sin
Freely Giving… Thanks?
The chain was strong, a little rusted, but it was thick and I could see it was strong. What worried me was the length. I stood there with one hand on the chain link fence, the other balancing three meals and three deserts in Styrofoam containers, my eyes were locked onto those of the subject of the “Beware of Dog” sign. His eyes were locked onto mine.
The fence went around a mobile home with a porch, a deck, a carport, and a loft built up over the carport. There were a few cars in the yard so I was hoping someone was home. But the very full dogfood bowl next to the fence possibly indicated otherwise.
He sat there expressionless, (dogs can have expressions so they can be expressionless) his head pushed a little forward and down, his body looked like a spring, if springs were furry and muscley. I reached for the clasp on the gate and those tawny eyes narrowed, I was looking at a furry, musclebound spring with Clint Eastwood eyes. Only Clint didn’t have a gun, he had perfectly bright white teeth.
Those teeth looked strong, I knew from my days as a vet tech that Pit Bulls came in third behind Rottweilers and German Shepard for bite strength, but that the 240 lbs of pressure that I knew that this guy could chomp down with still made my mouth go dry. That and his silence, no barking, no straining at the end of his chain, he just sat and waited for me to make my move.
“Who’s a gooood boi?” had no effect on him, my cutest dog voice left him just as unwavering like a statue just as before.
That chain. A little rusty, it was blending in with the leaves in the yard. There was a large SUV in the yard between the dog and the house, I was trying to estimate if the chain was long enough for the dog to get past the SUV. If not I could get to the front door to try to deliver these holiday meals, meals provided by the Salvation Army to be delivered by me. It would have been easy to move on, to report back my leader that I couldn’t come through because of the dog. He would have understood, I know he would have, but I hated to think that folks would be expecting a meal and get nothing.
I was actually hoping the dog would bark to alert the residents that someone was here and I wouldn’t have to try to get past him. But he just sat there quietly looking like a cannon ball ready to launch (do cannonballs launch?) Not a peep from him though, cannon balls don’t bark I guess.
I reached again for the big double gate that was about 30 feet from the dog house where this guy was chained. Thinking peaceful thoughts I opened the gate and swung it toward me. I was thinking it would be easier to escape if the gate was opened out rather than in, but it grated and stuck on the gravel drive. I had to push it in. The dog was now standing, waiting with the a confident patience. Moving at the speed of a glacier I eased my first step into the yard. No response from the dog.
I took another step and was now completely in the yard and the dog made no effort to approach. I tried to look as non-threatening as a man in jeans and a polo, carrying three large and three small Styrofoam containers can look. With my face passive I tried to walk slowly without looking like I was stalking and I made it to the SUV. I now had a large, gas guzzling (if broke down) symbol of American Rugged Individualism between me and those strong white teeth that were attached to a very strong tan body.
I couldn’t see the dog but I could faintly hear the chain clink as he shifted. A bead of sweat dripped from my forehead and down my cheek, my brain was telling me how stupid this was, it was just a turkey dinner and not worth getting murdered in the face by a Pit Bull for. My heart told my brain shut up and remember what it’s like to be hungry, to be alone and feel like no one cares at a holiday. My feet took a few more steps. My heart quit yelling at my brain because it was too busy trying to pound itself out of my chest.
Each time the gravel crunched under my feet there was a leafy crunch under the dog’s feet. I bent to look under the SUV and saw those tawny eyes staring at me. Dang. I really felt like the front door was farther than the chain could reach, but there were about 5 feet between me and the door that I wasn’t sure of. My brain told me not to run, running stimulates a dog’s predator response and makes them want to chase. Instinct what battling intelligence as I stepped past the SUV at almost a half jog. This half jog was immediately interrupted by a sweep of leaves, dust, and chain clanging cacophony. I turned to face the noisy dust cloud and out of it emerged those teeth.
My feet backpedaled and I stumbled on the gravel, I bicycled in the air as I fell backwards, one arm whirling for balance, the other trying not to drop those precious Styrofoam containers. Teeth flew at me, now eye level as my mouth snapped shut when my rear bounced on the ground. I scrunched my face ready to feel those teeth sink into it, but that tearing of flesh never happened.
I opened one eye hoping to see only half the horror and saw the dog sitting, tongue lolling, tail wagging. I swear he looked like he was laughing at this great joke he just played on me. The chain though, was stretched nearly taught and I was beyond his reach. A whimpering whine was the first sound he made and I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t get the chance to murder me, eat the food, or have some human contact. I wasn’t about to find out.
I had managed not to drop any of my containers and I stood, brushed off some dust with my free hand, and tried to steady my nerves as I walked up the porch to knock on the door. I couldn’t hear anything inside, no t.v. or voices. Everything was quietly contrasting the commotion of just a few moments previous. So I was extra terrified when the second dog pounced at me when I knocked.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of fur at teeth fly at me only to bash harmlessly against the inside of the window next to the door. This dog was inside. A little shaky I turned to look at the first dog who’s face was split in a wide, toothy (sharp toothy) grin with his tongue hanging so far down it almost dragged the dirt. His tail was kicking up dust and leaves as it furiously wagged back and forth in laughter.
