Hey Dave!

Hey Dave!

First and foremost, how are you? The last time I saw you, I was getting married for the first time. It's been a while, literally. I truly hope all is well with you and yours.

Next, thanks for commenting on my writing (or even reading it). I started writing in earnest again after my divorce in 2010. But it was not until 2017 when I decided to write a novel. That first attempt got interrupted with what turned into a pair of novels. I've since returned to that initial foray, and I'm nearly finished with that initial novel. As you may have guessed, it's loosely based on my relationship with my father. More broadly, it's a story of fathers and sons and trying not to retrace your parents' footsteps but falling in lockstep despite oneself.

Anyway, in writing it, I've done a lot of exploration of the past. It's been nostalgic, and bewildering, and downright trippy at times. Much of it harkens back to the decade of the '80s and rambling around the big empty rambler on Christmas Lake. There is a key moment in the novel that occurs in a fictitious Mt. Calvary, which I not cleverly named Mt. Calvary. I was going off the premise that there have to be at least a hundred "Mt. Calvary's" in the U.S. alone. 

Writing is a whole body/mind/soul exercise for me. Writing that church scene shook loose a gazillion memories. Most were from, what was for me anyway, the mystifying and terrifying confirmation years. But in contrast to the unpredictable and near criminal behavior of my fellow confirmees, you were quite literally the Rock of Gibraltar.

Likely, I was slightly ahead of my peers from a developmental—heavy on the mental—perspective. Plus, I was a shy introvert whose intuition vastly outstretched my percieved toughness and endurance. But even then I could see how completely preposterous your job truly could be at times. For example, a weekend retreat at Gustavus when you were tasked with wrangling a slew of teenage ne'er-do-wells to get some sleep when most had plans to the contrary. 

My mother was (and still is) a master of biblical quotes. She'd often describe people with "The patience of Job." Whatever is more than that, that's what you had back in those tumultuous and confusing (for me) days. 

Anyway, there was one weekend retreat to a camp that I want to say was in Wisconsin. As you can well imagine in '87 (or '88), taking 60 almost high school co-ed's to a camp in the autumn was gonna be a slog for the poor chaperones. An while the weekend was disastrous on many fronts: bras up the flagpole, kids out smoking in the woods, animal skulls in the toilets, no one ever wanting to sleep ever, etc. You somehow managed to remain sane, and calm, and unimaginably patient. I guess that's the job. You did blow up at the usual suspects causing commotion one too many times in the wee hours in the boys' cabin, but I'd have gone much further than you did when stretched to the extreme limits you were.

That particular weekend, you and the staff did an exercise where we all wore paper bags on our heads that indicated our "role" in the exercise. We all were then tasked with walking around and acting toward each other in such a way that the person wearing the bag could guess our assigned role. 

The genius aspect of this exercise, which by the way could never be done today, was that the roles given were the opposite of how the kid in the bag behaved in real life. My bag, if I remember correctly read "Bully". Predictably, the other "bagged" kids in the room acted scared toward me. And quite obviously, this is the opposite of how I felt that entire weekend. 

This is one of those moments in life that stays with you forever. In fact, I can recall the room and the setting, and the reactions of my fellow confirmees. But, it was also transformational for me. You see, the power of that exercise is that it leveled (so to speak) the bolder of the bunch, and it lifted (so to speak) the meeker. And in that, it was perfectly biblical. Maybe that was the point, but I promise you it was lost of most. On me, however, it was not. 

There are snippets of time, in his lifetime, that are pivotal. That was one such snippet. Not only did I feel understood in that I was given an opposite role that perfectly fit, but I felt seen. That was rare in those days. Like really rare.

As I was writing my little novel that likely no one will ever read, I decided I needed to reach out to you and let you know that you made a massive impact on teenage me. And there weren't many who did. You exhibited a "gentle strength" that I rarely saw. Maybe it was the times, but strength in the '80s was a literal notion. Wisdom and grace were not yet recognized as the superpowers they are today. And yet you were an OG, at least for me.

I never saw myself being a pastor. But I promise you I am a better father to both my (high school) daughter Karli and my son Nate, because you were my pastor. Your example was impactful in ways you could've never imagined 40 years ago. For that, you have my eternal gratitude.

Writing this book has taught me to call out the excellent humans who have helped me along the way. You are one, for sure. I'll be forever in your debt for the gentle guidance you provided and for the grace you displayed. Few look at a pastor and sees a superhero, I do. Thank you for making the road a bit less rocky. It meant a lot. It's not forgotten, and it's always bouncing around in my writer's mind.

Cheers!

P.S. He never responded...
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© 2023 – ∞ B. Charles Donley