The Wave

The sun, being tired on all accounts, has retired and is feining to rise, not wishing to shake off the warmth of it's bed.  I on the other hand have risen.  My bed consisting of the carpet, a white squishy pillow, and a blanket have since jostled me into this awakened state hence I feel inspired to write.

My brother is home for the Holidays, along with other college students according to their households, and we decided to attend a basketball tournament that our former High School would be participating in.  Being alumni of not only the school but the team, we found humor and a very subtle source of accomplishment reinjected as we stumbled into the stands.  We were never the greatest, posting up enough points not to lose every game conceivable, but we were decent.  My brother was the star and my friend his bionic machine.  My job on the team was to find some way to teleport the ball to Jared, which was never very difficult given our twin telepathy (it does exist...). 

It was only a murmur ago that we were standing upon the hardwood, blue jersey squished into our color coordinated trousers, high-top shoes laced until they hugged the ankle.  The sound brought back every inescapable memory as if trapped in never ending overtime.  Whistles blew the game to life as a mega horn from the scoreboard traveled across the bleachers.  Parents adament of their child's future glory or at least hopeful of their safe enjoyment, lined the stands, sitting despite the notion given by their seats.

The court was great and all, but my story this morning will dribble us from the gymnasium across the street to the local Wendy's.  I suppose the above paragraph could have been juked in the first place, but I admittedly have been enjoying these strange basketball adjectives.  Now for the cross-over.

Wendy's was decently deserted, given the frosty is pretty much the tastiest ice cream available besides Cornerstone.  I enjoy dipping my fries into the ambrosian soft serve and hence was able to sway a small car of hungy men into dining within the bricked facility.  The line swirved through that black metal fencing, the kind created specifically for those of us who haven't made up our minds yet and might still need a sluggish moment to turn the thought over.  Being on a decent, post Christmas income, the dollar menu seemed rather tasty.  Wendy must have been a great cook though her math is somewhat scary.  The priced num nums were faintly reminsicent of Canada's tagging though the staff at this late of an hour seemed of better temperment.  (Yes, I did reference the fantastic country of Canada.  Being neighbors to the nation, my brother and I have ventured across the border to experience KFC.  Terrible reason if searching for food, but since we were roused by adventure, a cousin's graduation from the local High School in Grimsby, and the love of accents we mosied over the great divide.  Gotta love the Canadians eh?).

Tonight, post ordering, we gathered around conjoined tables with my friend Colten whom also was a former star of the Globe Trotters (at least in our quaint hometown).  The fry and frosty combo surpassed its glorious reputation and as my eyes began to wander, as they are so prone to in  any place with available scenery, I noticed a couple placing an order at the counter.

This may be my air ball moment of eternity.  Any time I witness someone waving my hand instinctively returns the gesture.  They may be a complete stranger, and I am not expecting to be in acquaintences with everyone upon this ball of fascinating creation but it only seems fair to be friendly.  Unfortunately, 9 of 10 times, I find that they are indeed not motioning to me but one of their relations; as the true recipient emerges from nearby my post.  This generally will cause my cheeks to flush a more brilliant shade of red than the painted LARGE container of fries I am devouring or even Wendy's pigtailed innocence. This was to be the case this evening as well, my attempts to friendship were stuffed and it tasted no where near as good as Wendy's baked potato.

As I was recalling, a couple was ordering at the counter.  Their 5 year old girl with deep blond locks was circling her 7 year old brother in a strangely awkward game of duck-duck-goose.  The parents were completely directed towards the menu and the fidgeting cashier decked with green possibly in honor of the recent holiday.  For a moment, I wondered what a Christmas dinner sponsored by Wendy's would be like.  Probably brilliant, being reminded of "The Christmas Story" excursion to the Chinese restaraunt.  (If you ever have the opportunity, the film is a real marksman when it comes to entertainment and the warm feeling of growing up so much so that you could "shoot your eye out" if you are not careful.)

Anywho, the couple turned in my general direction towards the opposite corner of the building where my friends and I were feasting.  Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers, frosties and fries...the dinner of Champions (props to Wheaties for starting our day right).  Their glance diverted as I met their sights.  Finishing my yummies, I looked back to double check whether their eyes were seeking mine.  A wave appeared in the distance, and as in the stands of an exciting game, I am hard pressed not to continue the motion.  My hand began to rise but then, the buzzer. A small child cradled by a oaken booster seat intercepted my joy, cherrypicking the goodness.  She was only about a year of so old with locks as blond as the vanilla frosty I did not favor (being a chocolate fan).  This would have been just another blooper but what gave the play a certain instant replay feel was what happened post kodak moment.

As the girl's hand receeded back into her mouth, the parents eyes lifted only to find my hand still in the air.  A look of horror spread across their face as if they were munching a burned fry or stale soda.  My hand returned back it's cave in my large container of fries and the family returned to their table.

I washed down my dignity with the remnants of ice cream and hustled back to the match which ended in our losing from simple mistakes.  But as for me, after the Wendy's Wave mishap, it was game over. 

What puzzles you?

            To conclude Christmas this year, I have been watching Evan Almighty throughout the waning hours of the morning.  Being asked to complete a project admittedly requires a sense of patience and I’m sure if the big man himself asked me to assemble one of those 10000 piece puzzles, that I would not only be lost on how to begin but that I would probably not be able to visualize the significance.  But what if God revealed the big picture?  Would you have the courage to stick out the puzzle until its completion?  Noah sought God.  In doing so, he was asked to build a ship in the middle of a drought for justice and purity.  His story is told in greater detail in Genesis 6.  The patience his family had for him must have been the life jacket that kept him afloat for I, given my nature of backstage preference, would not be able to complete such a monument in broad daylight before the world.   Might there have been a slight moment when he stood back and flummoxed the scenario?  I would view the situation as Woody approaches Bud Light Year for the first time after he "crash lands" on Andy's bed: with suspicion and intrigue.  To which God's reply would probably be: "You are a sad, strange little man...you have my pity." (Sorry, couldn't resist).

When asking for patience for service, I have found it difficult to extract myself from the moment to view the opportunity.  God may as well be John Madden with how many circles he draws around an individual or a deed suggesting “Choose me” or “Over here, I need your help.” Maybe it is due to my distaste in football but I completely ignore these signals especially those drawn by a more omnipotent source than the football celebrity.

Opportunity is all around, appearing more so when we ask and still presented when we don’t.  The garbage required burning, so my Aunt volunteered to remove the waste during this eves party.  I noticed out of the corner of my scope and was soon to assist.  While outside, gathered around the burning pile, she said “We grow into responsibility but are given more if we ask.”  Many instances in life can attest and any blank can be filled by a glimpse of school work or the various chores needing to be tackled about the household.  A checklist use to exist once my brother and I returned home from a gruesomely tiresome day of school work (or so we thought).  My brother would tackle the dog (at times, literally) while I nurtured the cats.  Working together, and attempting to balance the work load was never easy and often found one or the other with an extra chore but it was the moments when one of us stepped out of routine that our parents would truly give us credit.  On the other hand, by failing to accomplish the designated feat, we were relentlessly whipped with a wet noodle and sent to our rooms. 

Our parents were always right on though.  They always seemed to have a sixth sense about those white lies we swept into play rather than simply sweeping the porch.  My brother was brilliant, and rather witty, being able to string together gibberish into plausible events while I would stumble over my lunch earlier that day.

As I had mentioned beforehand, “going the extra mile” had been apart of our upbringing.  My mother, being a first grade teaching instilled in us the prospect and glory of extra credit.  She would always encourage us to put forth that extra weekend effort or coloring job to earn even a measly few bonus points.  “It shows your teacher that you care and are learning.” She would rebuttal my grunts as my fingers cramped and Saturday anxiety set in to waste away the day with nothing more than movies and crazy outside antics in the hose.  (For clarity, our hose did not work, but down the street a farming family owned a dinky sprinkler in the shape of a tractor, which they would place right next to the road and we thought it was totally cool just to ride by on bicycle and get squirted.  This may be lame in theory, but felt grand on warm summer days just before falling from ones bike, Ghost Rider style and scraping your knee because the water sprayed your eye.  We, of course, meant to do that…

One feat that I have always meant to accomplish has been a Rubik’ Cube.  Seeing film of children miraculously spinning this square into completion have left me to feel not only incredibly blown away by their skills, but taken aback by my own lack of patience and sight, two vital parts of the process.  One must be able to persevere long enough (not just removing the stickers or asking someone else to have a go) but actually stick with the object.  A greater vision is required as well in that this will enable for a better vantage for the next turn needed and the overall completion of the puzzle.