Two things were obvious; no one was home, and this dog thought he was hilarious. I was walking dejectedly from the door, letting my heart rate come down. The chained dog was looking at me wagging his tail so hard it was wiggling his butt. I really wanted to give him a couple pats but thought better of it, those teeth were still looking pretty dangerous. I’ve known too many dogs who would bite even with a wagging tail because they really enjoyed biting people. (there are times I can really relate)
I walked a wide parabola around the SUV to make sure I was past the farthest extent of the chain and the dog whined even more as I left. He knew his fun was over.
It was hard to walk past that dog, to try to deliver food to someone in need. The smart thing would have been to go to the next house, but I felt like that would have been giving in to fear. Even though there was a sign warning of the danger of proceeding I felt that my mission was more important than fear.
The next house had something that, for me, was even more difficult to get past. It was a beautiful, brand new, shiny black Harley Davidson trike. Did I say beautiful, looking into the paint of this bike was like looking into forever. I looked at the $35k bike and then glanced at the single container with some turkey and mashed potatoes, balanced on top was a smaller container with a pumpkin spice muffin and I was like, “I can’t even…”
*just like this one, I didn’t take a picture of the actual bike
My heart sank and I felt a little sick to my stomach. My judgement was on fire. A guy with a $35 thousand dollar motorcycle was on the list for a free holiday meal. Ug
I would have rather faced twenty viscous dogs on extra long chains than have to face this guy with his expensive bike to give him his free meal, prepared with love and care by sweet and generous volunteers. I was getting angry. I was judging. I was forgetting.
I was forgetting that there are no asterisks in the bible. *Feed the hungry… *Care for the poor… *Visit those in prison. The bible doesn’t do qualifiers.
*unless they’re hungry because they bought a motorcycle they couldn’t afford, unless they’re poor because they can’t keep a job because of drug use, or unless they’re in prison for horrible things
I prayed on my way up to the door, asking God to take away my judgement and fill me with the joy of service. I knocked and I wish I could tell you that this guy told me the bike was a gift, or that he won it in a contest, or that it belonged to his visiting brother. But no, it was his. I kept praying. I prayed as he asked me where I thought he could get a new blue ray player. I prayed as I told him that he could probably grab one at goodwill. I prayed as he told me through broken teeth and a scraggly mustache, “No… I need a new one because the one I have doesn’t have 3-D.”
I sat and chatted with him longer, through the conversation I stopped praying and just listened to a human who needed someone to talk to. We chatted about movies (3-D and otherwise), the weather, a little football talk, and even about his motorcycle… it was really beautiful. I told him how I love motorcycles but that I made a promise to someone amazing (someone who’s no longer even in my life but some promises you keep) that I would never ride again. He thought that was pretty amazing to hold to my promise like that.
Then I told him about broken promises I had made and how hanging on to this one was sort of making amends for all the others. He asked what changed about me to make me want to keep promises, I told him that God had changed my heart and made me want to give more than receive. He looked a little thoughtful, told me that was pretty cool, and turned to go watch football on his giant t.v..
I turned to go, walked past his beautiful bike and saw my shiny black jeep, with almost as much chrome as his bike.
Isn’t she beautiful?
I knew he and I were the same, I tried to find happiness in shiny cars, alcohol, and pretty women. He looked for it in motorcycles, big t.v.s, and 3-D blue ray players. So, I truly believe that the gift I extended to him had nothing to do with the turkey and stuffing, but more I shared with him that I have a new source of joy, a true source of joy. I doubt his life changed on a dime, but maybe he has something new to consider.
As far as the free meal, a gift must be given freely, without judgment of whether it’s deserved, without hope of reciprocation, without anything but the hope that you make someone’s life a little better, a little easier. It’s not easy for us as humans to give in such a way, but I know that gifts I’ve received, and grace I’ve received was undeserved, and so it’s my job to give in the exact same way.
*But seriously?!?! a $35k bike!
…o.k. I still need work, I have learned to overcome fear, but I still struggle with judgement. To get out of judgement I tell myself about 2 Cornthians 4:15 and I know that my service has a purpose.
All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.
