Life Found Here

You breathe life into me
You make me feel like I can do anything
I want to live at the base of Your neck
Breathe in Your life from Your mouth
Hug You so tight that You meld into me
And then I could tattoo at the place
Life Found Here

Things I Never Planned For

My mother dying too young
A lesbian daughter
A son who rejects everything
Divorce
Being truly loved for me
Cats
Glasses
Getting fired by multiple churches

I guess I read the wrong instruction book

Fluffy Pastor

I am a fluffy pastor. My exterior is harsh and tough. I try and portray someone who is unapproachable because that is safer. The truth is I am fluffy. I am soft. I am a pile of mushiness. I love too much, hurt too much, care too much.

Today I called a member who had been in the hospital. For the last five years she has battled cancer, Her ovarian cancer is in her stomach and she told me today that she is done fighting. She is throwing in the towel. She has fought a good fight, finished the race, she is done. I offered to serve her communion and she accepted. I kept my composure and told her I would see her tomorrow.

Then I hung up the phone and sobbed, not so silently, in my office. I love this woman. She has become a friend and I am selfish and want her around longer. Tears have flowed on and off all day long like intermittent wipers on my car. The tears keep flowing and then I regain composure, I lead Bible study tonight and fought the tears back. I shared at a committee meeting and held the tears back.

Tomorrow I will share Jesus' love with her as we celebrate some food together and I will let the tears flow. I will be her pastor. The one who loves and cares for her. The one who appreciated her and will miss her when she is with Jesus and I am here.

I wonder how I will get through her memorial service. I will. It's what I need to do. Pretty sure I'll cry but what else can I do. I am a fluffy pastor - and will always be.

Now I'll cry and prepare to miss this friend. Enjoy Jesus as he welcomes you with open arms. I have enjoyed you in the time we have had together.

A flower

The sun hung heavy in the sky and the sweat stung his eyes. This was one fucked day. He had felt an uneasiness as he awoke in the morning and now he was sure that today was fucked.

They had entered the village as usual and nodded to the elder just as they had every other time they walked into this village. The elder nodded back and then the crack of the AK-47 sounded. Bullets whizzed by and there was shouting, Murphy was dead, Hughes was injured and he fired wildly in the direction of the bullets.

When things calmed down they took a survey of the area to make sure it was safe. It was then that he saw her. She lay there in a bed of flowers under the window where her mother threw the water from the dirty dishes. They had planted flowers in this godforsaken hellhole. Her eyes were wide open and he could have pictured her jumping up to play, expect for the bullet hole between her eyes.

He reached down and closed her eyes, then plucked a flower and placed it in his helmet. "This will never happen again," he thought as the tears washed away the grime from the firefight.

Wind

It was one of those wonderful Southern California days. The Santa Ana winds were blowing and the offshore breeze made the waves glassy as the spray blew off the tops of cresting waves. It was a perfect day to be in the surf enjoying life.

As we drove up PCH toward Huntington Harbor I thought of the beauty of the ocean and the countless days we had convinced mom to drive us there before driver's licenses had been obtained. I thought of the change in my father since they moved to the beach from inland. How he liked to play now. How he had a bag of beach toys in the garage and could hardly wait for the arrival of kids and grand kids to walk the block and a half to the water.

I also remembered the visit to our house in Illinois when mom knew something was wrong but the doctors had not confirmed it yet. She drank White Russians to dull the pain, added pain pills she had borrowed from my grandmother. And then the call that it was indeed bad. Cancer had assaulted her body. I remember the next five years as the doctors waged war with my mother on this monster growing in her body. The skirmishes of surgery, chemicals to kill the enemy and hopefully not kill her. The eventual sacrifice of her tongue and jaw in an attempt to win the battle. Experimental gene therapy. A box that talked for her so she could tell her children and grandchildren "I love you." A valiant war had been waged but she was not the victor. In the end it had been a losing battle. The war was lost.