            This elementary concept, of extra effort and random out spurts of genuine dedication did the trick.  With the aide of extra credit, grades were generally fairly decent, though elementary seemed to be pretty accepting through its scheme of S & S+.  Once High School rolled about, weekend projects seemed second nature.

            Even my church life, for some reason, decided to become proactive.  I sat, sandwiched in the most crowded pew available, one Sunday evening, only to weasel my way behind my mother during service to gently whisper in her ear that I was ready.

I wandered to the front, during invitation, and was dunked by the minister.  The thought had completely vacated my mind that I had been having study sessions with him every Saturday for the past few months.  Each visit, he would pop in a VHS about the bible and I would answer questions in a small booklet no larger than the ones issued every year at Camp.  The material wasn’t very difficult, and I always was given the option to review the film, pause, stop, rewind etc. to locate a missing article or something that I had simply bypassed.  A promise had been made, given that my new minister was a magician, that if I were to score perfectly on one of the pamphlets, that he would perform a magic trick (which he was fairly skilled with I might add).  I was determined to receive the bestest score possible, unfortunately each session yielded being only a few questions shy.  Everything came to rest upon the final mentoring session.  I felt the quiz to be pretty simple but much to my dismay, I had missed a question.  Being pretty much the greatest magician ever (at least in my book) and because my mother had baked cookies, he readily performed a trick regardless.  All of these thoughts did not flash into my memory, until my first nights rest after the submersion.  During the ceremony, I pretty much felt blank and dazed:  Blank while shoved under and dazed because immediately after drying and standing for a procession of hugs I had immediately skipped to my minister to request next Sunday’s scripture reading!  What am I doing!??!  I have never been a public speaker let alone a server in church.  I opened doors at my father’s church, but that was only because I was young and my dad wished for us to be put to use rather than running wild.  What If I stutter or choke?  Or my pants fall?  (Well at least there will be a podium that I may hide behind though I should probably wear a belt).  HELP!

            Standing at the Lord’s Table seemed somewhat easier.  You were in front of the congregation (only about 100 being that I come from a small church) but you were surrounded by your friends so the mass was not necessarily staring at you, but they were listening during the prayer.  Scripture was completely solo.  No crew or posse of prayers, just the bible, you and the crowd of followers.  Asking for this duty provided enough concerns but seemed remarkably less worry worthy than originally predicted.  I didn’t mind being upon the stage and I was simply reading.  I am halfway literate…that’s a start I suppose.

            It would seem as though each opportunity that we make ourselves available and accept the tasks placed before us that more will soon take their spot.  And as my wise aunt mentioned that more shall be placed into our laps.  Sometimes I feel as though I were not made for this; that others, more gifted with speech and powerful thought, were meant to live in my shoes.  I began by opening doors, against my will until it became second nature.  Somehow along the lines the Lord decided that more should be set upon my plate.  I am not in any way arguing my portion or being ungrateful for I believe that this is his feast that I have been privileged to attend.  Sometimes though, I question, why me?  Why am I honored to dine with you and serve in such a manner when my friend, who has no idea who you are, is much more influential?  Or this girl I know, wow can she sing.  Why not sing through her?  I met this one person, and though I had no idea who they were…they were just glowing!  With all of these people at your finger tips…why me?

            This has been the strangest string of thought and pardon me if I scroll up to check whether or not any point has been made [scrolls] but I feel as though our desire has some wage with how the Lord uses us.  To possess the yearning and passion to stand and live is something that I admire in those whose drive is for his will.  When opportunity shows itself, pulling back that curtain just enough to let a slim amount of light through, grab and hold tight to that hope, for there will be more to come.   One must merely be ready for the light in the first place, even while it is yet dark.

            This is why Noah’s story fascinates me.  He followed, no matter how painstaking or abnormal it made him seem.  He listened and obeyed.  I believe that the Lord can work wonders by himself but will ask our help if we are willing, sometimes even if we aren’t (i.e. Moses helping to save his people from Egypt).  The Lord will use us if we make ourselves available.  Having the courage to stand when others shy away may be one instance.  Helping though we are completely “out of our league” let alone our comfort zones may be another.  A friend holds a devotional at his house.  The men that gather each contribute their wisdom into the discussions and it always seems to transcend our own hopes for each meeting.  Something that has been made clear is that even though we were chosen we still must be willing to serve.  This may be one reason why the Jews were leapfrogged by the Gentiles for some time.

            I am still learning to recognize each door and window that the Lord bursts open for me and at times I am quick to shut them because I am uncomfortable and bashful but it is not becoming for the doormen to seal their post from the guests. 

Matthew 25 portrays the parable of the ten virgins preparing to meet the Bridegroom.  Five were wise, in that they stocked up on oil for the evening; however, the other five were foolish and did not prepare.  The guests arrived and guess who was left out in the cold…

In a sense this is discussing being prepared for what we know to be inevitable, the coming of the Lord.  But I believe there is a gesture of willingness professed in the text as well.  The five wise servants set out and prepared.

These 10 were given a notion while Noah was given explicit instructions.  In either situation, our dedication is going to be the deciding factor.  What will we give and to what lengths will we serve?  This may decided whether we sink or float (Terrible pun but hopefully a point).

Revelations 3:20 “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with me.” Matthew 25:13 submits the concept “"Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.”  Given that we know not of the Lord’s return, hopefully, I will be at my sentry when he needs me…

This is my puzzle that I struggle with each day, my personal Rubik’s cube. 

(5:20) am...Happy Holidays everyone.  Sleep well.

~Deus fortuno

Spirited Diction

[2:30-3:41 a.m.  The monologue.]

Words spewed forth upon hardwood reflecting orbed heat lamps.  They were shrewd and cruel yet filled with passion.  Racial injustice swam through ages of malice, to somehow audit the accompanied and spur the speaker with intolerable fury.

          Helpless I sat; patiently gazing towards my feet in vain attempts of avoiding his bludgeoning stare. Each word forcibly implanted itself into my mother’s heart.  The seemingly endless syllables slurred through the morning staleness in successive efforts towards reading my character.  Unbeknownst to me, the reading had occurred prior to my invitational presence.

          The faded crescent moon, though distal, observed a deep blue mini-van braving the rugged side streets on direct route to a beloved friends abode.  Music trumpeted popular songs from every era, providing rhythmic background for my trip.  The normal Kelly Clarkson tracks were replaced by my mother’s "Dream Girl Soundtrack".  Bopping along the darkened path, my friends greeted me with exaltation and a round of Marco’s Pizza upon my arrival (I highly advise against the liquidated lipid misrepresenting the label of “Garlic Sauce,” it’s pretty slimy and for some reason caused excessive flatulence in one member of our triad).  The slumber party was hyper with excitement and spent a great deal of the evening researching the release of the upcoming undead shooter “Left 4 Dead.”  Given our current zombie state, the group established base among the form-fitting furniture and nestled in preparing to drift away before the cultured monstrosity of Godzilla (VHS for the win) wreaked havoc inside the television.

          The journey back to my current dwelling proved short-lived and procured an awkward scene whilst entering the structure.  Frozen in the doorway, I could see myself stalled in this chair, surrounding the island, statuesque while bearing a burden unable to be perceived. As my mind maundered, the conversation began to aberrate.  One single sentence shot a merciless bullet sharply through my heart, snipping any chords of trust that may have been strung.  Beyond intellect and moral statutes, my journal had been infiltrated once again, though it had been concealed. The greedily curious fingers that flipped through each page, now, condescendingly retorted impressions of slander and distaste at my unsuspecting sentry.  No defense can rectify against such intrusive treachery.  The penned emotion is of the purest nature and constrained,  never to express more than a depiction of any scene.  Colorful words, gossip, and slander are forbidden within my sheeted sanctum.  My sacred thoughts as seed, though sewn and sealed from vile entanglement of weed, had been reaped without the gardeners will.

          Now they are but thorns in my side.

          Causing me to question, once more…

          Is nothing sacred?

As in some tragic fable, I feel that this tale should carry some sort of moral.