And as I was walking the parabola around the extent of the change I was wishing I had paid more attention in math class because I couldn’t remember if I need to add or subtract five feet from y squared to shift the vertex to the right….
given x = y^2
x = y^2 -5 or x = y^2 +5, I must have guessed correctly because I survived to write this story! Thanks y’all and God bless. Fair warning I have a few cloud poems floating around in my head…
Towers
Babel…
These towers shove Babel
That races through the skies
Clouds bearing witness
With their misty eyes
These towers love Babel
The source of lies
Babels spread
The young girl cries
Photos fly reaching untold eyes, messages of love, lust, loss of trust, words of hate hiding insecurities proving painful sureties that cycles roll on, all take the toll on sanity, of false
Vanity
He towers above Babel
With infinite love
for us sinful rabble
Understanding but hating our reasons
Still forgiving
These electronic treasons
against His way
I struggle with a few things, one is the actual story of the Tower of Babel, in Genesis 11: 1 – 9 it reads as if God is worried that humans will become too powerful… I think it is more that God doesn’t want us to rely overmuch on our own power, and splits the language of man and condemning me to try to learn conjugations and irregular verbs and try to keep from mixing my English, Spanish, and German… (Creo que das ist nicht so gut.)
God wants us to rely on him. I don’t always do that. I know y’all are probably picking yourselves up off the floor at my admission that I’m human. I try to deal with my anxiety and insecurity by getting noticed for physical appearance. I have done it in person, electronically, and even anonymously… I’m not proud of the things that I have done, sent, posted, but I’m not beating my self up about them anymore either.
It is all from a strange mix of pride and insecurity. I write ‘is’ because I still struggle, but with my recovery group and my work the struggle gets smaller all the time. And now I share with you all because there may be someone out there, someone like me, who needs to hear that God still loves them and wants them back. (I know I should write him or her there but it’s so awkward!)
For so long I thought God didn’t want me because of my dirt and that I had to rely on myself and my works to feel good about myself. But now I know that He loves me so much that he sacrificed His only Son to wash away my dirt and let me draw near. That love and grace soothes my anxiety and diminishes my prideful insecurities.
And now with the I-phone X out with its selfie features and functions I will need it even more!
When I’m really thinking I can do anything to ease my trouble or guilt I remember Ecclesiates….
Ecclesiastes 2:11 “Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.”
Thanks y’all and God bless
Some people swore…
Some people swore that the house was haunted. It wasn’t just because of the way the ancient dark oaks stood guard looming in the moonlight. It was a little because of the way the graying paint pealed off like strips of flesh rotting from a corpse. Also it was a little because the house was built on the site of a great Civil War massacre, although nobody was sure which side massacred what. All these things implied, “Haunted House,” but didn’t prove. Some folks swore it was haunted, knew it was haunted cause some folks had seen me.
A pale apparition in the window late at night, the one the boys would dare each other to sneak out to see, the one teenagers would use to try to scare their dates into a kiss or…maybe more. Sometimes I favor them with a short pass by the window or even a pause. I do love to hear the screams when they see what they can’t explain. It sound like sort of a muffled moan or whimper, the young ones sprint away usually leaving the slower friends to fend for themselves and the teens get pulled into the car by their girls and act tough like they aren’t scared, but I see them looking back over their shoulder trying to convince themselves.
I suppose at this point I could continue the cliché and tell you about the sorrow that ties me to this house. Should I drag the tears out of you with a tale of loss? My boy, my beautiful son, the image of me was taken. It happened when I realized how tightly I was clinging to the memory of the fishing trips, of the walks with a tiny hand in mine, of the way that he would look up to me with such devotion usually reserved for God. The memory mixes with the responsibility of having a little copy of yourself watching your every move trying to become more and more like you that crashes home when you see the pain in his eyes when you become human. And the disappointment that he’d achieved his goal, he’d become you. I lost my son true, but I lost him to life, he is a lawyer now with a beautiful wife and a precious little girl. He’s the God now and has little need of me, I just hope he enjoys the time he has before he’s human.
I guess the reason I haunt this place really is to keep a little mystery in this town, and with it some wonder. I do it so that dads can stay gods just a little longer or maybe so that my son will see that maybe I am something more then human. I’ve been doing it for years, showing just enough to keep people coming out, but not enough to convince everyone. I hide when the cameras come out because lasting proof would be the end of me. My wife, of course worries, “Get away from that window ya old fool,” she says, “fore someone gets too scared and tires to shoot ya.” I guess that could kill me, then I’d be dead and no one would haunt this old house. I won’t live for ever of course. But then my son could tell my tale with a half smile and a tear, he’d tell of how his dad hung on to something as long as he could but in the end he died trying to keep us young and then he’d say how….
Nothing was ever the same again after that.
I wrote that story about seven years ago for an NPR short story contest. I know, NPR, I’ll wait while you silently judge me as a free thinking hippie.
O.k. now that we have that over with you can judge my writing. The contest was to write 600 words or less with the phrases “Some people swore the house was haunted” and “Nothing was ever the same again after that.”
It was a story I had in my head for a while and then the contest prompted me to write it. It was originally going to be more about how the actions of the father can let down the son. How a father acting perfect all the time can set up a son for failure. Because of the 600 word constraint though I cut it short. As I re-read it again for the first time in 7 years I can feel where the story is disjointed, halts, and then goes off in a different direction.