So we drove to the harbor and boarded a boat. It was a beautiful sixty foot Chris-Craft with mahogany decks, a galley full of food and beverages. We ate a little and drank a little until we made it out into the open waters and headed off the beach where we had spent so many hours. The captain pointed to bow out to sea and cut the engine. It was strangely quiet as we all gathered in the stern on the boat. I led the service which I had found in one of my books. Prayers were said and mom's ashes we spread (but mostly dumped) into the ocean. The wind blew a little of those ashes around and I remember the gritty feel of it in my hands and blowing on my face.

When the ceremony was over we went on a small cruise around the harbor and talked about stories from our past, happier days. I remember stepping back on land, leaving my sea legs and mom's ashes behind me.

As we walked up the ramp to the parking lot my son turned to my brother and said, "Uncle Bri, when the wind blew I got some Nana in my eye."

He replied, "You'll always have some Nana in your eye."

He Used to be a Crazy Naked Guy

It was funny how that day started out. Tom had been doing what he was used to doing. His new job was to spread the word about Jesus. This had become a passion for him. Anyone and everyone had to hear his story. Most people already knew it but he could not help but share it anyway. You see, most people had known Tom when he was known around town as “the crazy naked guy.” For years Tom and been totally out of control. They had tried chaining him up so that he would no longer hurt himself or anyone else and yet he broke out of those chains repeatedly. It was horrible to watch him whip himself with those chains until he bled. People would cover their children’s eyes and ears when they saw him anywhere near, which was rare since he tended to spend most of his time roaming among the tombs. He would wander along the cliffs and howl and shriek at the top of his lungs. The sound coming out of his mouth would make the hair on the back of your neck stand up and cause your body to be covered with goose bumps. The only thing that people knew was to give Tom his distance and to keep away. Then again, people only had to encounter him when there was a funeral and someone had to be placed in the burial caves since that’s where Tom chose to live. And this made people feel at ease most of the time.

Then, one day, his life was completely changed. Jesus showed up along the shore with his disciples and Tom had charged at him. A totally unnatural voice started to beg with Jesus and the next thing anyone knew 2000 pigs were drowning themselves in the sea. The pig farmers were more than just a little upset, and so was the whole town, since the pigs had been a very big part of the economy. When the town showed up to see 2000 bobbing pigs for themselves they were all stunned by the sight of Tom. He no longer looked crazy and he was definitely no longer naked. The people were so upset over the death of the pigs that they pleaded with Jesus to leave and some even threatened him with bodily harm. Jesus just shrugged and told his disciples to get back in the boat and they would go somewhere else. That’s when Tom approached the boat and asked if he could come. Jesus very kindly told him that he needed to stay where he was and share what had happened to him. Tom was disappointed but knew what Jesus wanted him to do so he said good-bye and waved to Jesus as he and his disciples rowed out of sight.

That’s when Tom went to work, not for money, but for God. He told everyone who would listen, and many who wouldn’t, about how he had been tormented by demons until Jesus showed up. He told the people how he used to cut himself with rocks and pottery and how he used to sleep in the tombs along side of corpses. Word began to spread about Jesus and when he returned to the region a few months later Jesus could hardly move from place to place for all of the people brought to him to heal. Tom took his job seriously and the news of the messiah being present was welcomed throughout the region.

All was going well until that day during Passover. Jesus had insisted on going back to Jerusalem and ended up dead. This devastated Tom. What would he do know? He had told all of the people that Jesus was the messiah and yet he was dead. People had seen him breath his last breathe. People had seen him laid in the tomb and the stone rolled across the mouth of it. They saw he wax seal applied to the tomb to ensure that no one messed with the body. Tom wept along with many of the people who had looked to Jesus to be the promised messiah. Then, the rumors started to circulate that people had seen Jesus alive. Somehow, a miracle had happened and it seemed as if Jesus was really alive. Tom even made a trip to Jerusalem to see the empty tomb and his heart leapt with joy. But now what? What was he going to do? What should he tell people? These were the thoughts that swam circles around the inside of his head as he made his trek back to the Decapolis.

Tom returned to his house overlooking the grave tombs. He picked up some cloth and began to sow a new tunic for one of the elders in town. This was a rich man’s clothes so the golden thread showed bright against the purple fabric. The touch of it reminded him of the softness he felt when Jesus had given him a hug and told him to stay behind and tell people what had happened to him.