This may serve a valuable lesson.  With my tendency towards misplacing belongings, I should keep a weary eye on that which is significant to me.  

But what if I had misplaced my bible? 

I suppose that none would question it's composition given that it reflects the inspired word of God.  Yet if taken out of context, thoughts fundamental to comprehension may possibly become misconstrued. Sermons have been preached magnifying a particular chapter of the book (ex. John Chapter 2) or even a single sentence. The speech will be rendered beautifully but will disillusion the audience to the words found within the following Chapters or ignore the idea continuously following the period.  Extrapolating ideas is marvelous but please attempt to take the entirety of the thought, in context; one may find the complete story in this manner.  Hence, eavesdropping is generally misleading.

Admittedly, I have yet to read through the entire text of the Bible (which may cause concern given that I seek a Youth Ministry lifestyle), but would encourage any to share in this endeavor with me.  Hopefully it will yield a larger perspective of the grand scheme of things, and maybe offer clarity along the way.  

Be mindful the words that you speak and especially those which remain unspoken for both bear your spirit, may they be pure in all regards.

My friend, to whom, this will make sense:

1 Peter 4:10

          “As each one has received a special gift, employ it in serving one another as good stewards of the manifold graced of God.”

I pray that these words will bring comfort to your unrest.

Just pray.

Then Serve.

 

Sleep well my friends for night is fleeting (Currently 6:31 a.m.)

~Deus fortuno

The Sinful Odyssey of a Sailor

(S.O.S.)

            Today, I traveled across the way, to my grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving.  The family was gathered and flocked towards the door, which, to my misconception, was purposed to lead the guests to the basement and was not primarily in accordance with my entrance.  I was merely blocking the path.

            On more than one occasion, my caveman appearance gave some the impression that I was Jesus.  This had caused me to flush with color which was carefully shrouded in fur.  Being referred to in such a manner is very humbling, yet feels rather misplaced given that the assumption is based off of superficial representation.  If there were any comparison given, I pray that it would be in deed for I feel that words are powerful yet acting upon them instills resounding lessons.

            The hustle found in the kitchen was only comparable to the commotion of the living quarters.  Much of the family had filled any remaining elbow room, and even more seemed to appear from the crevices of furniture where once it thought only lint to dwell.  I resumed the uncushioned stool to which I had been accustomed, conveniently spaced in the corner of the largest room.  The seat, though uncomfortable, offered the greatest vantage for the festivities about to be held.

            With food and family a plenty, a prayer was echoed in the mist of good health.  Guests were ushered through the excessively-existent line and my Papaw and I readily trailed the end. The air carried the sweetened aroma of mashed potatoes, two varieties of stuffing, and pumpkin pie, suffering knife slashes across the crust, patiently waiting to be devoured.

            It was during this conga of jeer that I disembodied.  A feeling of sickness churned within my gut.  Thoughts piled in my mind of those who were enjoying less, who did not have the smell of cheer to awaken their spirits, or even this splintering barstool to perch upon.  My friend in Detroit whom had taken it upon himself to bring joy to all those without, regardless whether he was himself well off; given so little, he found every reason to be thankful.  He made it a point to acknowledge all that passed, giving them a sense of presence and worth.  His sense of humor, allowed for the dreariest of predicaments to be viewed with a lighter heart than this cold burdensome world would permit.  Sam was his name by birth, but he was known as Popeye and his impersonation gave strength to his character of genuine love.

            I was able to touch base with this light much after the earth’s had set.  He told of the feast he had delighted in and of the vast amount of leftovers still waiting to be enjoyed.  Tonight, he shall be residing in a plaza; tomorrow, who knows.

            I am selfish.  This was recognized as the preconceived unrest in my tummy.  A friend, during the Thanksgiving feast held at a local church, had mentioned the intent of visiting the needy during the holiday, on the very hour of celebration.  His spirit yearned to be by their side, basking in the fellowship rather than the heat of the methodically kindled fire. I desire to be fueled by this passion.  To give of yourself when it is expected has it’s allotted respect, but to give when the moment is least perceived requires a true sense of humility attributed to those seeking a greater good.  If we are to thirst for God, I cannot imagine a greater calling than to serve others.

Isaiah 41:17 states "The poor and needy search for water, but there is none; their tongues are parched with thirst.  But I the Lord will answer them; I, the God of Isreal, will not forsake them."  I find this verse to be reassuring.  On a day so frigid by season and spurred by thankful prayers, there are those without even the most basic necessities.  During the time when my group of companions may not be able to visit them and they are left to wander in the stilled night air, they are not alone.

Another verse that rang out when confronted by my present idle state reflected text from Mark 14:7 "The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want.  But you will not always have me."  I had avoided spending time with my family throughout the duration of my college thus far due to the discord plaguingly thriving within the permieters of 'home.'  I could not bring myself to make the journey towards a land filled with hatred and selfish sin (I figure repeating a word, which would normally cause some to seemingly stutter, could only resoundingly imply the severity of the matter given the circumstances [i.e. selfish sin]).  Instead, I filled as much time as was allotted in the presence of those much less fortunate.

"Rising above the waves is half the enjoyment of the cruise,” offered a breeze by which to sail through these troubled waters, and its utterance provided some sense of calm. The author is anonymous, but the message is clear.  I needed to journey back, if not for the enjoyment, then for the sheer intention of the journey. 

Thanksgiving is a time derived around the family and if I were to live in avoidance of mine, how could I hope to be offer counsel to others amidst theirs.  I may not be able to mend the bridges that were burned with such scorching hostility, nor save those who were residing on them that have since been cast into the blackened depths, but I may be able to offer a ladder.

            I have not been able to regain myself in entirety since the incident, nor do I claim to be immune to its ill-intent; but some strength inside is demanding that I give aide to those that have fallen, given that I was redeemed from the bowels of Hades and the stygian powers oppressing my shattered being.

            My mother was a thought unto herself.  Since the recent divorce, she has found another and has hence been dismissed from our family.  In a sense, and for lack of a better word, shunned.  Feeling their jubilation and hearing their merry banter brought a sense of dread to loom over my shoulder.  She suffers each day, knowing the relationship once connecting her to her offspring lie in tatters, its glowing embers gasping at her feet. It’s suffocating to watch her squirm, under the sorrow released through tears of grief and disbelief.  How she wishes to travel back, but fears the descent.

            This day has been of pure reflection and has seemed more theatrical than anything else.  I have sat, in a seat, for the majority of this production, merely to watch the story unfold.  Plot thickening around every turn, drama springing from uncharted wells. Though the scenery changes and night currently befalls the cast, here I sit, now by guidance of lamp and ambience of monitor beams to pen the events as they transpired, completely unscripted until I shed light upon their retelling.  (I have also begun to marvel the concept of the comma and of its seemingly endless uses).

            While any reasonable conclusion of love, and thankfulness can be gathered from such a Holiday predestined to inspire reminiscence, I hope to sketch another picture and possibly give one another vessel by which to sail this grand ocean swirling with whirlpools dashing weakened ships upon the rocks, infested with sharks (not all of which misconceptually being of the Jaws variety), spawning mermaids (and mermen-ladies may plunge into true love just as mystically), basing the most beautiful rainbows ever beheld by mortal eye, and hosting horrific storms sure to shred any sail and leave the occupants stranded or worse, capsized.

            No matter our standings, whether we have capsized or are still merrily sailing, I believe that we are ever given the opportunity to help our fellow sailor.  Whether they be found in the soaking city streets, behind the tarnished dumpster, idly resting upon the stairwell of the nearest abandon chapel, or within the dwelling once referred to as ‘home.’

 

As it is written:

 

James 2

Favoritism Forbidden

 1My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, don't show favoritism. 2Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man in shabby clothes also comes in. 3If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, "Here's a good seat for you," but say to the poor man, "You stand there" or "Sit on the floor by my feet," 4have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?

 5Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him? 6But you have insulted the poor. Is it not the rich who are exploiting you? Are they not the ones who are dragging you into court? 7Are they not the ones who are slandering the noble name of him to whom you belong?

 8If you really keep the royal law found in Scripture, "Love your neighbor as yourself,"^[a] you are doing right.

G.E.A.T.E.E.

[Give everything always to everyone everywhere]

Thank you lord for my friends, my family and my life.

May I always find reason to thank you even when I am too shallow, or deny you the right to sail my ship.  You may calm the storms, but my pathetic faith will draw me down, sinking me into this sea of disbelief.

