Lady Liberty was once a young, naive girl looking to make a life with meaning and freedom. My girl America.
Many cannot understand where the drama and in-fighting comes from in our communities. Maybe if they could personify the beginnings of this country, see what she went through to become the Lady she came, they can see where the drama crept in.
My girl 'Erica wanted to break free from an upbringing that taught royal self-entitlement and regulated (forced) religion. She wanted to see other cultures, adopt some of their ways and be free to be whatever she wanted to be.
She no longer wanted forced religion, she wanted freedom to be religious.
She no longer wanted the debutante expectations of entitled families, she wanted to get her hands dirty and see what the world offered culturally. She wanted to build.
Being young and naive, she adopted slavery from one culture and fought the natives of her new home land. You would hope she would have known better, but in our own youthful discretions, have we not done the same? Have we not gone with the crowd even though a better part of us may have said not to? Have we not unjustly fought with others because we felt threatened and proud?
But my girl America was already feeling the makings of being Lady Liberty once she set sail to flee her original 'Land.
With Liberty in mind, although she followed others and adopted slavery, she took the lead and abolished slavery, for she saw it was not freedom for all.
With Liberty in mind, although she followed others and allowed gods into her home, she took the lead and constituted Justice and freedom of God, not freedom from God.
My lady Liberty has defended her home and revolutionized her cry for freedom.
But she has once again followed and allowed society and entitlement.
I want that Lady back. My girl 'Erica has followed for too long. Take the lead again Lady.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Saturday, August 20, 2011
"I Hate Hate-Groups"
As of recently, the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit and the online Charity Give Back Group have lost large retailers as users of the site, with the Summit losing Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz as a speaker.
The reason? 700 petition signers do not want any proceeds being donated to such organizations as Focus on the Family nor the Online Christian Mall. These petitioners have taken up the mantra of many same-sex advocates and activists that anybody who preaches the Bible for what it is, is obviously a hate-group.
I find this ironic since in reality, both these Christian organizations and fellow Bible-believing Christians are the most open-minded, loving people this world could hate. The message of the Bible is clear: Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor. It does not teach hate.
What does teach hate is when a miserable, close-minded individual or group decides to shove their beliefs down the throats of others and then accuse people of hate. Even if they are religious-based or sex-based. The issue is simple though. A psychiatrist is not needed to see the underlying problem with these hate groups.
For years, Jehovah's children have been accused, harassed, beaten and killed, because misery loves company and the devil hates His children.
These supposed activists wake in the mornings and do not see the soul of a man or woman for what it is worth, they only see a mirror image of themselves and become disgusted. There is a mirrored veil that rests over their eyes that makes them point at everybody and say "you are a racist; you are a sexist; you are a hater". All the while, they depressingly see themselves.
I once saw a racist accuse our president of being a racist because the president was not of the racist's race and it was just easier for this racist to point and blame. I now, and for years, see hate-groups pick up signs and hollow causes and point their fingers at the easy targets and call them haters.
One day, this veiled mirror will be crushed and the shattered image of one's self and actions will be laid out for all to see that the real problem was not at the end of one's pointed finger .... but behind. "Get thee behind me Satan!!!!"
The reason? 700 petition signers do not want any proceeds being donated to such organizations as Focus on the Family nor the Online Christian Mall. These petitioners have taken up the mantra of many same-sex advocates and activists that anybody who preaches the Bible for what it is, is obviously a hate-group.
I find this ironic since in reality, both these Christian organizations and fellow Bible-believing Christians are the most open-minded, loving people this world could hate. The message of the Bible is clear: Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor. It does not teach hate.
What does teach hate is when a miserable, close-minded individual or group decides to shove their beliefs down the throats of others and then accuse people of hate. Even if they are religious-based or sex-based. The issue is simple though. A psychiatrist is not needed to see the underlying problem with these hate groups.
For years, Jehovah's children have been accused, harassed, beaten and killed, because misery loves company and the devil hates His children.
These supposed activists wake in the mornings and do not see the soul of a man or woman for what it is worth, they only see a mirror image of themselves and become disgusted. There is a mirrored veil that rests over their eyes that makes them point at everybody and say "you are a racist; you are a sexist; you are a hater". All the while, they depressingly see themselves.
I once saw a racist accuse our president of being a racist because the president was not of the racist's race and it was just easier for this racist to point and blame. I now, and for years, see hate-groups pick up signs and hollow causes and point their fingers at the easy targets and call them haters.
