I turned 55 last week. Time for my annual column of personal retrospection.
Birthdays are no longer a big deal. They are a rather minor annoyance from my daily routine as my close friends and family feel obligated to call me up and wish me “Happy Birthday.” Of course, I’d probably get my feelings hurt if no one called.
Ginny still feels obligated to buy me cards and get the kids to sign them. A waste of money, I think. I’d much rather my children post something on their Instagram page telling the world what a great dad I am and wishing me Happy Birthday, as Ruth did.
My father was John Oliver Emmerich Jr. — a great father and wonderful in every respect. He died suddenly of a heart attack at 65. So in my thinking, I have 10 more years. People tell me that’s silly, but that’s the way it works. A man measures his life by his father’s.
Unlike youth, so much is already decided in my life. That takes the pressure off. I am blessed to love my work, love my wife and love my family.
I am also lucky to have overall good health, although being human, the cracks in the armor are starting to form. I now take blood pressure medicine. My left eye has some distortion. My feet ache in the morning.
Tennis has kept me relatively fit and I am blessed to have a real passion for the game. I try to play three to four times a week. Without tennis, I would gain 50 pounds a year at the rate I eat. I am so grateful to my many opponents who run me around the court for free.
I am perhaps a bit strange because every day I wake up utterly amazed at the improbability of my very existence. The very act of living is so miraculous it blows my mind.
This makes me perplexed by non-believers. If life exists, it is perfectly logical for life after death to exist. Where were we before we were born? Can anyone truly believe we came from nothingness without a loving caring God? This amazes me.
Faith is a blessing and it is the one thing I could not live without.
One day many years ago I was walking down a lonely beach path in the Bahamas, engaged in a conversation with God. At the time, my life had been so easy, so affluent, so fun, I questioned God as to why. I looked up at a beautiful cloud backlit by the spreading rays of the sun. “God,” I said, “You have given me every material thing a human being could ever want, but what I really want is faith. And I don’t mean a vague sense that you are there, but real faith. Faith like the disciples had. Faith so strong there is no room for doubt. I will trade every material possession I have for that kind of faith.”
The next day I crashed my most treasured possession — my fancy airplane. The crash was caused by a bizarre electrical failure that the insurance adjusters could not explain.
That began a spiritual journey that is far beyond the scope of this column. I suppose one day I should write it down — a series of miracles that unfolded before my eyes over the next few years. I went from being on top of the world to the verge of bankruptcy. I went from Master of the Universe to not even master of my own household. In the end, I got the faith I asked for. But only after I had truly let go of the hold material things had on my life. Only when I truly gave up the notion that I was in control.
Whenever I say something like, “You know I really wish . . .” Ginny, my wife, will grab me and put her hands over my mouth. “Don’t say it!” she whispers. Be careful what you wish for has an unspoken meaning in our household.
How can God do that? How does it work? How can He care so much for one insignificant person? These are all huge mysteries to me, but I know they will be revealed to me one day when the veil of this constrained reality is gently (I hope) lifted.
Many people may laugh at this story. Many may read and wonder why not me. For those people, I can only say this. I asked. And I meant it. Ask and you will receive.
There are so many things that go through the human mind as we all go through the paces of daily life. We live on so many different levels simultaneously. On one level I am a practical businessman, another level a struggling father groping through adolescence, on another level a buddy, on another level a tennis fanatic, on another level a spouse, on another level a writer.
Indeed, we have so many facets of our personalities, sometimes it’s hard to figure out who we really are. As I grow older, I realize the spiritual aspect of our personalities is critically important, yet we are often too shy to talk about it.
As for me, I find myself often in a sort of conversation with God, from when I wake up with the Lord’s Prayer to when I go to sleep and pray the Lord my soul to take.
Perhaps I am old and addled. Sometimes God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit or whatever you want to call it seems to talk to me. I can’t quite describe it, but I know it when I see it.
Once I asked a minister, how do you know it’s God or just an echo in your mind? “That my son is the spiritual struggle,” he responded.
Once as a child, someone asked my mother and father what was at the very bottom of their son’s heart. My father was quick to respond: A list! My mother took an extra moment and said, “What is the meaning of life.” It is true I am remarkably organized and my list-making is legendary. But in all deference to my father, my mother — God rest her soul — knew my heart better. My life has been a quest for meaning.
Now at 55 my faith is stronger than I could ever have imagined it. Like any human, I am still plagued by moments of doubt. But those dark moments pass quickly. My faith is by far my most valuable possession. It is there for anyone to take. Just pray.
It seems like yesterday the St. Mark Methodist Church youth group in Greenwood was praying for my teen-age soul. I was such a heathen. I scoffed at their narrow-minded adherence to a primitive superstitious religion. Forty years later, I must say: Thanks for praying. It worked!
Each one of us is on a grand and amazing spiritual journey. Don’t ever forget that. God bless you on yours.