Please help me stand before the torrential squall as it seeks to crush my desire and shred all hope.

I trust you lord.  Please calm these waves so threatening;

Without and within,

May your will be done.

 

Happy Thanksgiving to all, may the Lord give wind to your sails, carrying you safely to shore once more.

~Deus fortuno

 

Ps.  I can imagine the guidance Jonah must have heeded by patiently dwelling within the beast.  May the Lord, swallow me if a lesson ever needs to be taught. (Feel free to reflect the text of Jonah for further reference. I'm sure that the Lord will host a more compelling message than any feable attempt of instruction I may bequeath).

Until then, I shall listen and pray.

 

 

Socially Awkward

I was considering posting a new entry this evening, but due to a bed frame crunching my finger, I have thus decided to yield a single question:

Why are we selective while making friends?

Servitude

Have you ever had that churning feeling in your stomach, not from an upset tummy, but rather from knowing that you have missed something important.
I use to get the feeling quite often in school when I would leave my books atop the locker or in class when I would discover that my homework was still resting on my bed.
The all too familiar feeling was stirred below my gut once more today while rounding a turn to merge onto the interstate. A man sat along the curb near the emerald grass; thumb held at eye level. As centrifugal force pulled my vehicle through the turn, my eyes stayed behind; locked by the stranded pupils fading faster with each moment. We can say so much without even speaking.
I continued on my passage up the interstate for no longer than an exit. Something was calling me back and yet I doubted. Stories of hitchhiking killings sprang up in my mind like pop-ups. Every sense that I had was telling me to continue, that this could only end with disaster.
And yet, I turned my car around.
Deeper than all of the discombobulated thought that surged my view, one single concern silenced the chaos: He needs help.

A blue car pulled up next to me, parking just off the blacktop. As I rose from my grassy knoll, sleeping bag in hand, I couldn't help but grin. My journey was to continue.
Donalds da name. Nice to meet yue Josh.
I been travelin' since I was 'bout 14. Hitchhikin' some called it. My family'd been split since before then. Da eld'st wint wit my dad, da yung'st stay'd wit my mum. Bein' da oldest man of 15, they look'd to me fur supp'rt though I yearned fur nothin more then freedom. My beard grew out as I work'd my way through towns near Chattanooga. "There's only one Chattanooga is dis entire world." my granny us'd to tell me.
I've work'd in tanks, on boats, in ki'ch'ns.
Once I wus walkin' alongside da road wunce my beard done grown out. A man pull'd up next to me and ask'd if Id done sum thinkin' bout joinin' da army.
"I hav'd now."
I join'd da army fur three yers. Some guy attack'd me whilest I wus waitin in line fur my checkup. He threw me against da wall reel hard, but da instent my knees hit da floor, I wuz up throwin punches left and right. He grabb'd my arms tight and asked ifd I would stop.
"Never."
Frum that day on, I wus an army ranger, since da guy who'd assulted me already wus one of dat kind and da recrooters lik'd my will.
They trained us for a munth streight. Pullin' 24 hour days, restin' fur only 15 minuts wunce a day. We culdn't eat nothin' but whut we could find. We saw'd a chicken wonce. Boy did we have ad it. Took us near 15 minuts to catcht dat thing. Da strongest got da biggest peace. I think i had a leg, but it was grate. If'd da helicoptrs saw'd ya, they'd send tear gas. Boy did that burn. Whenevr we'd see those marine fella's we'd throw'd a can their ways just to poke fun. We know'd it wasn't right but we din't care.
Da man who threwd me gainst' da wall earlyer us'd to throw me out of my winda at nite fores I could wake to stop him. Aftr 'bout ten mornins of wakin' up in da outside with ony my boxrs on, I wis'd up. One nite, he came by to throw my mattress outside, and I wrapped my tow'l 'round his nek and drug him 'long fur da ride tue. He neverd thrown me out 'gain.
Wonce, I wus packin wit this truck drivr. He let me drive a Camera to his next plase. If i'd do it fur him, he'd board me fur da nite and giv me a hundred fur da trouble. So i wus like "ya! let's do it!"
Well, we pulled intu a club around midnite or so. He reeched into the gluv compertment and pulled oud a gun. I was like "I don't want no gun." He wint in and a few hours later, ran out followed by a group of 'em. They each had gunz to their side and start'd shootin da sky. I pick'd up that gun rite quick and said no more. My frind went back inside around 3am. I wus 'bout to go in and tell 'im thad I was just gonna keep packin' up the way so I went in and told him i'd leave. He followd. Wonce we left, he thank'd me all da way to da car, saying to himself how'd he didn't know how he was evr gonna make it out with his skin. Those guys weren't no good. I had sav'd him.
My wife, Mary, left me. She took evrythin'. I had a 300,000 dolla housedats gone. These bootz I've got came frum the last guy to drive me round. He let me wurk fur him fur a day then baught me these wurk bootz. It wus awful nice of him.
I've been sleepin anywher. In churches, last nite i wus outside the wendies with a tiny fire. Had sum beans 'n rice. I can cook. Use to cook for sailers. I make a harty meat gravy. I can also sing. Clubs down in Myrtle Beech wood let me sing fur hours. I sing cuntry, bloose, and wun rap song, but I can'd member wut its call'd. I can wurk with metals, woods, not that technologi stuff thou, my dau'ter is in two that stuff. I don't git it. See my hands, these workin' hands.
I have a son, and dau'ter. Haven't seen eider in a bit. I do call thou and tell 'em "HEY! Im in Virginia!" They like that stuff.
My granny is at home. She won't go to no "home", so we keep hur 'round and get hur to do stuff with us. She likes to knit. I bet I got every color of da rainbow in throws. Red, yella, bloo, green, tenessee color. She asks me wut color I wante next and Im like "It's up tue you grandma, you alredy made me the rainbow." I luv her.

We had gotten caught in traffic on the way. Stopped to nothing more than a snail's pace. Donald really enjoyed talking and I didn't mind the company. My original destination of Monroe, to visit my college had since been extended to somewhere in Detroit. The heat was sweltering. He had with him a small grayish-blue backpack, and what appeared to be an army sleeping bag. The water he pulled from his pocket was lemon flavor and carbonated. He didn't care for it too much, but it was wet.
We stopped off a ways into Detroit to get directions to the nearest day-hand shop. Somewhere that he would be able to make some quick cash with no obligation of staying. They redirected us to a place down the street, "The minuteman." A lovely park lined with trees lay opposite the beaten neighborhood. The outskirts of Detroit were nothing more than a small Hispanic villa. Not knowing what any of the signs meant left us both at a loss (I don't not speak Spanglish but props to Adam Sandler), but out of the corner of our peripherals we spotted sanctuary. A church. Pulling up to the curb, he jumped out and grabbing his bags, thanking me for the trouble.
It was no trouble at all, my friend.
God Bless.
As quickly as he had come into my life, he had vanished without a trace.
The trip back had such severe stop-go traffic, it felt as though by the time I would stand outside my car again I might be 5 lbs lighter. Lols.

My thoughts on this journey fell to a few stories I remember hearing when I was growing up.
One was of the good Samaritan. One individual among a few who was willing to help another and go out of his way to ensure that person's wellbeing.
The other, of a man waiting for Jesus to show up at his house. Three men came to his door, each asking for something; but the man denied them and sent them on their way.
The next day he questioned the Lord asking "why didn't you visit me last night."
I did, three times.
*Reference to Matthew 25:31-46*

I know this isn't the exact translation, but it captures the essence of what I'm trying to get across. Christ comes to us in many forms and when we least expect him. We just need to realize to open our door when he knocks.
The text itself may seem rather harsh, but I don't believe it is meant to scare us. More so encourage us to help our fellow man, those without and needing of someone's hand to pick them back up.

