change won't change a thing. I have to make the change, just as my wife once did. She realized perhaps her life wasn't going to get any better if she didn't make a change. I realize my life won't get better unless I now make the changes I must make.

Going home and crying about Isaac and Savannah accomplishes nothing. It doesn't bring them back, nor does it bring me closer to them. That's why I don't do it nearly as often as I once did. No one has to feel sorry for me if I'm not doing what I can to have them in my life.

But getting back to Gordon and Camille: I could not asked for better friends, sounding boards or selfless individuals. I love them and their family very much, and it is a love that has grown much over the past year. I'm not embarrassed to say that. They tell things as they are, and not so much as I would always like it to be. They're honest when I'm not always so. Most of all, they understand that I love my children and yes, if it were to be part of the equation, that I love my wife as well.

They understand better than I do that Cherie is in a different place and isn't coming back, at least not in her present form. Camille told me that I love the person Cherie was, and not who she is now.

That's the absolute truth. I love someone who is true to themselves, and not trying to be someone else just for the sake of being different. That's false and untrue.

I thank Camille and Gordon for helping me see the light on so many things. I am about to embark on a very difficult journey right now, but I know that my Heavenly Father, my friends, my family and the Southams will be right there in my corner.

I am very grateful to Gordon and Camille, and to so many other people who love me, for that.

Matchmaker

Spent the weekend nursing the egos of two friends.

Cowboy Jason is still broken up about the loss of his girlfriend. It's sad, and we spent hours this weekend talking about it. I basically tell Jason that I've been there and seen all of it before. It doesn't get any easier for him, and I completely understand. When you've invested time and spilled your emotions to someone you truly care about, only to have it taken away from you, it's really hard.

I know. It took me more than a year to get over my own pain. I still have it, sure, but it's not constant like it once was. I had to learn harder than most to let go of it and find ways to spend time so I wasn't always thinking about it. Cowboy Jason helped me through that, and he knows it. He and I have a bit of a different view of how to accomplish the same thing -- to love someone with all of your heart -- but it essentially accomplishes the same thing.

I also talked briefly to a good friend of mine, Wes, who lives in Wyoming. It's funny -- Wes and I at first did not get along -- but he's become one of a small circle of very trusted friends with whom I can talk about most anything. He's a good listener, and I've tried to be the same to him.

Wes has been dating, by all accounts, a lovely young woman at work. They've taken things slow (a very good thing) in that they haven't even kissed. I mean, that's not only sweet, that's, well, thoughtful, because they spend a lot of time together talking about life. I get the sense that Wes really likes this girl, because he's taken the time to get to know who she is. That's so very important, I think.

I think Wes is as classy a guy as I've ever known. For starters, he's a great boss who treats his employees with respect, and he certainly lent me an ear when my family left me. He was always there to offer rides to me to work, to talk -- whatever I needed. We've talked about once every two weeks or so since I've been gone, and when I talk to him, I get nostalgic for the crunch of snow under my feet, for the smell of the oil refineries near the Casper Star-Tribune, even the wind that whips around during the winter.

Now, I'm wondering how things are going with him and his friend. I told Wes that I was pulling for him in the worst way, even being as far away from him as I am now. I would love to be a character witness for him. I want him, as I do Jason, to be happy.

About a year ago, people were counseling me about feeling better and trying to cher me up. Now I'm doing the same thing for them. It feels good...it really does. People have been so kind to me, and maybe this is Heavenly Father's way of telling me that I, too, can help people when they need it most.

The cannery rocks, or paying it forward, part II

On Friday evening after work, I had the opportunity to do something I hadn't done in years. Myself and about 15 other members of our church ward headed to Sacramento, where we cleaned, sorted, peeled, processed, canned and labeled hundreds of thousands of tomatoes.

It was a job so enjoyable that I never even bothered to ask what time it was, or complained about being on my feet or the fact that my hands looked like prunes when I was done.

It was that much fun. I vividly remember working at the cannery about four years ago, and how fun it was to sort through tons of tomatoes, and then use these fire hoses to clean up the mess several hours afterward.

On Friday, I was working with a very fine gentleman from a nearby ward to bring the tomatoes off the truck and load them into the conveyor belts to be sorted and processed. We were, you could say, the first ones on the production lines.

A little about this operation, if you've never been: What they have in Sacramento truly defies description, if only because the people who run the place, nearly every single one of them is a volunteer from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We don hairnets, rubber gloves and aprons and go to work. It's in a huge facility, with conveyor belts, overhead canning lines, and tables where the product is sorted.

Essentially, we are "civilians" doing the Lord's work. We don't get paid, and we don't need to. We get an ice-cream sandwich when we're done after about a five-hour shift.

I was working with a gentleman from a ward near mine. He has six children, all of whom served missions, and a gaggle of grandchildren. All but one of his kids lives far away. I asked him a few questions about life as a missionary, and tried not to delve too much into my own situation.

But you know something? After hours of standing on my feet, I never felt tired, I certainly was never bored, and I felt like I accomplished something. I told a friend of mine in the ward how much "the cannery rocks" and that now I wish I would be in church on Sunday to bear my testimony about how much I loved doing that work.

I told the man I worked with that I found it fascinating that for one day, all of us -- owners of businesses, working mothers, reporters, engineers, teachers, insurance brokers, executive assistants, delivery drivers and retirees -- became experts in our field for one day. We stood side-by-side with one another to get a job done. No one cared what walk of life we came from, how much or how little we made, or even how strong our testimony was. We all just worked together. We laughed -- I even saw a friend of mine whistling -- joked and worked together.

It was an amazing thing, to be sure. And I think that's exactly how Heavenly Father wanted it to be.

Paying it forward

I had a great day on Monday.

For the longest time, I have had so many wonderful people help me, console me, counsel me, make me feel good about so many different things. It's why I think I've been able to make it through a very difficult time.

It reminds me of a song by Tracy Lawrence, joined by Kenny Chesney and Tim McGraw. The song is called "Find Out Who Your Friends Are" and it describes a guy who thinks he's down on his luck...when all he has to do is call up his friends, and he knows they will be right there for him. Those are the kinds of friends I have. We may not be together all the time, but the miracle of the telephone and the Internet, and yes, Facebook, we can easily find out just who our friends are.

On Sunday, my good friend Gordon was about as down in the dumps as I'd ever seen him. He was quiet at church, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I sent him a text message to let him know just how much he and his family had helped me through the most difficult part of my life. He and his family have been so special to me. I cannot ask for a better friend. I have spent literally hours talking to him and his wife Camille about my situation, and what I want to do, and how I want it to change. He and his family have done nothing but give me an ear to listen to. They do not judge and do their best to offer constructive criticism.

Anyway, I called Gordon and he told me of his unfortunate exchange with some individuals. And you know what? I did the best I could to listen to him. I told him that I knew him to be a man of great moral character and that I knew he would never do anything counter to that.
I hope I helped him, because I certainly felt good after talking to him. I hope he understands that I would do just about anything for him if he asked.

My friend Cowboy Jason has gone through a bit of a rough patch as of late with issues of his own. I pick Jason up for work each day and I drop him off to his house each night, when it is really late. We have often sat on his porch and talked for hours, or at his house, or even in my truck. I did the same thing for Jason on Monday that I did for Gordon, albeit in a different vein. We talked about relationships with people and how those can grow, and how to handle them. I mostly just listened, I offered some counsel, and then I helped Jason express his feelings to someone he cares about.

When I went home, I felt like my heart had grown about three sizes. I felt so good. I told Heavenly Father that I loved Him and that I thanked Him for giving me the opportunity to help others, after so many people had helped me. It felt so good to help people I care about.

So much of this has been about me and my feelings, that sometimes I forget others have feelings too. I just hope that I can continue to help anyone who might be in need, whenever they need it. It makes me feel good, and makes me feel worthy to be called a son of God.

There are times when I often feel like I haven't deserved that. Monday made me realize that I do.