One day, this veiled mirror will be crushed and the shattered image of one's self and actions will be laid out for all to see that the real problem was not at the end of one's pointed finger .... but behind. "Get thee behind me Satan!!!!"
Friday, July 15, 2011
"Where Has My Little Red Rooster Gone?"
I watched the 2011 film True Grit this evening and was well-pleased with it. It's not as common as I would hope, to view a movie worth writing about, so I can appreciate the film for what it was.
One aspect is the faith to believe in the better actions of even the vilest acting people. The title character, a man of true grit, Rooster Cogburn, is taken with whiskey and as mean and emotionless as a rattlesnake. A 14-year-old girl wants to avenge her father's murder and uses Rooster, as well as a shakey Texas Ranger, to track the murderer down.
After inner conflicts of their camp, and both men giving up on themselves as well as the young girl, we soon realize that neither quitter can give up on the girl as she is taken hostage by the murderer of her father and his cronies. Risking their own lives and taking in injury, Rooster and the Ranger save the young girl only to have her fall into a dark pit and bitten by a poisonous snake.
To once again save her life, the Ranger stays back, injured and without horse, so Rooster can rush the young girl to safety. The only horse left is the young girl's horse that she has taken a liking to and has had conversations with, Little Blacky.
What we see now is Rooster riding day to night, wearing the horse down. The young girl is slipping into her poisoned trance and pleads with Rooster to stop so the horse may rest, as she loves the horse as her companion on this journey. Rooster only answers with a prodding of the horse to move faster. Eventually, slowly and painfully, the horse gives out. Rooster, without hesitation, puts a gun to Little Blacky's head and pulls the trigger, all the while with the young girl screaming no repeatedly.
Rooster then picks up the crying child and begins to run with her in his arms to the far and distant doctor's house.
That horses death, after his laborous run, was disturbing and painful to watch. I realized by the end of the movie that it was not because of an inhumane treatment of the horse that I felt bad, but that the sacrifice made thru man and animal kindled my heart.
Backing up to the horse's run, Little Blacky breathed heavier and heavier, snorting while he trotted. When Rooster prodded the horse, the horse revived with energy, on a mission to save the little girl that talked to Little Blacky as a friend. Rooster humanely prevented the horse from suffering an inevitable and painful death by putting it out of its misery. Rooster then takes up the same cross as the horse and runs himself to death to save the girl. Although Rooster lived more days beyond, he willfully laid his life down as the horse did to save the girl.
I may have very well read into the situation but I believe in my own world that the horse was as much in tune with saving the girl, giving out his own life, so that she may live again, just as Rooster and the Ranger found themselves doing. We never see the Ranger again, left to wonder if he never made it from the wilderness and only find later that Rooster eventually passes o fhis old age in a different climated atmosphere.
Where has Rooster gone after his days of redemption of saving a girl who thought him vile and detestable? God knows. Maybe Blacky knows too,
So from a rooster as mean as a rattle snake, to a horse as valiant as the black coat upon which he wore, sacrifice comes from even the darkest shadows, as light and love cannot be extinguished.
One aspect is the faith to believe in the better actions of even the vilest acting people. The title character, a man of true grit, Rooster Cogburn, is taken with whiskey and as mean and emotionless as a rattlesnake. A 14-year-old girl wants to avenge her father's murder and uses Rooster, as well as a shakey Texas Ranger, to track the murderer down.
After inner conflicts of their camp, and both men giving up on themselves as well as the young girl, we soon realize that neither quitter can give up on the girl as she is taken hostage by the murderer of her father and his cronies. Risking their own lives and taking in injury, Rooster and the Ranger save the young girl only to have her fall into a dark pit and bitten by a poisonous snake.
To once again save her life, the Ranger stays back, injured and without horse, so Rooster can rush the young girl to safety. The only horse left is the young girl's horse that she has taken a liking to and has had conversations with, Little Blacky.
What we see now is Rooster riding day to night, wearing the horse down. The young girl is slipping into her poisoned trance and pleads with Rooster to stop so the horse may rest, as she loves the horse as her companion on this journey. Rooster only answers with a prodding of the horse to move faster. Eventually, slowly and painfully, the horse gives out. Rooster, without hesitation, puts a gun to Little Blacky's head and pulls the trigger, all the while with the young girl screaming no repeatedly.