Maybe it's where the golden rule was derived from. Some ancient story of Jesus helping another in need. It's cool to find something of direct relevance from the past, yet disappointing to discover that school's will not credit the bible for the phrase. Actually, if you look up such a verse, or even Google it (Google has one-upped most things, even the discovery of sliced bread...sadly enough), you will find the biblical reference to "Do unto others"...and such *Matthew 7:12--Nice*

A few years before I attended Senior week, they held a session devoted to this idea of helping our brothers. The mural hung from the rafters depicted 2 frogs holding each other, carrying one another's burdens if you will. I found the frogs silly for they were wearing clothes that appeared to be from the GAP (the greeters at that store have some of the biggest smiles ever, they are just purely made of bubbles) but the point was well made.
As Christians we are always meant to seek after the likeness of God. To live, to the best of our abilities, in a "Godly" manner. While many will argue that such miracles as raising the dead from their graves is impossible (yet undoubtedly one of the coolest things ever), they are right. But God is not expecting us to become involved in the arts of necromancy. He just wants us to help each other, to go out of our way to meet someone else's needs other than fulfilling our own selfish nature. Christ himself was a very humble guy. I know that in my walk with him I will sometimes allow pride to hinder me from the selfless acts he lays at my doors step. Sometimes it is due to feeling uncomfortable in a given moment, or scared. At my weakest times, it's while others are around and I cannot bring myself to displease the crowd. It is for these moments I am eternally sorry, and have repented a thousand times over. For knowing the right thing and avoiding it, is sin, or so we are told *James 4:17*
Have you ever found yourself being able to relate to any specific disciple? An event happens and you are reminded of a bible story of similar nature? One day I may feel like Moses, nervous because they asked me to read scripture in front of the congregation and the text contains a bunch of big words and names that I know I'm either going to stumble over or giggle about because I have an odd sense of humor and silly words tickle me (*weaned-look it up, there is nothing too flashy about it, but I once spent a 30 minute class period beat red and in tears over this word, thanks Rems). The next instant, I feel like Peter. The one man who submitted to stay with Christ until the end only to "cop out" when interrogated by the crowd. We are all familiar with his story, I hope, but for those who need a topper.

--side note--
I read up on the chapter before hand, so don't feel guilty looking back. Please feel free.
--end side note--

Mark 14 is all about the passover, the time laid by for Christ to give us the unleavened bread and wine which represent his broken body and blood that would cover the sins of many.
There are so many lessons that can be pulled from this chapter, from the lady and the perfume to the dreaded "group-think" but we'll stick with "copping out" for now.
Anyway, Jesus sends two disciples ahead to prepare the room in some man's house. While they are feasting (The Lord's Supper), he announces that he will be betrayed by one of the guests at his table and everyone instinctively denies their liability. Jesus was of course, referring to Judas Iscariot who later is revealed for selling out the savior for 30 pieces of silver. Jesus then ventures into the garden of Gethsemane where he prays to the Lord that the hour pass and the cup be taken from him. Honestly, this does not seem like an unreasonable request given that he knows exactly how he's going to leave this earth and how much torture he is about to endure. Jesus with his selfless nature then submits to his father's will (Not my will but thine...) and leaves the Garden to find his men asleep. After being disappointed in their ability to stay awake while he's praying, they are joined by Judas who is being accompanied by a "crowd armed with swords and clubs" (NIV). Judas plants a betraying smooch on Jesus cheek which was the hidden signal (Not like that in Pee-Wee's playhouse. That random secret word always made me giggle Ha ha.) And Jesus is taken away.
Later while Jesus is before the Sanhedrin, everyone is falsely accusing him and mixing his words. He is the strong silent type and admits merely to being the Christ, the son of the blessed one (again NIV). They blind-fold him and begin beating him. All-the-while, Peter is watching from a distance in the courtyard, relaxing fireside with the guards. Trouble starts when a servant girl recognizes him. He denies his affiliation with Jesus and the prophesy is fulfilled that he will deny the Lord 3 times before the rooster crows.

As I said, there are times when I feel as Peter. Promising my servitude unto death for my savior but chickening out when the pressure is on. Does this mean we are less of Christians? I certainly hope not. The Lord knew Peter was going to leave his side through the ridicule. He knew that this would be his burden to bear, for all mankind. But the last verse depicts Peter's attitude once the deed is done. Verse 72: And he broke down and wept. Peter knew what he had done was against everything he had spoke of. If we do not catch all of the moments where God presents himself to us, he doesn't want us to beat ourselves up over the issue, just be better watchmen next time. Locking ourselves in our rooms and moping is not going to solve anything, nor will it progress our search for a more Christ-like life.

I'm not saying that next time you should find someone one the side of the road that you should feel obligated to pick them up, not at all. It's sad how today's society can create in us such fear. This was merely my experience. The advice I have is to merely answer when you hear him. Whether moved by his voice or through a feeling in your gut, act upon it.
We are instructed to be there for one another. Praying for each other, when physical presence is unattainable and supporting our brother throughout life's struggles.

(Hums Bill Withers: "Lean on Me". -Classic-)

Ecclesiastes 4:10
10 If one falls down,
his friend can help him up.
But pity the man who falls
and has no one to help him up!

Scripture to ponder:
Matthew 20:16

It's 3:33am here, I may retire for the night. Sleep well everyone.
-Deus Fortuno-

A light in the dark

People fascinate me. There is an unquenchable curiosity churning in my stomach that begs the question why?

--forewarning--There may not be quite the structure that many of my posts tend to have but I will do my best to make a point somewhere in the confusion.
--continue if you wish--

Why do we act the way we do? Why talk with speech of cruelty rather than encouragement? Why dress in a manner that will entice feelings in the opposite sex, then claim "sexual harassment" at the utterance of an "unexpected" comment? What were you expecting? How we present ourselves is a direct reflection of our beliefs but sometimes it seems as though people mix and match to such extent that we lose sight of where our origin truly lies.

The power of choice, one's freedom, was granted to the countrymen over the course of history, through wars since scattered amidst stories you will read of in the dusty history books they make you take home and study. Looking back, it was necessary. Needs were present and met through decisions that the country made as a whole. Complete trust was placed on those in power, that they had weighed the options and had actually put some thought into the possible repercussions. Freedom was granted to the nation as a result, which is the basis for my intrigue of earlier. Do we take our freedom for granite?
During a trip to Kohls previously in the evening, curious things hung from the disheveled racks. I find that I cannot always keep perfect focus while I am shopping. My mind tends to continue onwards even after I have stopped to check out a trendy pair of caprice. Fashion is something that I rarely follow, if you couldn't tell. The thought of guys wearing girl's pants is just disturbing. For reasons beyond me, some men believe that it makes them look way cooler than they would if they had been wearing denim that actually fit. While pacing through the rows of clothing my eyes wander to my surroundings. Next time you walts into any store you may notice that you're not the only one there. It's easy to have tunnel vision, especially if rushed, but if you get the chance take some time to just watch. It's one of my favorite things to do. Not in a "kid with a microscope" manner, but just be respective to the lady shopping with her daughter or the rebellious teens plundering the electronics section.
Society is often quick at sustaining itself in bubbles and completely avoiding the fact that we are not the only ones floating from the wand. Continuing with this aqueous metaphor of cosmic and comical proportion, even if we realize that we are not drifting alone, by God granting his followers the power of sight and allowing our hearts to see farther than this liquidated ectoplasm, does proper respect ever get paid to the one responsible for releasing us from the vial in which all had been once plunged. Saving us from a lost life doomed to spill into the depths of untold agony, with his very breath.

--side note--
I cannot believe that I depicted God as a child blowing bubbles. His son, the wand at his right hand. I suppose that it was the most innocent moment I could think of at the given time. Though memories of spilling a pink flask of the bubble goo all over my father's bible one Sunday still haunts my thoughts occasionally.
--end side note--

The choices made on a daily basis effect us in a much more profound manner than we can comprehend. Why then do we act with such lackadaisical awareness? Colorful language has become common talk. Many sentences are now filled with such vile substance that the culture is becoming numbed to it's original intent, accepting it's new hardcore nature as popular appeal. The rap songs that are blared featuring every other syllable being bleeped out, not taking a stab at anyone's means of self expression, which I respect wholeheartedly. But isn't there a better way? Man is always seeking to fit in, but to what extent will we strive? To the demoralization of known speech? Dehumanizing our friends to boost an ego already on the verge of bursting? Who justifies the conscience, or is that task taken upon the caster?

Dress, at times, is even more outspoken then words permit.
While in Kohls, there was a girl, well in her teen years, wearing a pair of shorts that were very snug. [By the way, the snuggle bear is one of the cutest things ever...just thought I would get that out in the open.] Anyway, not only were they snug, but in my brief glance they appeared to be consisting of only a few inches of actual fabric, leaving little to the imagination. Surely, her mom would not have permitted her to leave the house dressed in such a manner, but in the world now, who can be sure of such things?

