Author: Jason Zerbey

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I Don’t Wanna Be Your Dog (or) The I Don’t Know Project: Iggy Pop

There was a night in the hospital, just before I accepted I would never get to speak with Mary again.

I was alone and bargaining and begging for God to save any part of her. Anything. I dreamed of a life always by her side, I would take care of her in a bed, or a wheelchair, whatever, as long as He didn’t take all of her.

I got angry with myself for not accepting what my heart knew was coming.

I put my earbuds in and played Iggy Pop. I don’t know why, but he takes me away, helps me smile at a traffic jam, makes me laugh in the angriest of moments without mocking the anger.

“So messed up, I want you here

In my room, I want you here

Now we’re gonna be face-to-face

And I’ll lay right down in my favorite place

And now I want to be your dog

Now I want to be your dog

Now I want to be your dog

Well, come on

Now I’m ready to close my eyes

And now I’m ready to close my mind

And now I’m ready to feel your hand

And lose my heart on the burning sands

And now I want to be your dog

And now I wanna be your dog

Now I want to be your dog

Well, come on”

-I Wanna Be Your Dog

I cried a lot that night. I didn’t want to be strong. I wanted my Mary, I wanted to be her dog.

Mary didn’t want me to be her dog. There was something in her soul that told her this would happen. There was a reason she chose me to be her husband and the father of her children. She believed in a strength in me that would weather this storm, maybe any storm.

She believed there would be a day like today, when I could sit with a friend and laugh about dating, then cry about what I had lost, then make a joke about crying and get back to laughing.

She believed in my extremes, Rage Against the Machine and Shelby Lynne, slide tackling and slow art, or The Three Stooges and Shakespeare. None of it made sense without all of it.

I feel those extremes more keenly now. They press right to the edge of unbearableness, exhausting me.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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The I Don’t Know Project: Soccer

I don’t know how I can feel so good after a physically punishing loss. I watched my team play with all the heart in the world tonight. Down three goals at half time, no one was barking at each other. We knew the mistakes we had made, but we plotted a course to victory. We kept our heads up, found a deeper fight, and believed we could dig our way out of the deficit.

Mary helped me manage the team and knew the players. I’d come home and be able to share with her how proud I was of folks who had been playing longer than me as well as the gal who only took the sport up a few months ago. Mary protected my time for soccer, she knew better than I how important it was for me. She came to most games and always wanted to hear about the ones she missed.

It’s still the only place I can consistently get out of my own head. It holds a magic for me. I was blessed by my grandfather when he brought it into my life and I’ve been blessed by God with the ability to continually play and improve in the sport, while letting it improve me as a man.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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The I Don’t Know Project

I’ve been scared to write. I’m experimenting in the present, listening to God, and trusting Him with the future. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if I’m being reckless, or if I’m yet to fully embrace the insane heart of my being.

I’d had an eye to the future since I was ten years old. I wanted a wife and children and a career as a continuity editor for comic books. I got all that (okay, not in the comic industry, but I have put to use the skills I practiced instead of reading the required middle school texts).

I’ve had it all. How would it not be selfish to ask for more future? How would I tempt fate to ask for more blessings?

It could be said that few things are more terrible than losing your wife and the mother of your young sons. But in our years together, the children we shared with the world, and the life we built for ourselves…our dreams came true and we had more than most people get in a lifetime.

I’ve been scared to write. I’m scared this doesn’t make sense or that it sounds like giving up. I’m scared of my tendency to change tenses, like I don’t know if I’m in the past, present, or future.

I’m more scared of knowing than not knowing. So much of what I thought I knew has been dismantled by home education. Seeking truth is a lot harder than assuming you’ve already got it. I KNEW I was Mary’s husband. That was important knowledge, but maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe I got too cozy comfortable in assuming that knowledge, that identity.

I want to be a little braver. I want to spend the next 30 days sharing things I’m learning (like my first kundalini yoga class tonight), but more importantly, sharing the things I don’t know (chakras, for one, or five, or whatever).

I don’t know how to write about the things I don’t know, so this should be an interesting October.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Totally Radical Dudes

When we were dating, Mary and I dreamed of a traditional, conservative life together. A life separate from the excesses, risk taking, and troublemaking of our how-did-we-survive(?) youths.

We planned a safe life, a modest family, and a secure marriage. Our sons undercut our plans, bringing a love into our lives that emboldened our true natures. I became the never-stay-at-home dad. We became homeschoolers, then unschoolers, joining the wildest ranks of a minority community.

