Paris fighter jets hammering Raqqa with bombs. 7 darkened souls tracked down in Belgium. Suicide bombers being identified. There is still loss in Paris. I am haunted and humbled. My day: get up on time, make it to church. Pick up kiddos, 2:30, after weekend youth retreat. Walmart prescription. Home; laundry; wood in for the stove because some snow’s coming; get the fire going, get the kiddos dinner. Be a good husband; be a good dad; try to make something out of this old, weathered, life, that will hold some redemptive value. Then I think about Paris: hellishness-trauma-loss-violence-fear. I was driving east down Bowles in 1999 April 20th in Littleton, CO. and saw a SWAT unit, not one not two but three, and so many police cruisers-different counties … I turned on the radio: there was a massacre going on at Columbine High School about 10 minutes away, just off Bowles. In 2001, September the 11th I was at work, Denver Rescue Mission, watching on the two massive TV screens in the auditorium, two planes crash into the towers. A report came in, as I stood by Jon Gettings, that the fourth plane had been hijacked. Jon slowly looked at me …“It’s still going on.” Yes, It is still going on. Different ways, different places, different times, but loss follows, and fear, and confusion, pain, anger. I pray, I grieve, I hope, and … I don’t know what else to do. I still have to work. I continue to love my wife, my kids; and I continue to go out and get three or four trips of wood for the stove. God help me, to not get numb, desensitized. And help me to do what I need to do. And help the good guys wipe out the bad guys.
I saw him, running in the jungle. I heard him: he belted out a prolific call, flying all over the jungle. The animals, apparently, took note. “When Tarzan calls, the Wild Kingdom listens.” When Tarzan would step off a limb of a high tree, his hands gripped on to a rope-vine, and then swing through the trees … it was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. When I was a kid, I climbed trees quite a bit. But I never, not once, came across a rope-vine! To this day, I am so disappointed that I didn’t get to swing in the trees. At some point, I became aware of other responsibilities / cool things beyond climbing trees. Girls, I realized, were good looking, and they did catch my eye. I appreciated Tarzan because he had a good-looking babe with him most of the time. Jane. That was her first name. I guess her last name would have been “Tarzan”, yeah? (Image from http://old.bfi.org.uk/sightandsound/review/5308)
With Jane and Tarzan living in the jungle, limited income, Jane didn’t have any money to spend on clothes, and that explained the clothes that did not do a thorough job of keeping her warm. I never went out with any girls that were dressed like Jane. If I did, my parents would have found out about it and I would have been in some serious trouble. At some point, I found out that Tarzan is not real. Tarzan was an alias for a gentleman by the name of Johnny Weissmuller. Here’s a thought: Does this look like Tarzan? Sharp looking guy (below), I must admit. But, with all due respect, Mr. Weissmuller, you are definitely … not … Tarzan. Life can be a jungle. And in this jungle, there is no Tarzan. There are no rope-vines to swing on, from tree to tree. I’ve seen some beautiful women, and I am married to one of them. But there is no Jane. And finally, I’m okay with it.