As stated above, how we present ourselves is a direct reflection to our beliefs. Sometimes its hard to think about what the Lord would say if he were to comment on our behavior. Would he shake his head as a disappointed parent? Would he look away entirely? Would he approve?
History has a tendency of repeating itself, but in biblical terms he did more than just watch from the sideline. Knowing that he won't be flooding the earth again or completely decimating humanity through plague or flame as with Egypt or Sodom and Gammorah is somewhat comforting. While surrounded by such immoral deed we don't necessarily have to participate. Lot lived amongst the unclean, and the Lord saved him and his family from the doomed city.

Here are two scripture that came to mind that will hopefully help give answer to the question I've been typing for so long now:

1st Peter 3:8-12
8Finally, all of you, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble. 9Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing. 10For,
"Whoever would love life
and see good days
must keep his tongue from evil
and his lips from deceitful speech.
11He must turn from evil and do good;
he must seek peace and pursue it.
12For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous
and his ears are attentive to their prayer,
but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil."

Pray for those who still succumb and whose decisions are shrouded by the darkness.
While at the factory, a man approached me mid-shift. I did not know many of the employees for I was but a mere "temp" and would be leaving well before it was worth their time to get to know me on a deeper level. When I looked up from my operation, he was standing there in the midst of the noisy machines-greased thick with oil. He approached me, smirking. As I took out my ear piece from the Zune resting in my pocket, the new sound ringing in my ears caused me to step back once more in both shock, amazement and reverence.

"You're a Christian, right?" The man inquired.
"Sure am,"I replied, my eyes searching his soul for the reason for which he posed himself at such a time.
"So you don't like it when I curse then..." He continued.
"I believe that cursing is a failed attempt at finding a better word."
"So if you don't care for it, then God surely isn't a fan?"
"Most likely not..."
"Forgive me, that just puts things into better perspective. Thanks. "
With thought in mind, he vanished back into the the dungeon.

Matthew 5:14-17
14"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. 15Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven."

Scripture to ponder:
1 Corinthians 6:19-20
1 Corinthians 10:23-24

Our father met the needs of all who were lost to sin. Foreseeing man's inevitable doom to the bowels of hell, he saved us from its grasp by sending his son to sacrifice himself willingly for the multitudes of unworthy.
I am but an lowly sinner but he chose me out of the crowd. He observed my foolish ways with concern. He took me under his wing and I owe him much more than paper nor gold can afford.
I owe him my life, my soul.
Take what is rightfully yours Lord, and use me to your will. Though my abilities are not even close to par with others you have saved; my voice cracks, and I get clammy when in front of crowds, my body is your temple. Live through me, so you will receive the honor that is so rightfully yours.
This is my humble prayer as your servant.
Amen.

Faith as sheep

[Senior Week-Friday]
Nine of us, sprawled beneath the stars one night late in the week. We had already experienced the designated evening to bond-post campfire, but due to the recent topic that had spawned during one of the camping journeys, we found ourselves pleading for the discussion to remain open. Our shepherd for the week had guided the group's thoughts through troubled waters. He dared not leave our side through each session, when souls poured forth onto the grey tarp upon which we, his sheep, sat enthralled by words caressing the innermost soul. While inside our tent, another plane was opened to us. That of unrestricted thought, infinite imagination and open minded discussion.

Facades laid aside by those willing to forfeit the charade they so willingly displayed. Vast depths none could have foreseen opened the minds of those inhabiting this dwelling. It was, in essence, our own tabernacle. For we were never without his presence. The Lord made himself known upon each meeting and humbled all those in proximity.

Before delving too far into the week and wishing time away, we should first relive the twilight when he first opened our eyes to the other souls sharing life's once seemingly singular plight.

*silent prayer to myself before typing: Lord, take me back to Wednesday night. The ten of us huddled around the fire, that had almost gone out. When you whispered in our ears and told us that everything was going to be ok.*

[Senior Week-Backtrack to Wednesday]
The moon is blocked through a thicket of tree branches far above the campers heads. The night encroaches as they come to rest near the remnants of a fire pit. A small ember, hidden under charred logs, clings to the wood and valiantly kindles its reddish glow. [Don't die. For if you do, there will be no hope of rebirth. The masses will be plunged into total darkness. Don't die.]
The determined scouts glimpse this dying flame, and cast their hopes on starlit breeze to encourage the vestige. Sure enough, the spark rekindles, restoring light and banishing the darkness to the nether regions of the wood.
Those gathered by the fireside are drawn inward, mesmerized by the ensuing inferno. Song stirs the quite flock. Harmony is discovered embroidering words well before they leave the tongue. No one moves, the gathered grow quite and wait. Ghosts begin revealing themselves through eons of unspoken tale. Stories weighing heavily upon their tellers release their burdensome grip. No longer to cripple their captive's heart through subtle fallacy.
Hearing his call, they open their ears and listen to the harp of angelic lyre. Hearts saturate the ground with tears of compassion.

A chain of untold strength is welded in the fading hours of the eve. A halo of faith forged by the spirit passionately embracing his lost sheep. Prayers of humbled saints sing a symphony of selfless honor to transcendental thrones beyond the stars. Angels gather in quiet reverence to witness his wonder. The magic of rebirth through water, wisdom, and grace.

When I was younger, I use to believe that God was watching us from somewhere beyond the farthest star. Tonight, as angels bowed in reflective plea to their merciful father in heaven, he paced among us. Holding those that spoke, whispering calming words to their suffering souls.
We were not alone that night. He stayed with us the rest of the week as well. Never leaving our side. On Friday evening, he brought us back together for the finale to a week predestined by his will.

[Senior Week-Friday once more...]
The clock was to strike midnight soon. In the still of night, we read of his word, Psalm 139. Our group leader for the week had given us the task of reaching the selection in our own time, but now spoke of his intentions for the assignment. Would you give of yourself in such a way to fully trust in the Lord, to let him use you completely for his will? (The same way David did in this passage). If you allow him, he will use you to perform his wonders.

Matthew 17:20- 20He replied, "Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."

The lord spoke through Steve to guide us this week, and his son to provide a way for us to join him in heaven, once our days on earth have ceased to be.
Imagine how the Lord will use you.
"Stronger faiths are those which are more selfless."-Steve.

--footnote--
After the meeting took place Friday night, Kaitlin, Steve and I migrated to the porch. We then continued our deep discussion, by quoting our way through the film: Dumb and Dumber. Ha ha. Good times.
--end footnote--

Because you can

The evening was winding down. The sun beginning to set over the concrete horizon. Church service was to begin in an hour and a half and I hadn't even left the premises of the two story where I was staying. A message had been relayed that I was to meet my father at the nursing home where my grandmother was finding harbor. She has been ill as of lately and a visit would serve as good medicine during her healing process.
We pulled up almost simultaneously in the parking lot, on opposite sides of a red sports car. The blacktop scorching our shoes, we walked under the shade of the nearby overhang to escape the sun's dying glare. It seemed fitting that we would be standing here, at the close of such a humid day outside of a manor for those whose lives would be soon setting as well. I began to wonder if, while peering out their four-square windows into the fading daylight, they viewed the sky as a reflective mirror to their lives. My daydream was shaken by the sound of the automated door cordially inviting us inside. The air cooled to a breathable state once we had passed through the second gate that opened into the main corridor. Wheelchairs empty of their occupants were stored just to our right, waiting to be of service. The laminate floor glossy from the prior nights waxing made ample opportunity for my sneakers to perform their hidden ability, squeaking. It's not as though I were trying to cause a stir, but my shoes can sometimes speak for themselves.
Just passed the attendants desk was a group of friends congregating in a corner. I say friends loosely, for there is no way to be sure if a single one out of the lot even remembered the faces staring back at them, or realized where they were entirely for that matter. We passed rooms that could have easily doubled as floral gardens. Others acted as a closet for balloons, strung so benevolently from each vantage point that the occupant was lost in a rainbow of good cheer. For these folks, the term patient seemed irrelevant. For others, it could not have been more appropriate.
Silence surrounded their beds. Machines persistently pumping air into lungs too worn to support their master's will. Curtains drawn to hide the world beyond, a distant memory just out of reach. I often wonder what those who reside in these places are thinking of. Where, while in their dormant state, they escape to.
I admire those unwilling to surrender their mobility, their youth; whether by wheelchair or walker, every inch a struggle. A victory of personal achievement. My concern is extended to the bedridden. A constant prayer for both traced the echo of each step taken throughout this sanctum of generations past. A sense of humility rushes over my functioning body as a list forms before my eyes. Tallying all of the blessings bestowed upon my life, many of which are taken for granite in times of trial. It's humbling. Gazing into eyes full of life, spirits merely encased by wrinkled flesh and thinning bone. A childish heart brilliantly shining through the windows to their soul. I can see them, their souls, yearning for freedom. Calling out to any who will pause for a single moment to hear their cries. To listen to their stories. How I wish I could multiply myself ten-fold and visit each in their own time. The best legends are those of age. I would respectfully listen with intent to anyone older than myself willing to bestow a glimpse of wisdom from their journey amidst this world.
We continued our venture at a brisk pace due to engagements both visitors were expected to keep. The last room on the left belonged to my grandma. She is 93. Her eyes glistened with such brilliance that would have made a thousand light bulbs radiate with envy. She lifted her gaze from the floor to meet ours. Her white hair matted from lying down though she was currently sitting in the oak chair to the left of the bed pillow. Hugs were exchanged, the embrace frail yet strong in respect to our attempts to hold each other as we once did; before her illness.
Her roommate sitting in a chair nearby smiled kindly at our entrance. She had company as well, two daughters now well in their years themselves.
To look back with regret, that is a concern of mine. There is a secret held sacred by tales passed through generations. The truth is that there is no secret at all. "Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land the Lord your God is giving you." (Exodus 20:12).