Rooster then picks up the crying child and begins to run with her in his arms to the far and distant doctor's house.
That horses death, after his laborous run, was disturbing and painful to watch. I realized by the end of the movie that it was not because of an inhumane treatment of the horse that I felt bad, but that the sacrifice made thru man and animal kindled my heart.
Backing up to the horse's run, Little Blacky breathed heavier and heavier, snorting while he trotted. When Rooster prodded the horse, the horse revived with energy, on a mission to save the little girl that talked to Little Blacky as a friend. Rooster humanely prevented the horse from suffering an inevitable and painful death by putting it out of its misery. Rooster then takes up the same cross as the horse and runs himself to death to save the girl. Although Rooster lived more days beyond, he willfully laid his life down as the horse did to save the girl.
I may have very well read into the situation but I believe in my own world that the horse was as much in tune with saving the girl, giving out his own life, so that she may live again, just as Rooster and the Ranger found themselves doing. We never see the Ranger again, left to wonder if he never made it from the wilderness and only find later that Rooster eventually passes o fhis old age in a different climated atmosphere.
Where has Rooster gone after his days of redemption of saving a girl who thought him vile and detestable? God knows. Maybe Blacky knows too,
So from a rooster as mean as a rattle snake, to a horse as valiant as the black coat upon which he wore, sacrifice comes from even the darkest shadows, as light and love cannot be extinguished.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
"His Blood Is On Us and Our Children!"
Matthew 27:25 is a statement made by the crowd barking at Pilate to cruciy Jesus. It's from there that Jesus goes down a path of torment and agony. A painful time that I can NOT imagine on my darkest day.
As a show of remembrance, I and a few other men who work out together in a Christina Minsistry entitled Ironworks, took part in the task of carrying 135 pounds of weight the distance of a half mile. It is said that the Roman cross that Jesus carried was about that weight and that the distance He was made to walk to Golgotha was a half mile.
I knew before I started that I was OK with failing this task. Not because I am one fond of failure but because Jesus had done this for ME as well as the world, and that I can never be as good as Him.
One-eighth of a mile in, I had to drop the weight and rest. The bar dug into my back-bone and my arms were getting tired from being held up. I needed to readjust my padding for my back-bone for when I put the weight back on. I checked my shoe strings to make sure that my Sacucony running shoes were not going to cause an issue around the bend. I wiped the sweat from my brow. After six breaks, three of which one of the other men helped me with the padding to sit straight on my back-bone, and one of which they also helped me lift the weight over my head and gently rest it on my back, I finally finished the walk.
It was awful. I felt like I accomplished nothing since I rested six times. I should have walked it straight through. I'm still young, active and full of fire. I was weak. But I was OK with the results. I was OK because of the difference between my walk and Jesus' walk.
Jesus was flogged. Beaten with fists and feet by some people from the crowds but mostly by Roman soldiers with a grudge agaist the humble, especially the King of the Jews. Jesus was whipped to the point that He most likely held no more skin on His back, bare bone showing and causing great agony. He was mocked, stripped naked, spit upon, smacked, a crown of thorns pressed agianst His head to show that He was a king to be mocked.
Jesus was not supported by a group of fellow Christians as I was. Jesus had no back muscle and padding to bear the wight of the cross as I did. My bar was smooth and cool whereas the cross was rugged wood slammed onto His back. His feet were bare and made to walk the dirty road to Golgotha whereas I was dressed for the impact of the road with a padded shoe. I knew at the end of my walk, I could throw the weight down and celebrate a work-out that honored my Lord and Savior. Jesus knew His road ended with nail-driven hands and feet, a pierced side, suffocating conditions of hanging by His pierced hands, and the mockery of the crowds. Jesus faced death at the end of His road.
Jesus never gave up, cried for the Roman's mercy, tried to run away or regret His fate. Jesus endured all that awful, agonizing, tormentful pain ........... for me. For you.
When I hold my son, I try to imagine Mary and Jospeh holding baby Jesus knowing who He was going to become while basking in the innocence of His infancy.
I've also tried to imagine the pain of Jesus' final days before His last breath, and I cannot do the emotion any justice in my little mind. With all that said, I know one thing is for sure, and I will embrace the emotion of it as if my life depended upon my grip ........ I love Jesus. I love His sacrifice. I love His legacy. I love His life.
Jesus ...... I love you!!!!!!