Maybe that still tells a story though, I tried to make this story fit someone else’s idea, I tried to make it match an ideal rather than to life as it was meant to. Because I tried to jam it into a mold it ended up not living up. I really wanted to edit it and make it better and scary and then have the big twist… but, I’m letting the story stay like it is to illustrate something.
I often try to jam myself into the mold of best student, hardest worker, funnest dad, most attentive partner. I just don’t fit that mold, as much as I try, I fall short and I end up disjointed and in the wrong direction.
What I realize is that I don’t have to be anyone’s ideal, I am imperfect in my life and my decisions. When I try to be in control and try to be something that glorifies myself I fall, a few times I have fallen very far and brought others down with me.
Now I read my bible every day, I meet once a week with some brothers and sisters who are going through recovery, and I pray for guidance because I know that I am NOT God.
As far as direction I think of Psalm 32-8 and live one day at a time.
I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
I will counsel you with my eye upon you.
Thanks y’all and God bless. And for you cloud poem folks don’t worry I have a real beaut coming up!
Drag on into the shadows
Dragon slithering
Soars
Across morning sky
Many singed serpent
With cloud shrouded eye
A dusky dark specter
Of future unkind?
Or a hazy mark reflection of
projections of
Darkness in the mind
Trust
Brightening sun will rise
Just
Enlightening dark filled eyes
See
Darkness fading
Shadows shorten shadings
Light
Cascading
into recesses
of the brain
Yet
Still
Shadows Remain
I know, I know, but I love cloud poems and plus that one totally looks like a dragon so… obviously. In all seriousness this reminded me of a bible study I’m doing on leadership that stated that leaders need to be examples of the truth. Yes! Absolutely! The devotional went on to state that leaders need to show that the truth to be an example of is basically perfection…
Ooops what? If a leader has to be perfect then I’m gonna go ahead and give up my spot, because brothers and sisters I’m a sinner. I’v talked about my journey toward God and away from sin but it’s a journey we don’t finish on Earth. When a leader has the expectation to be perfect or tries to act perfect we are in trouble (and so is he or she.)
The truth I want to be an example of is that I am a sinner and I need God’s grace every day, the truth I want to be an example of is that grace has amazing healing powers, the truth I want to be an example of is that my heart is healing with grace but I’m still a sinner.
I used to get Wilde and say, “I can resist anything but temptation,” Then, through grace I was able to start rising above temptation, but it was still there. Now, through grace, temptations themselves are fading. Fading, not disappearing, and honestly I still have moments of weakness. The truth I want to be an example of is that in those moments, when I’m weakest, I feel my greatest need for God.
In those moments I trust that God loves me, I know that His Son will shine his infinite grace into my brain and help heal me. The imagery of the shadows and feeling like my heart has shadows and that brought to mind the psalm that I first learned in the *Army.
Psalm 23:4
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil; for Thou art with me, and Thy rod and Thy staff comfort me.
*Of course it was a little different in the Army though because it finished with something like, “because I’m the baddest blankety blank in the valley…”
Thanks for putting up with yet another cloud poem y’all and God bless
The Future Holds
I Struggle to understand
Violence inside of man
Searching for reason
In a senseless season
It escapes me
The search castrates me
Pain
Undeniable
Explanation intention, safety, prevention, questions, reports, accusations, retorts…
Useless anger flails to find fault
Emotion stretched, strung taut
Control
Evades us
Please God
Let peace invade us
Let us rest and remember
Peaceful pastures lie in wait
Places free from hate
Directions so simple yet so clouded
A point shrouded
Blurring the start
A point within
A human heart
I am not in control
I can’t understand
Serenity still
Fills
The surrendering hand
On Monday morning I found myself just praying one word, “Help,” I don’t even honestly know if I needed help or wanted help for victims and families, for our country, or a little of everything. When I’m praying and a word stands out in my head I pray it.
I’m sure some were praying, “Why?” Would a God of mercy allow such violence such senseless, severe, and random violence? No Answer.
Is that a dangerous prayer? To question God? Maybe, but it’s a human prayer. I grew up thinking that God would be mad if I questioned him, that I had to work to make God love me, but now I understand that God wants all of us. Our doubts, our accusations, even our anger. Give it up to God even when we don’t know what it is or don’t understand His way, offer it to Him and talk to Him about it. Is it a sin to question God? We don’t even have to answer that question because if it is we’re forgiven, I think it’s worse to think you can fool God and hide your anger for Him from Him…
And the prayer for help can change with the prayer I say every week with a group of broken and helpless guys , and it’s written on the inside of my bracelet. “*God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
When I talk to my sister (the smart one*2) about trusting God and letting him work she reminds me that He gave me a brain and abilities to work also, that I can’t just sit back and wait. She’s right and it’s right in there.
The question remains, can we do anything about the violence that has occurred and can occur again? Yes, plenty, but it may not look exactly like what we might expect, and nothing I ever do can keep me completely safe. Which is something I struggle with, I am at the mercy of bullets, bombs, cancers, crashes, even the slip of a hand of a professional who thought he was in control of a needle… all these can affect me no matter how strong tough smart careful I am.