Ever since that day Tom had two passions in his life. The first passion was the one he had received from Jesus, “Tell others what I have done.” The second was the way he chose to be reminded of his encounter and transformation with Jesus. Tom was a tailor. With every stitch that he sewed he was reminded of the days when he ran around naked. He would see the scars on his arms and legs where he took pottery shards and cut himself. He would remember the weight of the chains that dangled from his arms. But those days were now behind him. He had this job as a way to be daily reminded of what Jesus had done for him.
As Tom sat at his table making another tunic for one of the families in town he heard someone enter his shop. “Just a moment and I’ll be with you.” Tom continued to make uniform stitches in the hem of his garment. As he finished the last stitch her placed the needle back in its holder and turned to address this person. At first, Tom thought the man looked very familiar. There was something in the way that he held himself that caused a flashback to the old days. The days before her had become a tailor. The days when people would run away and he saw himself as though outside his own body. He saw the thing that had hidden in the deep recesses of his heart. There was the man who had changed his life. “Isn’t he dead? Am I crazy? Did I just want this so much that I am imagining this?” No, it was not his imagination. The rumors were true. Jesus was risen and was standing before him. Holes in his hands, wounds visible in his sandals, face bruised but healing and with all of these distractions he was certain it was Jesus. The final nail was struck when Jesus uttered his name. “Tom, how are you?” Was the savior really asking him how he was doing? Did he really care? Were these just words to start a conversation? Tom was pretty certain that there was sincerity in the question and positive of the fact when he looked into the dark eyes of this man who had changed his life.
Then he realized it. He knew it. His heart began to race and it seemed his tongue had swollen o the point of making conversation nearly impossible. “Lord, is it You?” he asked almost afraid of the answer. “What are you doing here?” Tom asked. “I heard the rumors but I was afraid to believe and now you are here in my shop. Where are the people? Where are the crowds? Does everyone know you are alive? Have they all changed their minds?” Jesus just held up his hand and Tom stopped asking questions. He knew that Jesus was here for a reason and he needed to shut up and listen to the words of this man who was dead and now was alive.

“Yes, Tom. It is I. Don’t You remember what I said? I told everyone that I had to die. I told everyone that they could destroy the temple and I would rebuild it in three days. So, here I am. I know I look a little worse for the wear but that’s what happens to a body that is beaten and crucified.”

“I am sorry Lord. I was just so scared. I should have believed. I have been hoping to see you. Every time someone would enter I had hoped it was you. Then I gave up hoping and just decided to do my work and remember what you had done for me. That’s why I do this, you know?”

“I know” Jesus said with a smile and look of understanding. “I knew what you would be doing. The Father told me. “It’s how you stay connected isn’t it? It’s how you are reminded with every stitch, every breath that you were redeemed. Tom I am very proud of you and all that you have done. I know how hard it was when I told you that you could not come with me but look at what you have accomplished.”

“You are right, Lord. I was crushed when you told me to go home and tell my friends and family about what you had done for me. At first they were so astonished by the transformation that they could hardly hear about the one who had made it happen. But, I was persistent. I continued to tell people about you and the truth about who you are. I was so proud when you returned and everyone wanted to see you, to touch you, to hear you teach. I knew that I had a part in it and had done what I set out to accomplish. It’s why I learned to be a tailor, so I could remember what you did for me. Then it became so hard. Every time the needle pierced the fabric I thought about the way the soldier’s spear had pierced your side. I have shed a few tears as I hemmed a tunic. But now that you are here I remember all you said. You are the anointed one! You are the messiah! But why are you here? Why have you come to see me? Is there something I need to do?

“I am glad you asked,” Jesus replied. “I do have a few things I need to tell you. The first thing is thank you. Thank you for following what I told you to do. Thank you for the zealous pursuit of my charge to you. Thank you for all of the people who believe in me because of you and your faith. Next, I want to tell you to keep up your work as a tailor. Your witness to the transformation of your life speaks volumes to others. You were once naked and exposed, wandering and lost. Now you are clothed, in your right mind, and have direction in your life. Share that with others. Lastly, I want you to continue to tell others about me. Share me in your work. Share me with your family. Share me with your community. Share me with the stranger that stops in your shop and knows little or nothing of me. You have a gift and I promise you that the Father in heaven sees it and will reward you greatly.