As a show of remembrance, I and a few other men who work out together in a Christina Minsistry entitled Ironworks, took part in the task of carrying 135 pounds of weight the distance of a half mile. It is said that the Roman cross that Jesus carried was about that weight and that the distance He was made to walk to Golgotha was a half mile.
I knew before I started that I was OK with failing this task. Not because I am one fond of failure but because Jesus had done this for ME as well as the world, and that I can never be as good as Him.
One-eighth of a mile in, I had to drop the weight and rest. The bar dug into my back-bone and my arms were getting tired from being held up. I needed to readjust my padding for my back-bone for when I put the weight back on. I checked my shoe strings to make sure that my Sacucony running shoes were not going to cause an issue around the bend. I wiped the sweat from my brow. After six breaks, three of which one of the other men helped me with the padding to sit straight on my back-bone, and one of which they also helped me lift the weight over my head and gently rest it on my back, I finally finished the walk.
It was awful. I felt like I accomplished nothing since I rested six times. I should have walked it straight through. I'm still young, active and full of fire. I was weak. But I was OK with the results. I was OK because of the difference between my walk and Jesus' walk.
Jesus was flogged. Beaten with fists and feet by some people from the crowds but mostly by Roman soldiers with a grudge agaist the humble, especially the King of the Jews. Jesus was whipped to the point that He most likely held no more skin on His back, bare bone showing and causing great agony. He was mocked, stripped naked, spit upon, smacked, a crown of thorns pressed agianst His head to show that He was a king to be mocked.
Jesus was not supported by a group of fellow Christians as I was. Jesus had no back muscle and padding to bear the wight of the cross as I did. My bar was smooth and cool whereas the cross was rugged wood slammed onto His back. His feet were bare and made to walk the dirty road to Golgotha whereas I was dressed for the impact of the road with a padded shoe. I knew at the end of my walk, I could throw the weight down and celebrate a work-out that honored my Lord and Savior. Jesus knew His road ended with nail-driven hands and feet, a pierced side, suffocating conditions of hanging by His pierced hands, and the mockery of the crowds. Jesus faced death at the end of His road.
Jesus never gave up, cried for the Roman's mercy, tried to run away or regret His fate. Jesus endured all that awful, agonizing, tormentful pain ........... for me. For you.
When I hold my son, I try to imagine Mary and Jospeh holding baby Jesus knowing who He was going to become while basking in the innocence of His infancy.
I've also tried to imagine the pain of Jesus' final days before His last breath, and I cannot do the emotion any justice in my little mind. With all that said, I know one thing is for sure, and I will embrace the emotion of it as if my life depended upon my grip ........ I love Jesus. I love His sacrifice. I love His legacy. I love His life.
Jesus ...... I love you!!!!!!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
"Just Follow the Yellow-Bricked Road, Do-Do"
I've heard this phrase commonly enough,"All paths lead to God." Face-to-face, it was always said to me by someone who really had no deep feelings for religion, faith or God, but was well focused on getting alongwith everybody and having a good time.
As far as celebrities saying it, it's usually a solemn-faced, big faux-smiling mask that says with cool and calm contentment, "I believe all paths lead to God. God just wants us all to find him." Him is lower-cased there because the celebrity isn't really referring to a cohesive being. They are just saying what sounds good.
Here is my first question though: When one says all paths, does that mean no matter what path you go down that you will eventually find God? So nobody goes to a hell? So the pedophile and serial killer walk down a dark and gruesome road, leaving a trail of chaos and pain until one day they walk to the foot of God and say, "Here I am God, it's been a blast. Take me home, buddy."
By all paths, does one mean something different from my first question? Do they actually mean that all faith-based paths that deal with searching for God lead to God? I believe that this is the concept that is usually being said but don't allow me to put words into any one person's mouth. So all paths lead to God because if you are searching for God than by all means, you'll find Him, no matter what twisted religious path you are on.
Since all paths lead to God than this means one very important thing: Christianity is one of those paths. But here's the rub, children: the Bible is believed in Christianity to be the God-breathed inspiration given to men to follow ("All scripture is inspired by God ...." 2 Timothy 3:16). In addition to this, the Bible quotes Jesus as saying "I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me" (John14:6, emphasis added).