"The Greatest Commandment:"
28One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?"29"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. 30Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' 31The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." (Mark 12:28-31)

Love is one of the most powerful emotions known to man. With this said, we are instructed to love one another and the Lord, our God with all of our heart and soul.

If we do these things, we shall never have to regret the life not lived.

In his eyes

This post is for all those who cannot sleep. Who wander about the darkness in search of that which is detained from them.

While the world rests, having vivid adventures in far off places, I sit awake and ponder my reality. Why the natural order of things is to rise during the time when the sun comes up and fall when paths end has been met. We are not a celestial body, a giant mass of fire hovering in space. And yet we are grounded in our beliefs. It is how we were raised. For most, the body begins to tire with each closing of the day. Mine, on the other hand, will generally spring forth with curiosity; questions that still rest in the nether regions of my mind that remained patiently unanswered in a given days time.

At any given time, I find myself in more than one place. Physically, I understand that I cannot leave my flesh and yet I yearn for more. While I saunter through this world each day allowing my thoughts to drift elsewhere. Many times my imagination will be sparked by something that I witness around me or a clever statement made by another. Whichever the case, I find myself always searching through the forgotten depths of life. Things most will overlook. Discarded ideas, once responsible for causing headaches or seeming too pointless to pursue, soon create a wondrous playground for the child trapped within. There really is no purpose to this, merely a sense of satisfied curiosity. Many answers that I formulate wouldn't even be considered logical by most but this is the recesses in which I escape. The silly thoughts of children are not pushed away or cast out because they are immature. We do not judge them for their feelings on life or their perceptions of the world they are just beginning to discover. Hence, my inner sanctum is based in this respect. In honor of the innocence and curiosity that seems to cripple and wither with age. During these times of thought, I find myself asking unrestricted questions, many of which share two common roots: What if? and Why?

What if: What if caterpillars had eating disorders?
Answer from Chelsea Greer and Tom (Tom) Mathias: If they ate too little, then they would be scrawny and pathetic; on the other hand, if they at too much they would not be able to fly at all. If they were to large, they may even consider taking up rolling as a means of travel (Their name would then of course have to be changed to a butter-roll *badum dum pssh*...not the easiest drum sound effect to sound out-forgive me, not the best joke either...).

What if: Will the Angel's win the pennant?
Answered by God when Roger Bomman (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) prayed to him one night after being dropped off at an orphanage style live-in. "God, if there is a God..." was the introduction to his prayer that night and a full batting season later, he was reunited with his father.

I truly admire how there are no "stupid" questions in his eyes. It's so easy to fall back and keep silent due to the oppressive nature of a politically correct society. Everything must be of utmost eloquence and we mustn't forget to spell check! If we only realized how feeble our attempts at perfection were, we would probably save ourselves much of the grief and stress that is plaguing our culture today. Maturity is forced upon us at a young age and it sometimes seems as though the benchmark is rising with each passing year.
My friend, Brian, and I were strolling through a Christian Book store just the other day and noticed a mother and her two sons near the back. As Brian headed towards the front of the store to retrieve a book that had caught his gaze, I pressed on in mild curiosity. I was intrigued by the children more so than the mother, partially due to the fact that I had only entered such a store once I reached the ripe age of 13, with my grandmother no less. I could not judge their maturity but they looked to be around the age of 9. These figures were of little importance at the time. All I wanted to know was their take on the current surroundings. How did they view this spiritual store? What did they see in it all?
My question was soon answered by shouts for jubilee from the back as the oldest, or at least taller of the two, held out an action figure. It was a Jesus collectible(...yes Steve, the same one we discussed). He asked his mother if he could have the doll, causing his brother to join in the chant. An adamant "NO" could be heard coming from even farther back, hidden behind the horizontal isles. Their begging persisted and then the woman uttered a phrase in sheer force of will that I didn't know how to take at the time. "Jesus is watching you, put the toy down!" and she quickly snatch the figure from her son's hand, replacing it with a book.
How can we do that to children. Why must we shatter their inspiration in something so pure? I know that we are to respect our parents, but enforcing the adult's will with a very stern use of "Jesus" somehow didn't seem like the appropriate way to use his name. I've heard the term "I'm going to instill the fear of God in you" and the phrase echoing then throughout the store was nothing new to my ears, yet both felt as though they were being misused. The bible tells us that if we love the lord, then we will fear him and keep his commandments. I can understand teaching a child not to steal for we are commanded against that too, but can one really justify scorning a kid and using the lord's name in the same sentence, let alone continuous breath? God deserves to be feared but his name should not be used to terrify young ones as though he were an unapproachable omnipresent force looming above with watchful eye, smiting staff at hand.

A few scriptures popped into my head as if a miniature light bulb had just turned on:
Proverbs 22:6 counsels us to " Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it."
Ecclesiastes 12:13 in reverence to the Lord: "Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man."
Finally to sum everything up, you can read the entire chapter of Deuteronomy 11 if you'd like, but here are some key excerpts:
Duet. 11:1 "Love the LORD your God and keep his requirements, his decrees, his laws and his commands always. " and continuing in verse 18-21: 18 Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. 19 Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. 20 Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, 21 so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land that the LORD swore to give your forefathers, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth."
God is undoubtedly the most powerful presence in all that exists. He created us and therefore we do owe him our servitude. It's the least we can do. After all, he is the reason we are permitted to take even one more breath. As parents, well I am not one yet but nevertheless, parents are to instruct their kids in the right paths as well as in the right manner. We are always looking to give children "a better life than we had," but along the way, too many fences can simply hinder them from being who they are...kids. Their innocence is the most precious thing in the lord's eyes.

It's actually around 4:35am-ish but these were the lingering thoughts floating in my head. I may turn in and call it a...morning. Well, anyway, I wish everyone a fair nights rest. G'night.