The most important I think that I can do then is love; myself, my family, my neighbors. Especially my neighbors… I am going to continue to reach out, to find my friends in isolation and talk with them and try to let some light into their lives.
Reach out and call someone you haven’t talked to in a while, check in with your neighbors and family try to give them a smile. That Aunt (not you Auntie Mi) that you haven’t chatted with in a while, you’re ex brother, father, or mother-in-law, the people who get forgotten, call them. Conversations with those estranged folks can be painful and awkward but it very well could be a conversation that saves a life.
Paul wrote so much about fellowship and I’m reminded of Ephesians when I think of trying to pull people together in the most difficult of times.
Ephesians 4:2-3
with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.
*Quoted above and on my bracelet is The Good Parts Version of the Serenity prayer. The part everyone knows and has on posters. There’s lots more…
*2 Each of my sisters thinks I just wrote about her now
Chances Taken and Branches Shaken
The wind buffets back and forth
Like taking chances
Each direction like the oak
Branches
Perfect?
Not quite
Asymmetrical in sight
Bark scored from a swing chain
Of children’s laughter only echoes remain
It stood through storm and heat
Stayed the rain and sleet
Winds bending not breaking
Limbs creaking
Shaking
The whole remains intact
Even as limbs give up and snap
Leaving holes
Gaps
In the soul off center gashes
To beauty’s eye
Empty slashes
But the heart sees a different story of these tests
These winds
The heart sees these spaces
As glorious places for the light of grace
to fill in.
I have some ugly scars… from winning the jumping from the top step contest, working in a church, and from an accident in the Army along with several others. Each scar though, came with a lesson and left a tough patch of skin. We boys (and maybe girls but I can’t speak for y’all) bear our scars as medals of achievement, of surviving stupidity on the way to wisdom.
I have uglier, emotional scars, some because of what was done to me and some because of what I had done. Men (and maybe women… see above) are taught to hide these and not let anyone see a flaw. Well that’s pure crap. Show off your scars, be proud of surviving, because to do so will help others survive and help others stop their cycle of shame and pain.
Each scar, physical or emotional can be a medal and a space for light to shine through. Each scar can be an example of how our trials shape us and we can decide whether to let them be dark blemishes on our soul or a space for our light to shine through. Thanks and God bless
Matthew 5:16
In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
A Damaged Donor…
It started with bad timing. My hands griped the wheel with white knuckles as I zoomed in and around traffic. Engine roaring as a lane would open up so that I could get one more car length closer to my destination, then brakes straining as traffic would grow sluggish, not to a stop but still too slow.
I checked the rearview, not for cars behind me but to see if my precious cargo was traveling well. Two humble boxes, the contents of which could save lives… if I got them delivered in time.
It started with a mistimed harvest and a broken cooling system. If my delivery got to hot it would be useless and it could potentially mean tragedy. So, I mashed the gas and mashed the brakes alternatively as I tried to get south on I 35, a task that is stressful no matter the occasion. From the middle lane I saw a Minivan to my left, if I could just edge up the little Hybrid ahead of me I could pop into the left lane and zoom away. I drew closer to the Hybrid (I hate tailgaters I really do but this was an emergency) and saw the Minivan’s front bumper come even with my back wheel… just a little father… brake lights… the Hybrid was upset at and decided to tap his brakes. As I stomp the brake pedal my hand reaches back to catch the cargo that was sliding forward with inertia. I stopped the car and the cargo just before they ended in a devastating crash.
By the time the Hybrid accelerated (well accelerated for a Hybrid) the van had passed me so I jumped in the fast lane in hopes of a clear path and higher speeds. My hopes were dashed as I saw the sticker family on the back window of the Minivan getting closer as it was keeping a constant 2 mph under than the posted speed limit which is truly more like 12 under for the left lane. The Hybrid was now pulling away and I could feel the smug attitude of the driver from the posture of the care (sometimes you can just tell.) I knew I shouldn’t be mad at the Minivan driver, she was probably just a stick figure mom, driving a stick figure kid to the Dr. or maybe a stick figure dog to the Vet… but still, left lane for passing not getting passed…
Just as I was shaking my head at how sometimes my lack of patience leads to folly I saw an opening in the far right lane. I zoomed over (obviously pausing in the middle land and using my turn indicator in case any law enforcers are reading) and saw a clear path all the way to my exit. From there I knew there were four lights before my left turn onto a side street that had to cross to busy streets after a stop sign…
Nervous beads of sweat dripped from my forehead as if I could feel the heat that was ruining my precious delivery. I was blessed to catch 75% of the lights green and have no traffic to contend on my cross streets. I was only blocks away.
I knew I was only two blocks and a right turn away now… my tension grew inversely to the proximity of my destination. I was imagining an overheated and useless delivery, I could see the disappointment on the faces of my recipients. I’d never let them down before and this would be a new experience. Visions of me leaving the building with my head hanging down clouded my view of the roads.