What this means is that Christianity clearly says there is only one path to God, through Jesus Christ. Whether Christianity is right or wrong, the saying "all paths lead to God" becomes contradictory on both instances. Obviously Christianity is right since the God-breathed Bible states in Paslm 14:1 that "the fool has said in his heart, 'There is no God'". Back to the "all paths" issue though.
If all paths lead to God, then Christianity is incorrect in it's staple that it is the ONLY path to God, therefore Christianity is NOT a path to God and the statement of "all paths lead(ing) to God" becomes false.
If Christianity is correct in the belief that Christianity is the ONLY path to God, then the "all paths lead to God" statement is, once again, false. So whether Christianity is right or worng, the statemen is empty and false.
By the way, Christianity is correct. But if you feel I am incorrect in my assessment and still feel the statement of "all paths lead(ing) to God" sums up your view-point than I encourage you to follow your path ..... along that yellow-bricked road ...... to the man behind the curtain ....... and all the flying monkeys.
As far as celebrities saying it, it's usually a solemn-faced, big faux-smiling mask that says with cool and calm contentment, "I believe all paths lead to God. God just wants us all to find him." Him is lower-cased there because the celebrity isn't really referring to a cohesive being. They are just saying what sounds good.
Here is my first question though: When one says all paths, does that mean no matter what path you go down that you will eventually find God? So nobody goes to a hell? So the pedophile and serial killer walk down a dark and gruesome road, leaving a trail of chaos and pain until one day they walk to the foot of God and say, "Here I am God, it's been a blast. Take me home, buddy."
By all paths, does one mean something different from my first question? Do they actually mean that all faith-based paths that deal with searching for God lead to God? I believe that this is the concept that is usually being said but don't allow me to put words into any one person's mouth. So all paths lead to God because if you are searching for God than by all means, you'll find Him, no matter what twisted religious path you are on.
Since all paths lead to God than this means one very important thing: Christianity is one of those paths. But here's the rub, children: the Bible is believed in Christianity to be the God-breathed inspiration given to men to follow ("All scripture is inspired by God ...." 2 Timothy 3:16). In addition to this, the Bible quotes Jesus as saying "I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me" (John14:6, emphasis added).
What this means is that Christianity clearly says there is only one path to God, through Jesus Christ. Whether Christianity is right or wrong, the saying "all paths lead to God" becomes contradictory on both instances. Obviously Christianity is right since the God-breathed Bible states in Paslm 14:1 that "the fool has said in his heart, 'There is no God'". Back to the "all paths" issue though.
If all paths lead to God, then Christianity is incorrect in it's staple that it is the ONLY path to God, therefore Christianity is NOT a path to God and the statement of "all paths lead(ing) to God" becomes false.
If Christianity is correct in the belief that Christianity is the ONLY path to God, then the "all paths lead to God" statement is, once again, false. So whether Christianity is right or worng, the statemen is empty and false.
By the way, Christianity is correct. But if you feel I am incorrect in my assessment and still feel the statement of "all paths lead(ing) to God" sums up your view-point than I encourage you to follow your path ..... along that yellow-bricked road ...... to the man behind the curtain ....... and all the flying monkeys.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
"Death, Where Is Thy Sting?"
More and more it seems Death has placed the sting of loss directly into my heart. Directly into your heart. Our hearts. As years pass by, and we tally the loves lost due to Death's far-reaching hands, we can see an ever-growing mountain of hurt and pain.
So Death ..... where is thy sting? I'll tell you, Dark Sir, as if you do not already know. Your sting is peircing relentlessly, the very tip of your blade in the middle of my heart. The silence left by your heartache is deafening, so loud that my thoughts get lost. Like Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart, the continuous beating of a grevious heart is merciless on one's physical and mental being. Madness is around the corner and sadness no longer rents a space in our being because it has taken up a permanent residency.
A mourning heart is a beast of burden as well as a cataclysm of emotions. To have one so-hurt heart, life is forever changed. Death's sting is not only evident in that which is taken from us but also by that which is given to us.
So Hope ..... where is thy shield? Death and Satan are heartless in their attacks of the heart. Hope? Please come quickly. Did I say a mourning heart is a beast and a cataclysm? Yes I did, but even more so than that, a heart in mourning is a mighty tool of love. No, I haven't started in on any wine now. Tempting though.
A heart in pain results in some actions never before taken, or in some first steps that were long overdue. Death hurts but love heals. In my early teens, it was the love of my best frend Roger, towards his deceased older brother that pushed him to make something of his life. His own parents were forced into loving only one son .... but they loved him harder and with more focus now. Death stung the family by removing the eldest son but love healed the family by bringing them closer together.