I struck the match on many of those shifts, but Mary always took my hand and eased it toward the tinder to light the fire. She was a master fire builder.

Then she died.

At that moment, as she rose to Heaven, love poured down. That love was radical. I was filled with it and pointed out at adventure: a music festival, a road trip, museums, strangers, Shakespeare, and an RV in a ditch on a mountain in West Virginia. It took three months to start that trip, but it was immediate, inevitable, and unstoppable. I may have just as easily stepped through the hospital window into it. We picked up hitchhikers, danced atop rock faces, lost our gear, chased a full moon, and crossed paths with bears.

Mary chose a wild man to raise her children. I thought she had tamed me…mostly. She had done the opposite, cultivating and encouraging a confident independence aimed at loving myself, our sons, friends, family, and as many people as I could meet.

I’ve taken up that torch to simultaneously feed the flames of love and burn away the waste of fear.

I sat down tonight to share a memory of Mary, to make forgetting a little more difficult. I found a legacy that spans all the stories. It’s the narrative of a loving radical who knew she was unchaining three untamable beasts from fear to spread love in the world.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Peace is Personal

I’ve been asked to facilitate the Peace Week Delaware & Fall Equinox Labyrinth Walk at Delaware Art Museum, 6:00-7:00pm tonight (https://www.delart.org/event/peace-week-delaware-fall-equinox-labyrinth-walk-2019/).

One year ago was the first time I had walked the Labyrinth on my own. More than discovered, I uncovered a personal peace in that place and in that day. I let living things inside me die and fall away. It became a conscious process of pruning that fall and winter, but on that day I let myself go and be guided by the Holy Spirit and a parade of wonderful souls.

(https://delawaredad.com/2018/09/23/seasonal-changes/)

I no longer long for those things that I have lost. They are harvested bounty, the fruits of a previous season. I don’t wish for peaches in the fall, but savor the sweet moments of summer.

I had a beautiful human holding a light for me through the darkness of fall and winter last year. I cherish the memories of that light and I have begun to hold it for myself.

So the Phoenix Cycle rolls on. The heat of late September burning away the last decorative plumes, turning me to ash to once again fertilize the ground and prepare for rebirth.

Please join me tonight for the chance to act out your own self-discovery journey.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Adventuring with Delaware Nature Society

I’ve been attending programs at Delaware Nature Society (DNS) since before my younger son could walk. I used to spend the morning at Delaware Children’s Museum, wagon the boys down to DuPont Environmental Education Center (DEEC), and explore the marsh with a dip-netting program. I can’t remember how many times I hosed them down after getting the muddy water over their galoshes.

Those were the days when I learned I had a couple dynamos on my hands. After hours of play and exploration, we would have a packed lunch under the owl in the courtyard and a couple more hours before their mom would be home. Sometimes Mary would steal way and meet us there, but she usually opted to get home a little early to have more time with us there. We’d bird watch, jump from rock to rock, or head to Delaware Contemporary to escape the elements.

Eight years later we still love to visit DEEC. Whether it’s for biking, hiking, a summer camp, or our latest excursion: canoeing.

The day was perfectly overcast for a family-paced exploration of the Christina River at high tide. We spent three hours learning about the grasses, mammals, and birds that inhabit the watershed. A highlight was getting to watch an osprey’s hunting ritual.

I still have a couple of dynamos. After canoeing we spent time at a park and got ourselves ready for another DNS program at Ashland Nature Center. The clouds didn’t break, so our full moon hike was moonless, but it proved to be a wonderful evening of spotting bats, toads, and a red squirrel. We closed the evening with a fire by the Red Clay Creek and s’mores, because summer still has a good week to provide.

I’m so grateful for the countless adventures our DNS membership has afforded us over the years. From preschool and homeschool to family and adult to hiking and cooking, we’ve sampled just about every kind of program. Soon the boys will be old enough to try out one of the more ambitious ecotours and we’ll be real DNS veterans.

We look forward to celebrating the 10th anniversary of DEEC on Sunday, October 13th.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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The Toilet Works?

For his entire life, my ten-year-old has watched me grumble and curse my way through innumerable toilet repairs, installations, and temporary rigs. When the arm snapped in the downstairs toilet tank this week, I had just conquered a devil of a drain clog and was not up for another job. I didn’t say anything to the boys, I lifted the lid and manually flushed when needed.

Then, I heard the toilet flush. Westen emerged from the bathroom and I said, “How’d you do that?” “Do what?” he replied. “Did you lift the lid? The toilet’s broken.” “Oh no, the flusher broke, so I rigged it this morning.”