Almost in tears with worry I finally pulled in to the parking lot, I rushed to the door loaded with my two containers. The smile that Kelly the receptionist usually greeted me with quickly faded. Her eyes widened and then narrowed with question as she took in my sweaty face.
“They took it out too soon and our cooler broke,” was all I could say.
Like a spring Kelly was out of her chair, “Quick let’s get it to the back and see what the damage is.”
She lead me bursting through the double doors and I saw the team waiting for me, I was shaking, so mad at myself even though circumstances were beyond my control.
My eyes locked onto those of the team leader Jackie, “Is it bad?”
Looking down with shame I could barely say, “I haven’t looked.”
“O.k. Bob don’t get down, let’s look at what we’re dealing with.” Jackie carefully opened one of the boxes and looked inside, her brow scrunched and her shoulders dropped.
“Oh no,” I thought, “It’s ruined.”
Jackie reached into the container and pulled out a sample. With horror I watched as she popped it into her mouth and began to chew….
“Not bad,” she smiled, “A little wilted and bitey, but arugula is supposed to have a peppery taste. Besides, any produce you bring us that we can’t hand out goes to a pig farmer who gives us ham every year so nothing you bring goes to waste.”
I was so relieved that my leafy vegetables hadn’t been ruined by getting picked early and sitting in the sun and then a hot room with no ac. I had delivered late but not too late and my humble and meager 50lbs of arugula would go on to feed some hungry families from the food bank.
Oh gosh, I’m sorry did I make you feel like I was delivering an organ for donation? Well, maybe I meant too, maybe food deliveries don’t come with the urgency of say, a new heart, but food saves lives just the same. The urgency of this delivery sort of did bring that fact to the front of my consciousness on this particular trip.
The USDA indicates that as many as 1 in 6 people in the US are “food insecure” which means they don’t have access at all times to enough food for the household. Because I’ve gone hungry before (o.k. it was because I spent my food money on beer, but still) and because I’m trying to change my selfishness through giving and because I work at a place with lots of land and labor I decided that I would try to start a farm to grow vegetables for food banks.
The food bank I frequent was used to me bringing a truckload (ok Grand Cherokee load) of vegetables and melons. Our biggest delivery was 500 lbs of onions, and 497 lbs of watermelon came in second. So, the other issue I was having over the arugula was size of donation. It was only 50 lbs and I was almost too ashamed to deliver it, like, what good would 50lbs of wilted peppery lettuce do?
When I saw the faces of the volunteers and employees and even some of the recipients I knew that 50lbs though small, meant another day between a family and hunger for a few folks at least. And each pound adds up. So far we’ve provided over 3700 lbs of food to our local food bank. The men who are doing the work are so happy to be able to give, and most of them are on a journey of recovery just like I am. It’s amazing to see the growth of the garden and how it’s like a physical manifestation of their spiritual and moral growth. (OUR spiritual and moral growth; I’m on the same path)
When I worry about how small a contribution I can make I remember a story of a boy and some starfish, and most of all I remember Mark 12 and I quit worrying about how much I can give as long as it’s all I can.
43 Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has given more than all the others who are making contributions. 44 For they gave a tiny part of their surplus, but she, poor as she is, has given everything she had to live on.”
And I do try to remember that no act and no amount of giving can make me worthy of Grace, but rather I do these things as a celebration of God’s love.
Thanks and just a warning, I have like… at least 6 cloud poems in my head so watch out! God bless.
Shimmering City Skies
Tiny city under big shimmering sky
Underneath rushing roads more travelled by
Hurry run rush
Never stop to hear the hush
The sound of the sun sinking low
Travelers tightly grip
The illusion of control
Sanity slowly slips
As onward cars will roll
But some blessed, some few
See the quiet view
A reminder of
the one above
Who steers this world with love
Take time to enjoy a pretty view y’all. On Sunday I was Baptised, I did it as a reaffirmation of who I want to be and of the devotion of The Father and His Son who have brought so much healing to my life. On the Saturday evening before I had taken my kids out for a pre Father’s day diner and saw this view of the city and the shimmering sunset spoke to me about the Glory of God’s Grace. I am ugly with sin…. but through Jesus God sees me beautiful. God bless and thanks for reading 🙂
1 John 4:18
“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The One who fears is not made perfect in love.”
*Also, even though there are clouds in the picture there is nothing in the poem about clouds so I still haven’t met my quota for the year….
Hiding From Jekyll
Some people like hanging out here… they’re comfortable and they see friends. I’m not and I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love to see the smiling faces, the handshakes that linger as only handshakes of old friends do. I love to see people content to just sit near each other and not talk, or talk just to repeat, “Uhhh huu,” to each other over and again. Countless wrinkles around countless eyes, wrinkles from a hard life now turned up with a smile of friendship. I see it all, and that’s part of the problem. I see it all.