Death is a mighty adversary but love reign's supreme. At the funeral of my father's mother, without even the first thought to do so, I found myself coming to the front row and grabbing both my parents and hugging them around the neck at the same time and simply saying, "I love you". Death stung my father and mother with the removal of a parent but love pushed a son and his siblings to show that family is there.
As I and three friends attended the funeral of Benjamin's grandfather, we all cried and felt depressed together, but we were alone in our actions. We were not alone in our loss but alone in our open sadness. Ben's grandparents were the protectors and providers for Ben and his brother. They were old school and straight-nosed, no punches thrown and in-your-face honest ..... with a smile every time. At the grandfather's funeral, his elder friends and family rejoiced because he was a man of God, lived long and lived well. Death stung Benjamin and his brother by removing such an inspirational figure but love showed a group of young punks that joy comes early for those who know the Lord.
My father-in-law acted like he didn't like me, simply because everytime he truly disliked Summer's old boyfriends she would seem to keep dating them. So to keep Summer dating me, he openly (but lovingly and jokingly) disapproved of me. As a man, and a humorist, my father-in-law, Randy, would NEVER hug me. NEVER!!!! That is OK though, because really, we didn't sit aroud hugging anybody and everybody anyway. Years into my relationship with Summer, Randy's mother took ill and was in her last days as we would later find out. Summer and I went to visit her but on one of the last nights of visiting her, a glow seemed to be present in the area of her room. What it was, I couldn't have said then, but now I can say it was the haloes of Saints come to await Queen Anna's journey to Heaven's Gates.
The next day, as I sat in the kitchen, Randy walked through the front door, into the kitchen, put his arm around me, his head to my head and said."Ya'll made her feel real good last night. Thank you." No Randy .... thank you. Days later Anna passed. After the service we went to our cars and Randy cried as a good son would. As we walked, I placed my arm around him and we both just nodded that knowing nod of comfort and concern. Death stung Randy by removing his mother from him but love showed all that no matter how much of a role we play on the surface, we let those who need to know see that we care for them.
With Summer's father, Randy, now passed, Death has seemingly acquired a special blade just for us. A blade with rigded edges and a poisonous tip. When will he remove his blade from our hearts? Will we succumb to the poison he has intruded upon us? Can love even get a foothold in this battle?
Jesus is playing the Back 9 with Randy as I type this. Jesus is running through the fields of Gold with Randy's mother, Betty's mother, my father's parents, my mother's dad, my friends of the past, my cousin Derek, and many others who Death swatted from our lives. Love though? Love has stood beside me, tooth and nail, shield and sword, hand in hand, and repeatedly looked Death directly in the eyes and demanded,"Where, O Death, is your victory, where is your sting? God gives us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
So Death ..... where is thy sting? I'll tell you, Dark Sir, as if you do not already know. Your sting is peircing relentlessly, the very tip of your blade in the middle of my heart. The silence left by your heartache is deafening, so loud that my thoughts get lost. Like Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart, the continuous beating of a grevious heart is merciless on one's physical and mental being. Madness is around the corner and sadness no longer rents a space in our being because it has taken up a permanent residency.
A mourning heart is a beast of burden as well as a cataclysm of emotions. To have one so-hurt heart, life is forever changed. Death's sting is not only evident in that which is taken from us but also by that which is given to us.
So Hope ..... where is thy shield? Death and Satan are heartless in their attacks of the heart. Hope? Please come quickly. Did I say a mourning heart is a beast and a cataclysm? Yes I did, but even more so than that, a heart in mourning is a mighty tool of love. No, I haven't started in on any wine now. Tempting though.
A heart in pain results in some actions never before taken, or in some first steps that were long overdue. Death hurts but love heals. In my early teens, it was the love of my best frend Roger, towards his deceased older brother that pushed him to make something of his life. His own parents were forced into loving only one son .... but they loved him harder and with more focus now. Death stung the family by removing the eldest son but love healed the family by bringing them closer together.
Death is a mighty adversary but love reign's supreme. At the funeral of my father's mother, without even the first thought to do so, I found myself coming to the front row and grabbing both my parents and hugging them around the neck at the same time and simply saying, "I love you". Death stung my father and mother with the removal of a parent but love pushed a son and his siblings to show that family is there.
