Lesson 2. Learning

Learning had to be rediscovered, in an unlikely place. 

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Have you ever been lost in your thoughts? Randomness? A thought pops into your head and you don't know where it came from. Many times it's your past. Things that have happened that have not let you go. Why have they hung on? Let's talk about that. Hi, I'm Timesmith. Welcome back. I hope you got a chance to listen to the last lesson. I was talking about memories. Well, we started off in the foyer of our minds. Well, the foyer of my mind. From here on out, we'll just call it the forge. It's something that I associate a little bit better with. It's part of my trade. I like to forge tools and weld, work on cars and hobbies of such. But if I were to describe a little bit better what the forge is like, aside from the elevator to the left, the staircase to the right, and the counter in the center, is that behind the counter there's a large staircase headed upward. I would say those are the good things. in our life, the things that we end up advancing to. But for the sake of this podcast and for now, I want to keep us on track with brokenness, with some of these memories. As I thought about even the forge and why it is a forge, I think a lot about my own father. I think about the training he gave me to become a tradesman, to become a mechanic, to become a fabricator. Now, let's step down into the first subfloor. Watch your step. Don't walk too fast. I've made sure that there's nothing here that you could trip on. As we walk past some of these memories, we come onto a door. It's the door of me being a child. When I open it up, there's a picture there. pre-adolescent, with me and my father. From a very early age, I worked with my father, holding the flashlight, grabbing tools. Most of the time it was the wrong one, but that's how I tried to help. And one night, my father was working late on one of his cars. Actually, it was an Isuzu Trooper II. It was our family vehicle. And I think he was working on a clutch. I do remember that the transmission was out. I was really young. Maybe around six or seven years old. Old enough to carry a flashlight and to lay down on the cold concrete floor and light it up where he asked me to. I noticed that my father was balancing this transmission with the jack, two hands, and a knee on the transmission. It didn't feel safe at all. Well, as he was struggling, he decided to take a break, and we mounted the transmission back up, and in that moment I asked my dad if I could use the restroom. He said yes. Let's take a break. As I go inside, I hear my dad faintly yelling, Help! Help! I looked out the bathroom door and I noticed no one was moving around. So I ran out. I noticed my father had the transmission across his head. I ran up to him and I pushed it off. Then I dragged my dad out by his foot. He seemed to be okay and I'm not sure if it was entirely all me pulling him out. But he had a gash on his head. And that ended the work for the night. So let's stop that memory right there. Again, let's step outside the room. What we see is a father and a son working. A somewhat tragic moment that a son would find his dad with the transmission on his head. For about two seconds, the situation looked really bad. I learned my father was a tough man. But something happened that day. As a young boy, I realized that I should be helping my father. But that was the way I learned. It was that very moment that I learned that I can take apart cars and put them back together. I learned that I liked welding. I learned that I like cutting steel and welding it. I learned that I like to build things. I learned that there was a process. That process, how has it applied to this? I can never steer away from the fact that even in the midst of learning, there was a huge hole in me and a massive brokenness. Without keeping you guessing for too long, maybe a couple more lessons and I'll explain to you what that brokenness is. But that brokenness had shattered me completely. My thinking process, my development, my recognition, my comprehension, it was all affected. I was not able to complete tasks, let alone stardom. But I did understand that there was a process. That there had to be a way to overcome and there had to be a way to conquer. That a person shouldn't live defeated, or numb, or just coping with everything that comes at them. This became a challenge. Yes, much like learning with my father how to disassemble a car, or do a brake job, or do a head job, which are difficult. Well, once you do it, you learn the steps, and it's not so difficult. It's just time. It just takes time. Fabricating and making gates and handrails. Yes, when I started off, it was very difficult. But now I just see it as it just takes time. And the process of rebuilding brokenness and mending takes time. When I look at these rooms outside of this memory, I think about all the time invested into building these rooms. Completing these rooms. Making them habitable for myself. A place that I wouldn't hurt myself. And at times a place that I needed someone else. Yes, sometimes I had faith. Sometimes I had family. Sometimes I had my wife. Sometimes I had a friend. And sometimes... I had to do it alone. But it's a process. It's not always one thing all the time. Once you complete it one way, you move on to the next step and it becomes the next thing for the next moment. What exactly am I saying? You might have a problem. You might have just realized it. It recently might have gotten the best of you. Or you've been dealing with it for a very long time, unable to overcome it. For some, it starts off that we want to get rid of it. And we could be in that thought for a very long time. It's still a step in the process. For others, we might pick up a book a podcast, self-help, going to church, finding a way to overcome it, trying to find exactly where we are in the process. That's what it is. It's a process. Every step of the way, starting and completing tasks. Once the desire comes, that's the beginning of the task. But you must continue to complete the job. If we go back into that memory, I remember the next day my father came home and he said, hey. And I go, yes, dad, do you want to finish? I told him I'd go outside and go help him. Now with a little more intent, I positioned myself laid down on the ground, and together we pushed the transmission in, locking it in with a couple bolts and taking a large sigh of relief. Let's step out again. That relief of completing the task, even when it beats us up, even when it gets the best of us, it's still a part of the process. My father had a habit of when he would complete a job, he would just say, thank you, God. He had a gratitude within himself, a gratitude of knowing that he completed that process. Yes, we still had to attach the driveline and the bolts, but the heavy part was done. So what exactly is the heavy part in your life? Is it starting? Is it breaking the habit? Is it actually telling yourself that that habit must go? Is it telling yourself that person must go? Is it telling yourself something must go? None of it is easy. And never mind about people not liking you. You might not like yourself in the process. But if the conviction is there and it tells you that you must complete that task, then you must finish. It's the only way to find peace. I look inside that memory. And I remember glancing up at my dad after when we got up. Just looking up in a sigh of relief. That was peace. Yeah, he still had the bandage on his head or a band-aid on his head. But he had peace. Sometimes we have scars from the things that we've experienced. Sometimes we have bruises and bumps from where we're at in the process. But that's evidence that we fought through. That's evidence that we learned. Yes, we don't always have to learn from our mistakes. Sometimes we learn by listening. But sometimes life just happens. And we must do what's necessary in that moment. So, let's just take one step back away from that room. Again, the elevator to the left and staircase to the right. There's a lot of work that's been done in here. And that's what I hope to accomplish even with you in sharing. I'm not a doctor. I'm just somebody who's overcome. Again, I represent something larger. Something more than a feeling. I represent a hope. When we go beyond being a statistic. Many times we're told, and I was told, that we won't amount to much or anything. But that didn't stop me. Quietly, I structured myself mentally and I built strength. I strengthened my heart. I put myself firm and I determined that I was going to overcome all my shortcomings. That's all I have for today. So, let me walk you out. Why don't we just take the stairs back up and exit out of the forge. Remember, If you feel lost, you can be found. If you feel unloved, you are loved. Have a great day. Goodbye. I am the Timesmith.