Just listen

Rain beat against the windows in the basement parallel to the sofa that I had crashed on the night before. I couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wrap itself around my awakening flesh. The soothing sound of each drop pelting the window grew with tumultuous roar as lightning struck in the distance causing a wave of thunder, shaking the house. As I rose from the bed, voices echoed throughout the corridor. I stood in the doorway, searching for their source. The room directly to my right was lit and the occupant was stationary at his computer yelling shouts of concern to his brother who had recently announced his intentions of running through the storm. There was silence for a short while in the house but it was soon interrupted by the slamming of the front door.
I had decided to take a shower but after scavenging my room for a fresh change of clothes and finding none, I was forced to put on my shoes and brave the weather first. The moment I opened the door a feeling overwhelmed me. It was not of fear, such as that I had felt the day prior but rather insignificance. My spirit left my body and as I looked down, the speck of my existence became clear. It was as if I were in a lighthouse on a beach. The sand that rested below outstretched far into the horizon. Each grain felt important, as if I had placed it there specifically. I felt the weight of their thoughts, their emotions, their prayers and I held each with such significance that I could not overlook a single one.
Back in the present, I rejoined my body. Continuing my passage to the car, the keys jingling inside the pocket of my camouflaged cargoes, I stopped once more. I wanted nothing more than the solitary sound of such transcendental water to echo in my ears. My keys fell silent and my ears became attuned to all that was around. Each noise amplified to a level much louder than normal hearing would have permitted. I began to listen.
The rain felt good, cleansing if you will. Each drop brought with it the sense of something greater. A message sealed inside the water that was currently pouring down from above, splashing across my face. I stood very still for a few moments, trying to take in exactly what was taking place. The words were there, undiluted and perfectly preserved in this liquid state. They spoke softly in a tone just above a whisper, and still they remained distinct.
"You are not alone," it said. "There are many others."
I couldn't move. This was no accident. I didn't want to move.
"I am insignificant," I replied inside my mind," there are so many, why me?"
"Do you doubt that I will take care of them all?"
"No."
"Then why do you walk with such fear?"
"Because I don't want to be forgotten. I feel alone, though surrounded."
"I have never left you, nor will I. You are as important to me as any of them."
His words were gentle, and pierced my heart without disturbing the rest of my body.
The next thoughts strung together before I could control their form. I did not utter a one, for I was in a separate realm now, and there was no need.
"I'm confused. I do not understand where you want me to go. What am I to do? Lately you have placed on my heart a sense of something greater, that I have pridefully overlooked. But I am scared, scared of being unprepared."
"Moses said that too. Did I not guide him? Did I not speak through his lips?
"*hmpf*Nice one, after spending two weeks at a camp, I am quick to forget the lesson we had learned. You are right. You did guide him through the desert. You spoke to him and he listened and all those around him listened to your words that were declared through him."
"Then why do you not trust that I will be with you as well?"
"That is just it, my concept of trust has been shattered. Any lack thereof has since shriveled."
"You prayed to me while at the factory. I delivered you from there into the camp. There I placed around you others, many of which you didn't know. I gave you courage to speak to them, and the wisdom to keep silent. I chose each intentionally to play a role in your life. I opened your ears to their words, and your heart to their feelings. Did you not see me as I walked among you while your group gathered around the fire? Or when the camp fell silent in my presence on Thursday, only to sing out from depths many had hidden. But I could see their souls. I worked through them. As I am working in you."
"I just wish that I could understand what you were saying. I have been numb for so long, and my memory has been failing me. Please, don't let what you say be as a vapor. Let it rest in me and echo outward. I don't want them to see me, I want them to see you. I don't care if their perception of me drops but I want them to realize you."
"It already has. Those around you have seen. They can see me. I can see that you are trying. But I have been trying even harder to make you understand."
"What am I to understand?"
"You need to let go, of everything. You bottle so much inside of you and you don't allow those that I send to come in and help. You worry about what tomorrow will bring, if your friend will disown you for spending another night on the sofa he has in the basement. You fear the future and that you are taking things too greatly into your own hands. You fear for your family, and their dwindling connection. You fear that I will leave you. But I haven't and I won't.
You're knowledge of my word and law is ever growing. I have heard your concerns and have acted upon them. There is nothing you have kept from me, though you have tried. If you will let me, I will speak through you. You need only to listen and allow me to perform my wonders. I am with you. Trust me."
"I will."

Sight was granted to my eyes once more. My clothes were soaked and my eyes were not spared from the water either.
To be honest, I am unsure at times if what I write is fiction or actually occurred due to how bad we are as man to need to see things in order to believe. This account though was real. I spoke not a single word the entire time, just listened.

Father God

Camp has a reputation of causing its harmonious songs to become trapped in one's head long after leaving. One such song that has been stuck on repeat in my mind has been: Father God. For all those that may be unfamiliar with the lyrics they are as follows:

"Father God, just for today;
help me to walk, your narrow way.
Help me stand, where I might fall;
give me the strength to hear your call.

May my steps, be worship;
May my thoughts, be praise;
May my words, bring honor to your name.
(repeat chorus)

It's easy to get ahead of ourselves. We get so caught up in the future and planning ahead that we start losing focus on the task at hand. Our father has granted us life for today, tomorrow is not even promised. We should praise him in everything that we do. Yet sometimes, our trust in the Lord falters and we may temporarily lose faith that he will see us through the rough times that plague us throughout our journey. But he is faithful to his children as long as we seek him.
What I really love about this song, is that it offers a simple prayer that completely covers the temptations one may experience in a given day.
Father God, may you always receive the praise for guiding us along the way.

P.B.P.G.I.N.F.W.M.Y.

There are few things that disturb me as much as a single simple response that I find myself so prone to uttering: "I'm ok." It's great when in passing and time is short, but other times I have found that the phrase can be used to conceal so much. Or at least, that is how I have been using it.
I find that I have this urge to bottle every little thing deep inside me where no one else can find it. It's almost like placing a bomb inside a bomb shelter. Many have assumed that I will just explode one of these days on some poor child who looks at me cross-eyed with the pure intention of making me laugh, but I have prayed long and hard about just this fear and I believe that the lord has silenced the fuse. But the fact that the bomb still lies buried is a growing fear. The concept of implosion has begun to take shape and has startled me to depths I cannot express. At this point, I'm not entirely sure how to excavate the accumulated mass from my shelter. Or if I even feel comfortable doing so. One fear of mine is that the perception others have of me will lower. The truth hidden behind this facade, once revealed, will cause them to turn away.

There is reason for everything:
The original disturbance, the back story as to why I feel the need to be self-sufficient, was caused, by my best recollection, at the second church that I attended; inside the sanctum of understanding love. There was a family that sat across the way from me every Sunday. They were a bigger family than us with five members: mom, dad, and three small boys. For one reason or another the family began to experience a seemingly endless string of hardships. During this time, they sought the guidance and prayers of the church. Each and every Sunday for over half a year they would journey to the front during the invitation and would present their newly arisen challenge to the church. They were seeking prayers and the church shunned them for it. I would watch from bowed head as those around shook theirs as if to signify their disapproval of the family's plea. Mistaking prayer requests for stability and guidance as cries for sympathy. It was completely demeaning. I felt terrible for the family. The feeling of discomfort steadily began to increase as I considered how badly i would be shunned if I were to ever need to come forward.
There is a poem written by a close friend that summarizes a good deal of how I feel about this bottle inside of me. Props go out to Steve for first mustering the strength to materialize his feelings into words:

"i am afraid. i am afraid no one will like me. i am afraid my joke won't be laughed at. i am afraid you will reject me. i am afraid that if you accept me, then i will have some sort of responsibility to you. i am afraid to be alone. i am afraid to be with someone. i am afraid God doesn't like the things i do. i am afraid i will have to keep doing the things God does like me to do. i am afraid of commitment. i am afraid to let go. i am afraid i haven't done enough. i am afraid i can't do any more. i am afraid to disagree. i am afraid to step out. i am afraid to stand still. i am afraid to dance. i am afraid of darkness. i am afraid to fit into your box. i am afraid to think outside the box. i am afraid i'll miss the punch line. i am afraid to swim. i am afraid fear will cripple me. yet i am still afraid to move. because i am afraid you will think i am worthless, but i am afraid you are wrong."

I am not merely afraid, I am terrified. This has become such a crippling struggle that I find myself, at times, immobile. Unable to express myself the way that I should, the way that we are instructed. Forgive me for this fear, but I cannot seem to break it though I face it everyday. Amen.

--footnote--

I am thankful for all of my friends who have given me counsel. Some of which have even sacrificed sleep and working hours to render so eloquently the words which have been unheard by these ears for so long. Maybe it's just that advice is not registering the way it should. I am just beginning to regain my senses, since the series of unfortunate events leading up to camp (that was a really cool movie by the way. Jim Carrie was his normal weird self but the story was excellent). I have found that if the lord realizes that I am not being attentive to his words, than he will speak through others in hopes of recapturing my attention. That is exactly what he has done. He caught me before I hit the rocks below, and he has since been trying to give me instructions on how to get back. If only I can push my fears aside and fully trust in his perfect will.

P.B.P.G.I.N.F.W.M.Y. = Please be patient, God is not finished with me yet.

--end footnote--