I don’t just see what’s happening, I see what could happen…. always, the man walking in with a cane who puts no weight on it… a potential weapon that might fool the minimal security here at the VA hospital but not me. That man with the cane can move just fine and has a dangerous grace about his posture. With my back to the wall I can see everyone coming in through the automatic glass doors, young, old, happy, angry, male… female… some on walkers, some in chairs. We’ve all been a little chewed up by the military (ours or someone else’s) and some of us bear the scars (outside or inside) a little better than others.
I think I’m somewhere between totally broken down and doing just fine. Maybe it depends on the day? This day I had to come and wait to get some bloodwork done and talk to a physical therapist about some exercises I can do for the physical brokenness. For the spiritual breaks I seek other help. The VA does try, the first thing you hear when you call them up is a kind voice asking if you are thinking of hurting yourself and who to call if you are, operators are standing by….
Spiritually I turn to God, I just recently met him, met him and His Son. Funny thing is I always knew they were there, but didn’t know them until I was introduced a few months ago. That was one of the most painful and most joyful moments of my life, death and rebirth I guess will do that to you. At any rate God’s got my spirit, even if I have to spend some nights on my knees clutching my cross tightly to my chest. So tight that blood drips down to the carpet as I pray, the points piercing my palms as I try to forget the stigma of my ways. I pray that God would take over, because I know the mess I make when I’m in control.
Draped in the armor of His love, that’s how I leave my place, a cross around my neck cross on my hand on a silver ring that once was lost but now was found. Scripture on a steel ring and on a leather band around my wrist. Simple shiny cross around my neck on a plain black leather cord. I wear it all on the outside, with pride, with humility to offer myself as a sacrifice to God’s grace.
Today the crosses would cause some trouble. Like I said before I see everything, the young woman pushing her dad’s chair, his shoulders slumped in defeat, eyes weary and sad to be a burden, young woman’s eyes determined but sad to see her dad depleted. I see the guy pacing, back and forth, he’s about 55, 5’10”, and even through his heavy cotton duck coat he looked to be a lean 180. I see him pace back and forth, casting glances at me out of the corner of his eye, looking away when I meet his gaze. I see him sweating in his heavy jacket. A big, heavy, concealing, jacket worn on a 95 degree Texas day.
One of his furtive glances sticks and eye contact is made, his aimless wandering turns to a determined walk right in my direction. His eyes never left mine and he approaches my seat against the wall. With a stiff back and a little rasp in his voice words erupt from his mouth, “I see you wear all those crosses, I’m gonna ask you something.”
His body stiff and his actions jerky, his body language was influencing me, I felt myself getting angry with this man I didn’t even know, I take a calming breath before responding, “Ask away my friend.” I force a smile and try to make it real, I ease my posture and unclench my fists to make my body tell my mind there is no threat.
The man sits down to my left, his jacket is unzipped but he’s using his right hand to keep it closed over his red t-shirt, “Do you call yourself a Christian?”
The question startles me to a moment of silence, “Um… yes, but it’s really new to me.”
“What does that mean?” he barks as he leans closer to me, his posture reminding me of a coiled spring.
I pause for another breath and gather my response, “Well to be honest I got tired of being who I was and finally asked God to help me…”
“God or Jesus,” he interrupts me with a shine in his eyes, a little foam of saliva gathers at the corners of his mouth, “do you claim to follow Jesus?”
I try to stay relaxed but my body is on high alert, I don’t know exactly how to answer him. “I’m Bob. what’s your name brother?”
It was almost as if I slapped him to ask, “I’m Ryan” he says quickly going back to his earlier track, “Do you follow Jesus.”
I’m given a brief moment to think as the intercom announces, “now serving number of 49”… I know my ticket reads, “67,” but I see Ryan glance at his, I hope I might get out of this uncomfortable conversation. No luck, his wrinkled ticket reads, “70.”
“Like I said Ryan I’m really new, I hope I’m following Jesus.”
“How do you know, what books do you study?”
“I have this app on my phone, a Bible app, it gives me lessons and chapters to read. I just started one called “The bible in one year. Where I..”
“Old testament or new testament!” again he can’t wait for me to finish, it was more a rushed accusation than a question.
I barely have time to tell him that it’s a little of both before he’s back at it voice rasping with the quiet anger of one who doesn’t want to be overheard, “You’re in the new testament, you follow Paul, you’re not a Christian, you’re a Paulean!” as quiet as he started he hits “Paulean” with a crescendo of triumph and as he finished his left hand pounded the table next to him.
I jump a little and I can feel the monster inside, pulling for control, for a chance to be let off the chain. In Inhale….pause…. exhale. I feel the energy drain from my body with by breathing. “What does it mean to be Paulean brother? I haven’t heard of it before.”
“Do you know the Tanakh? The Mosaic Law? Are women allowed to preach in your church?”