He’s a little hero. He holds the door for everyone, grabs a child’s hand on unsteady rocks, entertains wherever he goes, and sees problems as opportunities. “Dad, what can we do to help?” might as well be his catch phrase.

When he’s not being a leader and not making a situation better and I call him out on it (usually too harshly), I see the disappointment and embarrassment on his face.

I criticize my sons too much. They’re beautiful, compassionate, mature beyond their years, brilliant, and endlessly creative. But not always, just like any of us.

Today we’re going to adventure and I’m going to concentrate on praising them aloud when it is called for and supporting them when it is needed and loving them through all of it.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Letting Go Through Letter Writing

I was reintroduced to hand letter writing the day my wife died. A friend lost her grandmother and decades-long pen pal on the same day. I saw an opportunity to create and strengthen connections on a day when I had lost my greatest earthly bond.

I’ve written to dozens of people in the last year and noticed a strange pattern. I often forget what I’ve written. Strange because I take time with my writing and usually reread before sending. Natural in that I don’t make copies and rarely get responses to remind me of what I’ve sent into the world.

I know I release pain in the writing process, breaks for tears are common, but I didn’t know the power of addressing, stamping, and mailing the correspondence. It’s a ritual of sacrifice, honoring the source of hurt and dismissing it as no longer useful.

As a photographer, Alessandra Nicole documented our family at local events and museums. As a friend and TEDx speaker, she’s provided me with a way tools to connect with a world that can be resistant to a widower in its midst.

Please take a moment to watch her talk on paper letter exchange.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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The Adventure Comes Home To Roost

Two weeks ago I was presented with the idea of being on TV with my sons to build a tiny, off-grid house in Texas. Like a rising wave, it quickly grew into building a magical, off-grid dwelling in the Australian bush.

I dove in. My sons dove in. It felt right. We started watching shows, videos, and documentaries. I looked at available land, reached out to Australian relatives and home educators to start building a community ahead of the abode, and had serious conversations with smart people about making it happen.

The challenges got daunting, so I went public on FB to find support and give myself more pressure to make it happen. I truly believed I should do all I could to make this adventure a reality.

We got to the interview process and my sons did wonderfully. They pointed out to me that I repeatedly forgot the coaching and instructions of the casting producer, but I thought it went well.

News was slow to come after the interview and doubts and questions about the project arose. I wasn’t shy about going to Australia. In fact, I had promised the boys that we would go whether the show wanted us or not. Ultimately, it wasn’t the actual questions that moved my heart, but that many answers would depend entirely on other people. Since I lost my wife, my greatest joy and burden has been answering questions and going on adventures (and doing most other things) as a single parent. The boys get a lot of say, but there’s no doubt that responsibility, blame, and credit all come back to me.

I wasn’t ready to relinquish my instincts to someone else’s priorities. I started secretly hoping the opportunity wouldn’t materialize, that I wouldn’t have to carry the burden this time.

During my late nights of research and worry, I started dreaming about my heart lying deep under reality, as if I had forgotten about it. This morning I woke with anxiety and determined to spend time in prayer to let the answer in to wash away my cluttered thoughts. I planned to go to a yoga class to clear my mind and then visit Mary’s resting place. I wasn’t going to get through another day without clarity.

The intention was enough. Before I got out my front door I had my answer. We adventure every day, these two weeks made those possibilities broader and grander, and I’ve got my own deep well of trails to blaze. My heart thanked me for listening and my body got lighter.

I don’t feel good about letting down the casting producer. Diona Vaughan of Aberrant Creative was amazingly supportive and I believe she was fighting for us to be a part of this project. She was sweet to me and the boys about Mary and shepherding rookies through the process. Letting her down was the last, and possibly hardest, hurdle for me to cross to decide not to move forward.

I do feel good about the world map still lain out on the floor. We actively look at the world as a set of seemingly limitless opportunities. In spite of this adventure not taking flight, our sights are set higher and our world has gotten a bigger.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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What I Found Under Reality

My dream/fantasy/self exploration world just got stranger.

I imagined that wormholes actually consisted of sub-dimensional creatures that opened at both ends to allow travel through space and time. As I envisioned this, it became clear that the worms were not opening for passage, but had been a single creature severed an uncountable number of times.

Reality is built on the foundation of a mutilated past. I had heard this, but never seen it in my mind this way.

What was surprising was what I found as I spent time in this subcutaneous layer of reality: a heart. A Franklin Institute-sized, translucent blue, radiating, human heart.

I touched the heart and it infused me with a warm, crackling energy. It felt like love.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason