Cup in the Desert
slow horses can finish too
250406
I am so empty today.
A week of funerary business has left me hollow, scraped clean. I believe I’ve poured myself out entirely. And now—when there’s nothing left but the cup—what do you do? How do you refill it when you live in an arid land?
The Fremen of Arakis were masterful harvesters.
I’m trying to be sensitive to the small ways I might recapture the dynamic that makes me me.
Be the Fremen.
Be the cup.
Be the water of life.
There was a deep sadness in me this morning as we went to worship. My wife’s brother-in-law, RV, gave the public sermon. He was… adequate. Following along with my copy of the outline, I saw that he performed it word for word, littered with a Bible verse every two minutes.
Let me explain how public Bible teaching works:
You reference a scripture. You read it—that takes 30 to 45 seconds.
Then you explain it.
That last part is elastic. You can explain a verse in 60 seconds… but that’s just describing what’s on the cereal box. To really wade in deep, you need time—time to explain, apply, reflect. A single well-applied scripture might take 5–6 minutes.
Guess how many verses a thoughtful teacher uses in a 30-minute presentation?
Three, maybe five.
RV used thirteen.
And added two videos and two images for good measure. It felt like noise. I was sour. Tired. Cynical. 🥱
I had plenty of vim to tear others down.
When a well-meaning but long-winded friend asked, “How are you doing?” I abandoned my usual habit of putting people at ease.
“I exist,” I said flatly. “I am a corporeal being.”
“What?!” he blinked.
“I have little to offer today but my presence. I am not a figment. I am not vapor. I am a real boy, and little more. I am not a kite. I am not a rainbow. Just a human in the world.”
And I left it at that.
We joined my late sister’s husband—RLW—and his son and grandson for lunch. I dined on a greasy plate of spaghetti I regretted even as I ate it. At least I stopped a third of the way through. Moderation, a small victory.
Through all the death, we have bonded a bit and formed our own family union. Though we were always on friendly terms, it was mainly via my wife and her sister. Now those middle-men have been forcibly eliminated. We agree on a number of failures by our peers and who the reliable and accountable souls are in our group (common ground) and personally, I hope to be an aid and encouragement to a man who lost his gravity well.
I appreciate he told me, a few weeks back, that he feels I understand him more than most—because I, too, live for my wife. No one’s ever said that to me before. I think he knows my wife well enough that he knows the unique emotional challenges she presents. God, I realize that he's known her for more than a decade longer than I have. She even lived with he and her sister for a time in her early 20's, so when he says he respects the patience I have, that isn't just bluster.
I’ve known men who speak effusively about their wives—praise like poetry, dream-girl declarations. Honestly, it always sounds like bullshit. I love my wife, and my whole life is built around caring for her. But a big part of that is work. Daily, deliberate work. Forging the relationship in real time.
Men who wax lyrical and act like there are never any problems make me suspicious. What are they hiding? And I know husbands who glass over failing marriages like waxing a rusty fender. It's obvious to everyone what is really going on. Am I doing it wrong? What about simply withhold commentary entirely, rather than perform sainthood.
Maybe that’s a me problem.
I just don’t think these are my people.
We don’t mesh.
Being with them is exhausting—it requires constant patience, endless letting-go. Overlooking slights, forgiving inadequacy, tolerating failure. It’s the little things that kill me.
Not that I don’t contribute to the collective frustration—I’m sure I do.
But I think I try harder.
Maybe that’s arrogance.
Maybe it’s a sign I need a little more humility.
But, my refusal to quit here, to move on to greener pastures has cost me more than I can describe. And it is one thing to pass on illicit opportunities or circumstances that violate my moral code. It's another when I lose things that give my life weight. My center. My goals.
I’m lying in bed now, somehow having passed the entire day doing almost nothing: worship, lunch, a little art, a nap, then some quiet time with my wife. We watched one of my favorite films: Richard Donner’s Superman (1978). I’ve never been big on the comics version of Superman, even though I collected floppies for thirty years. Spiderman was usually my guy, but the movie Superman—he just makes me happy.
I LOVE how he always puts himself second to the benefit of others. The film is a little risqué in parts, Sups does a little lighthearted flirting with Lois… and the flight. The sequence when he takes her flying always made my heart soar.
Since I was a boy, I’ve longed to have that effect on someone.
Sadly, as much as my wife loves me, she didn’t come with the swoony feature installed.
I’ll never get to take her flying. Not like Lois did.
But she has other extraordinary qualities.
We watched the Donner Cut—nearly an hour longer than the original. Lots of slow story bits, not for the faint of film-heart. But a perfect watch for a cold, tired Sunday night.
Superman makes me want to be a better man.
I’m also very excited, nay-thrilled to see James Gunn’s new Superman slated for release this summer. I loved loved loved Henry Cavill as Superman, but he was handed trash scripts with which to work and Zack Snyder just wasn’t right. Man of Steel has its moments, but by and large Snyder’s films are big fat misses. There’s enough footage, I feel like a fan edit could probably do something enjoyable.
It’s time for us to leave town. Work is slow, the dead have buried the dead and we're overdue for a break. We don’t have the energy for a Monday morning departure, but sometime this week—we have a two-week window. We need a break. I’m betting on Wednesday.
The van is ready. The road is ready.
My lovely missus… I don’t think she is.
Her father’s death, so soon after her sister’s, has wrecked her already fragile state.
But for now, I’m lying here, ambient music pouring from the speaker, in a state of unexpected calm.
I think I’ll go see just how relaxed she is.
I will find her too relaxed for anything more than a back rub and slumber. Sigh.
“God is greater than our hearts and knows all things.” —1 John 3:20
“Keep testing whether you are in the faith, keep proving what you yourselves are.” —2 Corinthians 13:5
“Even if I am being poured out like a drink offering… I rejoice.” —Philippians 2:17
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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