As I and three friends attended the funeral of Benjamin's grandfather, we all cried and felt depressed together, but we were alone in our actions. We were not alone in our loss but alone in our open sadness. Ben's grandparents were the protectors and providers for Ben and his brother. They were old school and straight-nosed, no punches thrown and in-your-face honest ..... with a smile every time. At the grandfather's funeral, his elder friends and family rejoiced because he was a man of God, lived long and lived well. Death stung Benjamin and his brother by removing such an inspirational figure but love showed a group of young punks that joy comes early for those who know the Lord.
My father-in-law acted like he didn't like me, simply because everytime he truly disliked Summer's old boyfriends she would seem to keep dating them. So to keep Summer dating me, he openly (but lovingly and jokingly) disapproved of me. As a man, and a humorist, my father-in-law, Randy, would NEVER hug me. NEVER!!!! That is OK though, because really, we didn't sit aroud hugging anybody and everybody anyway. Years into my relationship with Summer, Randy's mother took ill and was in her last days as we would later find out. Summer and I went to visit her but on one of the last nights of visiting her, a glow seemed to be present in the area of her room. What it was, I couldn't have said then, but now I can say it was the haloes of Saints come to await Queen Anna's journey to Heaven's Gates.
The next day, as I sat in the kitchen, Randy walked through the front door, into the kitchen, put his arm around me, his head to my head and said."Ya'll made her feel real good last night. Thank you." No Randy .... thank you. Days later Anna passed. After the service we went to our cars and Randy cried as a good son would. As we walked, I placed my arm around him and we both just nodded that knowing nod of comfort and concern. Death stung Randy by removing his mother from him but love showed all that no matter how much of a role we play on the surface, we let those who need to know see that we care for them.
With Summer's father, Randy, now passed, Death has seemingly acquired a special blade just for us. A blade with rigded edges and a poisonous tip. When will he remove his blade from our hearts? Will we succumb to the poison he has intruded upon us? Can love even get a foothold in this battle?
Jesus is playing the Back 9 with Randy as I type this. Jesus is running through the fields of Gold with Randy's mother, Betty's mother, my father's parents, my mother's dad, my friends of the past, my cousin Derek, and many others who Death swatted from our lives. Love though? Love has stood beside me, tooth and nail, shield and sword, hand in hand, and repeatedly looked Death directly in the eyes and demanded,"Where, O Death, is your victory, where is your sting? God gives us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
Saturday, February 5, 2011
"He-Man and Conan May Be Men but They Cannot Be THAT Man"
I have always tried to be a good guy. I have had a tendency be more of a bad boy. Yet years of life have shown me to be a good man. I hope one day to have been seen and remembered as a GREAT man .... or as a GRAND man as my father-in-law is now known. Ironically, he referred to me only as a Big Ugly man, but with love.
As a "man", it has been in my nature to just act as if I do not need anybody to do anything for me ...... but I am gracious enough to accept a helping hand. I have always found myself being a stellar employee at any job, even my position in hell directly under Satan herself. It was actually a mailroom and Satan was the "second-in-command", gossip-infested, diarrhea-of-the-mouth-liar. I actually believed at one point that I could not give that company the high expectations they wanted of all employees and that I would eventually be fired along with the other line of terminated suckers. To think like this was uncommon because I have been instilled with a get-it-done job mentality and never conceited to being an under-achieving employee.
After about 6 weeks, I got the hang of how things worked, incorporated my own OCD'ed work system and became a valued (yet overworked) employee. By the time my worth was evident, I was blessed with a new job with my degree in graphic arts. Adios el Diablo, I have finally found my piece of the PIE!!!!!!!
I am not getting at that I am almighty and awesome, only God is. But it is through His love and desires that I believe in being strong and resilient, only conceiting to God's arms when needing to fall out. I feel that if there is an issue, as a man, I can lend something to the situation no matter how big, little or eventually unused on my part.
Men, in general, want to feel that they are needed. We are in existance to fix things that are broken, to break things that are useless, to build things that are grand, to .... well, you get the picture. We do not understand defeat and only see our failures as lessons of growth and chances for a second attempt. What we cannot comprehend is when we are in fact not needed in anyway, shape or form.
On that note, NO, this is not an introduction to an anti-GLAAD Public Service Announcement.
