As I work on scanning some photos of my children, so that I can send them, along with other memorabilia, to them as gifts, I'm watching on GAC, the Gaither Gospel Hour.

I may have negative feelings about organized church, but believe me - when I hear gospel music, old time hymns, and feel the sharing of love, I feel like I'm in God's Church.

The first time I went to a Gaither concert, in San Diego, it was with my first wife, Crystal, and her Mom & Dad.  Mel Pohlman was more a Dad to me than my own, and he was definitely my spiritual sponsor.  A few weeks before this concert, he had led me back to the Lord, and I asked God to open the doors to the ministry to which he had called me, and to close the doors if they weren't right for me, or it was simply time or better according to his will.

Later, after seminary, and two problem churches, I allowed my human nature to convince me that I was a failure, and that God was not on my side.  Years later, I now know that I ministered as I was supposed to do.  But I was not supposed to hang my head in shame, and turn to the "dark side."

It was only a few years later that Crystal asked me to leave and go to Florida and stay with my birth family.  Indeed her Dad had advised that she divorce me.

She suggested that I take the money from our checking account to buy a plane ticket.  I packed all that I could.  Then I sat out on the curb, trying to explain to my kids that even though I was leaving, I would always love them.  As I write this, tears are in my eyes right now.

A sister took me in until I got a job and an apartment.  I'll never forget, though, the agony I was about to feel - even worse than the heartbreak of a 21-year marriage ending and my family breaking up and leaving my kids behind.  I called Crystal to ask her to delay the divorce, and to meet me somewhere "neutral" and allow me to try to win her back.

She informed me that this was not possible, because when I asked if there was someone else, she said it was the man who had, I thought, been my best friend.

Being only a man, with the 3 to 4 hour time difference between Florida and California, I would envision what was going on there, and I thought it was more than I could bear.

I put on a cassette tape of the Gaithers.  And the song, "Have you had your Gethsemane?" started to play.  Thank God for helping to put my sorrow and pain into perspective!  It still hurt, and it even hurts all these years later.  But God through Jesus and the Holy Spirit (because that was my path to God) began to comfort my heart and to show me new ways.

I prayed that God would restore my marriage and my family, and help me to not turn hard, but to be able to love, and be loved.  My marriage was not restored, but I found peace even to wanting Crystal to be happy.  And I knew that we both had failed.  There was no need to feel that I am a bad person, nor that she is.  We are humans wanting to be loved and appreciated.

I set out on a program of learning new lessons of self-discipline, and learning to love myself.  While there's still a long way to go, I think that my relationships with my children is still open to healing and restoration.  We may not be able to go back, and be what we were, but we can be who we really are, and care for one another.  And I do care for them, and love them.

As I've said on other essays, I believe that Marge was, and is, my gift to help me love and be loved.  She has even helped me to not condemn myself, but accept what is done, and go on.

So, whatever your heartaches, whatever your failures, may you begin to reach within and give yourself a hug.  You KNOW that this person wants to be loved.  If you cannot forgive yourself and love yourself, how can you (and I) expect that others will do so?

And whatever speaks to your spirit and soul and heart - music or stories or the wonder of the world around us - may God open your heart to love, and to Him.

Since I don't currently have a BLOG apart from my spiritual search (don't get frightened - I'm the least likely example of a "holy" person that you'll ever meet), I'll just post this as an aside.

It concerns cooking.

My first wife pretty much controlled the kitchen.  I did help with cleaning up and some odds and ends, but it was plain that it was HER kitchen.  We were married for 21 years, so it's not like everything was wrong, and I give her full credit for persevering so long to try to keep the marriage going.

When the marriage ended, I had a LOT of growing and learning to do.  Taklng responsibility for my life was the common denominator.  I did make many good strides, I believe, but I also stumbled a bit.

After about five or six years, I married again.  My second wife and I were more of a team in the house, I believe.  Yet, I had not grown or learned or matured enough, and we parted ways (as husband and wife) within a year.  I'm happy to say that we parted and remained friends.

About two years later, I met Marge.  She and I both acknowledge that neither would have been "ready" for the other at earlier times in our lives.  But now, we mesh really well.

I realize that was long-winded, but NOW I can address the main intent of this post.

During my "batching" years and early in my marriage to Marge, I have been very grateful for a cookbook published by Doubleday.  Not only is it clear and concise, but it gives alternatives.  In addition, I've learned to experiment and adapt recipes to what I like, or what Marge likes.

In December, 2008, Marge's 86 year old Mom (87 on 8/25/2009) came to live with us.  She has strength and health problems, and has to use a scooter in the house, and a wheel chair (or electric cart where one is available) when we are away from home.  I drive Mom to another town to the church she attends, and has joined.  Sometimes I stay with her, and sometimes I run errands and then come back for her.  Remember, I'm a former Pastor, so I still like singing, and sometimes I like the sermons (but not evidences of judgmentalism).  And I simply hate the arrogance and disregard I see toward people who hurt and need to see God but are, in my opinion, kept away by so many church and church denomination's insistence on acceptance of dogma (rather than acceptance by God).

Last weekend, Marge, Mom, and I went to a suburb of Tampa, where we used to live, for the birthday of Marge's son, Patrick.

While there, I commented on a bag of limes that had been bought by Marge's brother when he, his wife, and our nephew visited us about a month ago (many more than needed for a case of Corona he bought - along with other beer and soft drinks).  I half-jokingly asked Mom if she would make me a key-lime pie.  I knew that she wouldn't, so it was only a joke.

I have to explain that she does make pies (with Marge's "help") on occasion, but usually it is a lemon pie for "Marge" (and her) and a banana cream or coconut cream pie for "me" (and her).

Mom answered me, "No!  I don't like key lime."  It kind of hurt my feelings.  I didn't say any more, but I thought to myself: "Well, I don't particularly LIKE going to church, either, but I take you."

Marge already knows that I take a very long-winded path to get to my point.  And now you know it, also.

I checked my old Doubleday Cookbook to see what ingredients I would need.  Last time Marge, Mom, and I shopped, she picked up some condensed sweet milk for me.  We decided to use some little small graham cracker pastry shells rather than a pie shell.  And we got cool whip for the topping.  And so, today, I put the "pie" together myself.  Filled (to the brim) 6 small shells, plus a bonus bowl.

They're all in the refrigerator now chilling.  I grilled steaks tonight, and Marge cooked asparagus and baked potatoes.  And soon I'll be sampling the key lime desserts I put together.  I already know it'll be good, because I licked the spoon after pouring the filling into the shells.

So, my hat is off to Doubleday.  I heartily recommend this one, or any cookbook for males who want to take a step into adventure.  Want something in particular?  Make it yourself!

But you know what?  Mostly I acknowledge that Marge's cooking is far superior to what I could do.  So here's hoping I never have to do all my own cooking.

Nevertheless, if Marge were unable to cook, I know that I would do my part.  That's what teamwork is all about.