God, Part II

"(I) Don't believe the devil, don't believe his book

But the truth is not the same without the lies he made up

Don't believe in excess - success is to give

Don't believe in riches, but you should see where I live

I...I...believe in love" - Bono (God Part II)


This song has fascinated me from the first time I heard it, Bono's biting and desperate response to John Lennon's earlier song God that so bleakly insists that God is only "a concept by which we measure our pain." I disagree with Lennon's view because while true to some extent, it is overly simplistic. Bono's response illustrates the struggle we all face when it comes to knowing how things should be - how we should feel and what we should do - and what actually is, or what we experience to be true in our own lives. It's the struggle between the way we want to think about faith, spirituality, materialism, love - and the way we actually are. As with any great U2 song, Bono is conflicted. And we love him for it (or at least I do).

So many e-mails and responses to my last post; I think it needs a follow up to clarify a few things.

*Firstly, I want to say that in my last post, I'm not discussing MY faith at all - that's an issue for another time because it's complicated and very private for me at this point in my life. I have a lot of questions and struggles and I'm not really ready to put all that on public display at the moment. The issue I wanted to address was people telling me to have faith, or that they have faith, that everything will work out fine. My point was that no matter how much any of us want to believe that to be the case, the scripture itself doesn't guarantee that it will. The scripture itself promises "eternal glory" (as Siobhan so aptly pointed out in her comment on the last post) - but in this life, it promises suffering, pain, and death. That isn't just my take on the matter - if you subscribe to the Judeo-Christian theological framework, this is what the Bible teaches. My post was simply to point out that if you believe the Bible, you can't in good conscious hold the belief that "everything will work out fine" unless you mean "fine" in the eternal sense - as in, even if I don't survive all this, I'll be present with Christ. To have faith "that it will all work out" is to believe something that has never been promised to me - not by the Bible, The Universe, or anything else. Life is fragile, and tomorrow is not promised to us. I don't think anyone would disagree with that, no matter your belief system. We believe it because we have experienced it - who among us has not lost a loved one or seen life snatched away suddenly? It doesn't mean I expect things to end badly. It just means that "having faith" serves no purpose toward actual survival, because the Bible never promises physical survival (or for my non-Christian readers, the Universe, etc.). The only way to get around this fact is to cling to the heretical Faith/Wealth doctrine which is  based more on Western greed and entitlement than on scripture. And even if you believe it strongly, your whole life long, in the end, life has a 100% mortality rate.

*Secondly, I want to be clear that I'm not rejecting faith as a way to help cope with difficult situations. I wholly believe that it is very helpful for many people. I would never dream of telling someone *not* to have faith that things will work out well for them. At the same time, I want to be clear that so far, empty promises of "things working out" have been of no comfort to me. Most of the time, I get the feeling that people are trying to convince themselves, more than trying to reassure me. This may be painful to hear, but it's something we all need to be reminded of when comforting one another. It's not the patient's job to reassure or comfort those around him/her. It's not that I don't care about other's worries or anxieties, I really, really do. It hurts me to see the expression on the faces of friends and family as I explain what is happening here. I want to comfort them. I believe there's a give and take, and I certainly don't want to be fussed over and coddled. Let me offer this observation: many people have prayed over me, blessed me, and shared scripture with me over the last 12 years. I don't mind this in the least, but in almost every case, I was never asked if this was something the person could do for me. I love that they care enough to do something that they think will be a comfort to me, but no one ever asks, they just assume. It's both touching and amusing because I realized long ago that they are doing this to comfort themselves. It's taught me a lot about my efforts to comfort other people in times of distress.

*Thirdly (and finally), I do however derive all the comfort and assurance I need from day-to-day life. Christie, Rich, and Brennan are life affirming to me. Their zest for life and laughter give me great hope that everything will be okay. I am uplifted and comforted by music that transcends the temporal concerns of this life - lyrics written by men like Lennon, Wonder, Bono, Jon Anderson (Yes), Neil Peart (Rush), and so on. Good food and wine have become to me a celebration of life itself. A well-told story, be it in a novel, television show, or XBox game is cause for embracing life and the timeless tradition of sharing hopes, fears, and dreams through narrative. These things, at least to me, are far better, richer, and more life affirming than either assurances that it will all work out, or promises of eternal rewards. I know - some of you cringe when I say that, but I'm just being honest. I wouldn't trade watching my kids grow up for anything - temporal or eternal. I suspect most people would.

I cling to hope. My favorite line in this song reads:

"Heard a singer on the radio

late last night,

said, 'I'm gonna kick the darkness

'till it bleeds daylight."


Here's the whole song, a wonderful dichotomy of what should be and what is. I share Bono's confusion about this, and that's just fine. When I start saying I've got it all figured out, I'm more sick than heart failure could ever make me.

God (Part II) - U2



(For John Lennon)


Don't believe the devil

I don't believe his book



But the truth is not the same

Without the lies he made up


Don't believe in excess

Success is to give

Don't believe in riches

But you should see where I live

I...I believe in love


Don't believe in forced entry

Don't believe in rape

But every time she passes by

Wild thoughts escape

I don't believe in death row

Skid row or the gangs

Don't believe in the Uzi

It just went off in my hand

I...I believe in love


Don't believe in cocaine

Got a speed-ball in my head

I could cut and crack you open

Do you hear what I said

Don't believe them when they tell me

There ain't no cure

The rich stay healthy

While the sick stay poor

I...I believe in love


Don't believe in Goldman

His type like a curse

Instant karma's going to get him

If I don't get him first

Don't believe that rock 'n' roll

Can really change the world

As it spins in revolution

It spirals and turns

I...I believe in love


Don't believe in the 60's

The golden age of pop

It glorifies the past

While the future dries up

Heard a singer on the radio late last night

He says he's gonna kick the darkness

'til it bleeds daylight

I...I believe in love


I feel like I'm falling

Like I'm spinning on a wheel

It always stops beside a name

a presence I can feel

I...I believe in love

The Seductive Power of the La-Z-Boy

We didn't own one for the longest time. And when we did, I didn't even sit in it much. I prefer a desk chair, the couch, or the floor. Until my late 20's, most of my sitting was either in my truck between jobs, or behind a drum set.

Many of you didn't know me then. I was very active - by which I mean, I played and recorded with three different bands as a drummer/vocalist (Ground Zero, Assembly of Odd, and King's Dominion), fronted my own band on guitar (No Man's Band), played lay-pastor for most of the Christian metal bands in Little Rock, led worship twice a week at my church, taught a Bible study twice every week (sometimes thrice), owned and operated my own 100K floor service company, subcontracted other floor work from several Little Rock construction companies, and watched X-Files religiously every Sunday night. This was all fueled mostly by Taco Bell, Mountain Dew, and Rush's Moving Pictures album.

The single biggest change for me over the last twelve years has been the loss of my ability to just go do the things I want to do. I want to play music. I want to work. I want to wrestle with my boys. I want to cook and paint and coach soccer and swim and do a hundred other things that I used to take for granted.

It's one of the things that gets all over my left side - when so called disability recipients were lumped together with illegals, welfare moms, and lazy people during the Obamacare debates. When people with pre-existing medical conditions were compared to "burned-down houses" by Mike Huckabee (who is otherwise a very compassionate person in real life). Generalizations like these cut to the bone because the injury, shame, and frustration of not being able to work, and consequently not being able to afford the astronomical co-pays for expensive tests is bad enough. Being compared to such leeches on the system adds considerable insult. I guarantee that I worked harder in the 18 years that I was able, than most politicians will work in their whole lives. I doubt many of them tossed around 50lb grain sacks or cleaned diarrhea off the ceiling of a Barnes and Nobles ladies room (in that, I AM the 1%. And while we're on the topic, ladies: WHY?). I wish I were making that up.

So Laz-E-Boys, to me, have become a bit of an enemy. Nothing against anyone who loves their recliner - there's one sitting in our apartment right now, and I use it occasionally. Some days all I can do is try to be comfortable on the outside because the medications don't do much for the inside anymore. But I feel a sense of lethargy when I sit in one. Shouldn't I be working on my novel, blogging, doing something with the boys, cooking, cleaning, whatever? Not out of some misguided notion of equating productivity to personal worth. It's more of a time thing. Time is the one thing that can never be retrieved. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy an extended session of XBox or Netflix like everyone else. But that La-Z-Boy - something about it beckons to me in my moments of despair and pain, the voice both alluring and sinister. "You deserve to lay around. You don't feel good. Here, have an entire box of Double-Stuffed Oreos."

Sitting in it feels like giving in to the whole thing. There will come a time when I, like my friend John - an HCM transplant candidate - will be confined to a chair, hoping that my name comes up soon on the list. He can't leave the chair - just the effort of changing from a sitting to a standing position completely knocks the wind out of him. I feel that creeping up on me when I bend to tie Brennan's shoe, or walk from the handicap spot into Target when it's too cold or hot and I'm a little more hurried. Or when it takes me twenty minutes to convince myself that I really can push myself out of bed, from lying to sitting on the edge without throwing up.

See, I hope you don't read that and think, "Poor Dave, it must be so hard." It is hard. It's damn hard, and it's going to get harder. Hey, I've had to force a smile, take the $20 and say, "Why yes sir, the Doors were a great band," and play Break On Through. Believe me, the pain of heart failure is NOTHING compared to that. But a time is coming when there will be no shoe tying, going to Target, or getting out of bed. Period. It's going to have to drag me kicking and screaming, but the La-Z-Boy will eventually get me. For now, it can go hungry, but I suspect it knows a feast is coming.

John said to me recently, "That guy, the one that used to sail every weekend and babied his boat every second it wasn't on the water? That guy is long gone. He disappeared. My boat's rotting out in the driveway." Tough for an old hippie from Cape Cod who lives for the wind in his ever-thinning hair. He's full of hope, but he's also been reduced to a man in a La-Z-Boy.

My Tama drumset, the one Christie and I scraped and saved for, the one I sold in '98 because I couldn't play anymore - I crave it. I still feel phantom Vic Firth drumsticks in my hands every time I hear Iron Maiden or Van Halen because I used to be part of that in my own small way. I don't want to wonder where that guy went. He's also now a father, a homeschooling dad, a writer - many things I really couldn't have been before, but I don't want to lose that part because then I have to admit that HCM robbed me and I've been ripped off enough, thank you very much.

Do you get it? Do what you love and do it hard and do it a lot. Maybe it's not even so much about losing yourself to a heart problem, maybe it's just about growing up and letting some of those silly things go. Fine. But once I get a new heart and go home to my family, I'm buying a pair of drumsticks, even if I can't yet afford the drumset to go with them.

I plan on beating the hell out of a La-Z-Boy.

Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

So if you failed to heed my warning and came here anyway, you're probably one of those that won't be put off by the morbidity of the blog title. But look, I didn't say "news of my DEATH," I said "news of my DEMISE," and there's a big difference because "demise" doesn't sound as harsh as "death" even though as you can imagine, I've pondered death quite a lot these last few years. Also, as much as I enjoy ripping off popular writers to appear more profound, I didn't have the heart to diminish Mr. Twain's famous quote with my ramblings. God knows his writing is terrible enough without me piling on.

Thing is, after answering the question, "So how are you feeling?" and "So, what's happening now?" until I fear I will vomit on the next person who asks, I just need a place to post updates and share my thoughts. There's too much to tell and I need a place where it won't get lost between people requesting pig jewelry in Wastemytimeville on Facebook, and tweeting about taking their lizard to the vet (okay, that last one was me, but have you HEARD that story?)

I've also noticed that very few actually ask the more pointed question, "How do you feel about all this?" I can't tell if it's because they think that's too personal, or maybe because they are under the false notion that as long as I'm feeling okay today, then things must be okay.

I know the question comes from concern. The unspoken sentiment that everyone wishes there was something they could do. It's why I indulge the question and try to keep the answer as simple as possible. But the truth is, there is no simple answer. Do you mean "how am I feeling today," or "how am I feeling in general" or "how am I feeling about you"? You may not want the answer to one of those.

SO HOW ARE YOU FEELING?

I've felt better, to tell you the truth. The last two years have been a steady stream of feeling less than peachy. My disease, HCM (Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy) generally has this effect, but usually over the course of a lifetime rather than two years. There's no question I'm headed for a heart transplant, but the logistics and details are less than simple. I'll address them in future posts. I'm sure that whoever you are, wherever you are, I did a really crappy job of explaining HCM to you, so here's my doc from Tufts in Boston. He actually knows what he's talking about.

Dr. Maron is why we're trying to relocate to the Boston area for the time being. He's the guy that has the experience and knowledge to walk an HCM patient through the transplant process (a rare event), but more importantly, can keep me alive until I can actually get a new organ. He's the rock star of HCM, and the most humble doctor I've ever met. His whole team is on top of this thing and I really believe they're the best shot I have of making it through this.

HCM (Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy), is above all things a sneaky bastard. It rarely plays the same hand twice, and often switches decks entirely. It's what makes ERs a relatively dangerous place for me, and causes general cardiologists to scratch their heads a lot (either that or they all have lice).

So that's where we're headed, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I mean, we're talking about a pretty bizarre scenario here, where someone else is going to die, and part of their body is going to be put into mine. How do I feel? My knee-jerk answer is, "Like I'm in an X-Files episodes. And not one of the good ones where Mulder finds out where Smoking Man is hiding the UFO. More like one of those "monster of the week" episodes where Mulder discovers a mad scientist sewing people's heads onto their pets.

Thing is, I've been a business owner, pastor, and stay at home, homeschooling dad, so I'm fresh out of tact and political correctness at this point. I need a place to vent my brain, and all kinds of strange stuff was flying around in there way before this transplant thing. Maybe my honesty can help someone else in a similar situation, or answer some of the questions. Maybe it'll just reveal what a nutjob I can be sometimes.

Either way, here it is. My blog about HCM, life, death, music, politics, and inevitably, Star Wars.

Off we go.