This is an overworded attempt to show why, in my little mind, that I feel inadequate in the face of my wife's mourning. Her loss of her father, grevious to myself as well as anybody who knew him, is a hit that I cannot heal. I am not in existance to fix this thing that is broken, to break the chains of pain, or to build a pain-reliever.
I ache for myself but helplessly yearn to heal my wife. I cannot do anything for my wife's pain beyond prayer and concern. These two things are great to have but as a man, I am programmed to think that I can do all things I set my mind to ...... even put the toilet seat back down.
I am He-Man and I can defeat the evil forces that be. I am Superman and I can jump buildings in a single bound. I am Conan, the strongest panther of a man to brute his way through the wilderness. I am a warrior. I am a cowboy. I can inspire other men and impress many women (in a respectful way). I can build a house (but I wouldn't try to inhabitate it). I can love my wife like a man should. I can rasie my son to be another man. I can love Jesus like all real men should. I can overcome Death's grasp through the blood of Jesus. I CAN be that man.
I cannot take my wife's pain away. I cannot build, fix, disassemble or revamp any kind of contraption to alleviate my wife's suffering and mourning. I CANNOT be that man.
I can love her. I can be there for her. I can believe that Jesus will make all things right ..... in His time. I can believe more than ever that the remarkable utterance of one verse, over the past few weeks, repeatedly stated by many who do not know that anybody else has said it, is divinely interjected by God as a promise: "Joy will come in the morning" because joy will come in the mourning.
As a "man", it has been in my nature to just act as if I do not need anybody to do anything for me ...... but I am gracious enough to accept a helping hand. I have always found myself being a stellar employee at any job, even my position in hell directly under Satan herself. It was actually a mailroom and Satan was the "second-in-command", gossip-infested, diarrhea-of-the-mouth-liar. I actually believed at one point that I could not give that company the high expectations they wanted of all employees and that I would eventually be fired along with the other line of terminated suckers. To think like this was uncommon because I have been instilled with a get-it-done job mentality and never conceited to being an under-achieving employee.
After about 6 weeks, I got the hang of how things worked, incorporated my own OCD'ed work system and became a valued (yet overworked) employee. By the time my worth was evident, I was blessed with a new job with my degree in graphic arts. Adios el Diablo, I have finally found my piece of the PIE!!!!!!!
I am not getting at that I am almighty and awesome, only God is. But it is through His love and desires that I believe in being strong and resilient, only conceiting to God's arms when needing to fall out. I feel that if there is an issue, as a man, I can lend something to the situation no matter how big, little or eventually unused on my part.
Men, in general, want to feel that they are needed. We are in existance to fix things that are broken, to break things that are useless, to build things that are grand, to .... well, you get the picture. We do not understand defeat and only see our failures as lessons of growth and chances for a second attempt. What we cannot comprehend is when we are in fact not needed in anyway, shape or form.
On that note, NO, this is not an introduction to an anti-GLAAD Public Service Announcement.
This is an overworded attempt to show why, in my little mind, that I feel inadequate in the face of my wife's mourning. Her loss of her father, grevious to myself as well as anybody who knew him, is a hit that I cannot heal. I am not in existance to fix this thing that is broken, to break the chains of pain, or to build a pain-reliever.
I ache for myself but helplessly yearn to heal my wife. I cannot do anything for my wife's pain beyond prayer and concern. These two things are great to have but as a man, I am programmed to think that I can do all things I set my mind to ...... even put the toilet seat back down.
I am He-Man and I can defeat the evil forces that be. I am Superman and I can jump buildings in a single bound. I am Conan, the strongest panther of a man to brute his way through the wilderness. I am a warrior. I am a cowboy. I can inspire other men and impress many women (in a respectful way). I can build a house (but I wouldn't try to inhabitate it). I can love my wife like a man should. I can rasie my son to be another man. I can love Jesus like all real men should. I can overcome Death's grasp through the blood of Jesus. I CAN be that man.
I cannot take my wife's pain away. I cannot build, fix, disassemble or revamp any kind of contraption to alleviate my wife's suffering and mourning. I CANNOT be that man.
I can love her. I can be there for her. I can believe that Jesus will make all things right ..... in His time. I can believe more than ever that the remarkable utterance of one verse, over the past few weeks, repeatedly stated by many who do not know that anybody else has said it, is divinely interjected by God as a promise: "Joy will come in the morning" because joy will come in the mourning.
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