Jesus then walked closer to Tom and wrapped his arms around him. Tom had never felt so strong and helpless at the same time. He felt the love of the Lord invade his body and it filled him from the bottom to the top as his eyes overflowed with the love imputed in that hug. “I love you and will always be with you,” Jesus said as he turned toward the door.

“I love you too Lord,” Tom said as Jesus walked through the doorway. “Thanks for everything. I will do my best to complete the task you have set before me. Bye for now.”

One of Those Days

I hate it when I wake up and feel like something is wrong,
something is off and my gut is in a knot
my head feels funny
it's like I'm on the verge of barfing
and the world is going by
sometimes at breakneck speed
and other times
with the speed of tree sap in winter
something is gnawing at the base of my mind
and I feel uneasy
and irritable
and downright pissy
but I'm an adult
so I smile
I put my best foot forward (whichever that is)
and I fight the urge to run away
to hide
to drink and smoke
and forget this feeling
and no body seems to notice that I feel (what is it exactly that I feel)
I'm not sure but nobody notices
and I endure
I guess it's just
one of those days

I've got a verse

Give beer to those who are perishing,
wine to those who are in anguish;
let them drink and forget their poverty
and remember their misery no more – Proverbs 31:6 – 7

so tonight I drink
I’ve got a verse
so screw you
I know what the Spiritually constipated think
and they can go fuck themselves

The pain that I feel cuts to my innermost parts
The pain that I feel belongs to another
but because we are called to love one another
I feel this pain
I feel it like it was my own
and I can’t fix it
and this pisses me off
and makes me sad
So I will drink my our pain away

And tomorrow the sun will rise
and we’ll do this again
But I have a verse…

more daughter writing

Change Your Mind

i remember when
we first met
i never would have thought
we were so alike

i saw the pain
behind your eyes
i knew that pain
a part of my life

immediately
we became best of friends
i had finally found
exactly what i'd been looking for

i helped you
i became an ear to listen
a shoulder to cry on
a friend to love

in turn you helped me
you gave me purpose
to you
i was good enough

never had i experienced
such meaning
this friendship
seemed so right

i became dependent
perhaps too much
but this i didn't see
for things went so smoothly

then i was hit with a brick
you left
you placed walls
which i could not understand

you told me
you were unreliable
that caring for people
will only get you hurt

you broke my heart
and my world was devastated
i had to come to love
this friendship

but you couldn't let go
you came back
promising me
never to do that again

i believed you
things would be different now
i trusted you
that you would fix this mess

as time continued
we had our ups
those terrific times
in which my life couldn't be better

but the downs came too
the nights of abandonment
of wondering
what was wrong with me

what could make a friend
do that to another
what happened to love
to compassion

what happened to
i need you
and ill always be there for you
where were you now

i want to believe you
every time you apologize
i want to believe you
when you say you'll try

you have those moments
of awakening
your heart breaks for me
and you set forth to improve

but how long will it last
a week? a day?
how long until something else
replaces your consciousness

i am worn out
i would do anything
to change your mind
to get your attention

i blame myself
i should have never become
so dependent
but how couldn't i?

there's no denying
we have a connection
nobody else gets me
like you do

i am on my knees
i have lost my dignity
i am begging for you
to see what's been lost

i cry for you to want it
to need it like i do
i want it
i need it

i won't let go
i can't let go
i have nowhere else to go
no one else to go to

this is my final cry
prove yourself to me
prove that this friendship
means anything

i want you to want me
in your life
i want you to need me
as a friend

please
don't let me be
another name
another friend forgotten

Despair

I came across this in book of Celtic blessings and couldn't resist posting it. I thought it was just that good.
Here's what it says:


(Despair can be caused by crushing disappointments. Often, however, it is caused by painful experiences that lie deeply buried beneath the surface of our everyday consciousness. Sometimes, sanity-destroying flashbacks bring these to mind. If You get such a flashback, focus on the image of Christ being crucified, and say a blessing on yourself in this pit of despair.)

Christ of the agony
Christ of the bleeding
Christ racked and stretched out on the Tree
I place upon you my own agony
I place upon you my bleeding heart
I place upon you my despair.

Take it
Break it
Remake it
Your Tree of death became the Tree of Life;
Give your blessing of life to me.

daughter's writing

the breakdown of a breakdown

it starts with a thought
just a simple notion
then you can't let it go--
and this is the part where it all falls apart

your mind becomes wrapped
warped with this idea
twisting and turning it
until it consumes you

that initial lump forms
you try to swallow
it chokes you up--
and this is the part where it all falls apart

trying not to blink
letting everything blur
gripping your sides
holding back the heaves

that first tear falls
followed by more
the Breakdown has awakened--
and this is the part where it all falls apart

caught up in the moment
everything else disappears
consumed by that thought
this is your reality

searching for reassurance
there has to be some sense of light
frantically finding nothing--
and this is the part where it all falls apart

vulnerable and alone
embarrassed to have reached
such a weak state
this cannot be you

this lasts a brief period
the tears run dry
the body's worn down--
yes, this is what happens when it all falls apart

deep breath
its broken and uneven
wipe off your face
and compose yourself

some relief appears
having let out the Breakdown
its gone for now--
that is--the part where it all falls apart

My Harley

There is something special about my Harley
She was the One for me
I remember the day I walked into the showroom floor
I had been there many times before
And couldn’t make up my mind
Then the day came
My inheritance came
So I went to the dealership
And I saw her
And I bought her

Now I feel free every time I mount her
Every time the wind is in my face
When I am freezing
When I am sunburned
When I have traveled 700 miles
When I am alone
When I am riding two-up
I am free
and happy

Today I rode
and I smiled
I stopped
and I loved
I shared
and I was full

There is something about my Harley
that is therapy
for me
and for others
I look forward to many more sessions.

More from my daughter

She's just so good I've gotta post her stuff

one

one drop can overflow a glass--
streaming down the edge
racing across the condensation
sliding through the table cracks
puddling on the floor.

it doesn't take much
after years of burrowed pardons
to reach the breaking point.
it only takes
one.

second chance - by my daughter

everyday the sun will rise,
and likewise it will set.
everyday the birds will sing.
everyday the breeze will flow.

does one wake and thank the sun, the birds, the wind?
does one appreciate that which is always there, always expected?

what though, what would happen in the absence of these?
without the sun, the world is dark.
without the birds, the world is silent.
without the wind, the world is still.

one does not have a love affair with the earth.
alike, one does not long for such things within reach.
but when they are gone,
when the world is dark and silent and still,
the desire burns.

that flaw of human nature:
a want for what one cannot have.
only yearning for something once its gone.
yes, the desire burns deep.

self-resentment sinks in.
a hindsight view seems so clear.
why didn't one appreciate the sun's warmth before?
the bird's song is beautiful;
the wind's breeze, refreshing.

too little too late,
there is nothing one can do.
what is gone, is gone.
such a painful reality.

a new tattoo

Today finally came. I had been waiting to get this tattoo for some time and after a few income bursts I ended up with a little extra cash in my pocket and decided it was time for a new tattoo. Jesus is often depicted as an effeminate white dude in a robe carrying a lamb on his shoulders. This is not the carpenter who worked with his hands that scripture describes. This is not the guy who scared the sit out of the money changer in the temple. Today, tattoo #7 (the number of perfection) joined my body as badass Jesus. This is the kind of guy I could worship. This is the kind of guy who inspires others to follow.

So let me tell of the process. While I had much anticipation about this there was a little apprehension as well. I know these things hurt. In fact, I think it’s stupid when people ask if they hurt. Did they not wear a helmet as a child? Of course they hurt. A needle is dipped into ink and then repeatedly it outlines or fills a part of your skin with the ink. Fuck yeah it hurts. But it is a good kind of hurt. There is a heat and tickling sensation. Pain and pleasure are mixed in equal parts as you make a permanent statement with your body. Back to what happened today. Megan of Galaxy Ink in Ashland (go see her) shaved my calf and then applied the stencil she made. After filling in any marks that did not transfer she began the outline, words first then the face of Jesus. This hurt and felt good at the same time. I could see the skin raise into welts as the ink and needle did their magic. When the outline was finished she changed needle tips to one that had more needles for the shading process. She filled in all of the blank parts taking breaks every so often to wipe it down with what I term “wonder juice”. Not sure what this stuff is but I know it feels nearly as good as the climax of an orgasm as she wipes clean the area she has been working on and the cooling relief of this is immediate (I may have even moaned). There were areas of more intense pain, particularly toward the end but what a gift this was to have placed on my body.

A sacrament is an outward sign of an inward eternal grace. Today I received my seventh sacrament on my body. Thank God!

More writing from my daughter

A Friend Forgotten

What happens to a friend forgotten?

Does their smile fade away
like an empty bottle at sea?
Or dare to shine--
hoping to be missed?

Does their hope sink
like a brick in water?
Or harden the heart--
like a neglected child?

Maybe they just evaporate
like the morning dew.

Or do they reappear?

My daughter's writing

This is too good not to post

This was written by my oldest daughter:

a lost ambition

a pain so deep
time never truly heals
scars will form
and forever remind

walls are built
ever higher
daring to tear them down
an impossible task

so much beauty
misabused by fools
unknowing of
a permanent damage

unfair disadvantages lie
to those farther down the road
wanting only to love
but never given the chance

robbed of that opportunity
so deserved, but incapable
nothing else is desired
nor should it be

seeking only good
apart from the past
how though to prove
this time will be different?

such a large task
ambitious really
to think one can tear down
walls so long in place

after failure upon failure
the question is faced:
to persevere
or to walk?

shall one show love
in the darkest of times
prove a light
still exists

or is it enough
pain overwhelms
forcing a retreat
and accepting failure

the latter is decided
the less noble
head hung low
an empty handed quest

a return to nothingness
a lonely position
seeking only love
but receiving nothing in return

wanting to blame such fools
for ruining a beautiful opportunity
for creating such destruction
with no consequence to them at all

anger arises
amidst a flood of emotions
no one fully occupies
the consciousness

an irony takes place
in seeking to show love
oneself becomes injured
a heartbreak leaves a deep wound

the adventurer
becomes the recluse
their own wounds scar
their own walls rise

a vicious cycle
needing to be broke
hear me now, Hope! Love!
come light,
come

racism

I am sitting watching one of the most intense movies ever. tears keep coming to my eyes as I watch the hatred portrayed on the screen. Ed Norton is a great actor but the subject matter is almost too much to bear. i see this hatred and think about the people I love. I think about the beauty of their skin, the warmth in their eyes and the shit that they have to put up with that I will never have to, that I cannot comprehend, and that is part of who I am. hatred sucks whatever is the motivation and whatever is your race. what we need to hate is the things that God hates. we need to cry God’s tears. i know that my kids don’t see color and that makes me proud. I wish I could say the same thing for the rest of the world but I cannot. it hurts. I cry. I love.

Tonight I Cried

Tonight I sat on my daughter’s bed as she shared the heartbreak of losing a friend. No her friend is not dead, at least not clinically. She is dead in many other ways. She keeps people out, like my caring compassionate daughter. She is dead in the way that she believes everyone should look out only for themselves and not let anyone in. She is dead in her isolation, her cutting, her inward pain that she has walled off from herself and others to the detriment of my little princess’s pain. I hate it. I hate seeing her in this much pain. I hate that she is not in a place that I can protect.

So I sat there on her bed tonight, thinking of the day she was born (an emergency C-section). I held her in the hallway and cried. I told her I would take care of her, play games with her, dance with her, do nails and hair with her. I told her I would always be there for her. And as I held her in my arms tonight, the tough guy cracked and tears poured down my face to match her tears. We held each other. We cried together. And somehow, this eased her pain and I felt like I had done something. Not sure what. But I know one thing.

Tonight I cried.

Reading

Somehow I forgot to read
the words and thought in black & white
had gotten replaced by the business of life
and the shit that comes with it

I received a gift in a friend
I read her writing and was inspired
inspired to write, and more importantly
to read

So that’s what I’m doing again
I’m writing
But more importantly

I’m Reading