He’s erratic but I feel like he’s knowledgeable, I think I know at least that he’s probably trying to catch me in something Paul said about women teaching in Corinthians… my curiosity somehow calms me though, “No I don’t know what that is. Women give lessons in my church though.”
His left hand shoots up extending his index finger like a “#1” and his eyes are wide in triumph, “Exactly what I thought, you don’t follow the law! You think you don’t have to follow the law because of Jesus, but you still have to live by the old testament.”
I know that right now no matter what I answer with he will use against me. A part of me just wants to pacify him and go along so that he’ll leave me alone and I can calm down. The other side of my monster just hates the conflict and will do anything to avoid it. But I really believe that God is moving things for me to learn tough lessons, and this is probably one. I feel like I am supposed to have this conversation. I decide I might deflect some of his anger with questions, “Where do you go to church? Are you in a Bible study?”
With a brief shake of his head he addresses the question, “I don’t need that. I study on my own.”
“Well I thought that in order to interpret God’s will from scripture we had to read together with other people so we could interpret…”
Again his left hand shot up, “Interpret?!?! You can’t interpret God’s word, it is as it’s written!”
The loudspeaker stops his verbal assault, “67 please come to the window.” Relieved to be out of the conversation I excuse myself. I get to the window and the nice lady just needs to verify my name and DOB. No relief.
I stand there a moment… as I decide what to do my mind goes back to the dark day I realized I how badly I needed God. I was looking into beautiful blue eyes tearing up as she realized I had another side, a hidden dark side. I was hit in the face with the fact that I was living two lives, one a hero and one a monster… I had decided that I would never cause harm again and that God was my only hope. As soon as these thoughts pop in my head the idea that there is a lesson here moves my feet back to the chair next to him.
I know I have to go finish my conversation.
He’s craning his neck looking to see if I’ll come back as I walk around the chairs to my previous seat. I expected to see him relax when I sat back down on his right…
His face flashes read, even his ears, “I’m gonna show you!” His eyes glossy and wide look down into the left inside of his coat, his right hand reaches across slips inside….
My body is electric, with chills on my skin every option goes through my mind.
The minute I see the cold blue steel emerge from his jacket I reach with my right hand to his elbow, pushing it to extension so that his hand can’t draw the gun. I quickly step over his body to put my full weight on his elbow trapping the arm against his body, his exclamation is cut short as the claw of my left hand closes around his throat. His left arm is restricted against the arm of his chair but I still feel it clawing at my shoulder. I press hard against his trachea and just wait for his eyes to flutter and glaze.
That’s what I would have done had I seen a gun, that and three other scenarios played out in my head before I see nothing more dangerous than a pamphlet come out of his coat pocket. He unfolds the pamphlet as I try to remove the image of his body squirming while light fades from his eyes.
For one who came so close to death his voice is very animated now. He looks at his pamphlet and points a weathered finger accusingly into the page, “See, Jesus never said we are free from the law, it was Paul, you say you follow Jesus, but you don’t really study the books, the first books of the old testament….”
I almost can’t hear what he is saying, I feel nauseous as my brain tries to recover from my imagined fears. Now my face is red and the back of my neck is hot and sweaty.
Ryan looks at me, “Hey, are you listening?”
“Yea, I’m trying to understand you. Like I said I’m so new to scripture…”
Looking back at his paper Ryan begins again, “It’s all so simple, we aren’t free from the law,” he opens his left hand and smacks the page with the back of it. “It’s all here, you can’t keep on sinning.”
“Ryan brother, that’s the whole reason I’m trying to follow Jesus, I’m tired, I’m tired of doing these things that feel like it’s another person controlling me. I’m tired of lying to cover up the things that other person does. I’m tired of being angry, I’m tired of hating myself… I don’t have any answers but I sure hope and pray for a God who gives grace more than vengeance…”
Ryan looks at me again…. I’m embarrassed as I realize he’s watching the tears well up and roll down my cheeks. His body looks like a balloon loosing air as his shoulders slump and he leans forward. His face now relaxes, “Bob? Your name’s Bob right? Hey, God’s got you, I just want you to be careful…” He jumps a little as the speaker screeches, “Number 70, please to the window…”
Tucking his paper back into his inside coat pocket he gets up and walks to the window just as an orderly comes to take me to talk to the physical therapist. Ryan looks back at me as I start to follow the orderly, he looks back and gives a small smile.
O.k. so all that actually happened, no kidding. Of course the guy’s name wasn’t really Ryan but the conversation and where my hyper active brain went when he reached his hand into his coat were real. There was something just a little off with him, really, but God still used him to get something out of me and a lesson into me.
I often look back and feel like I was another person when I did those horrible things in my past. So much of what I did goes against so much of who I really am.
I don’t understand my own capacity to cause harm… when I’m really spiraling I remember what ‘Ryan’ told me… “Hey God’s got you…”
Sometimes I feel like a man broken in two, sometimes I feel like I’ve been two different people, but both still broken. But I work on trusting God to fill in those broken places.
The LORD is near to the brokenhearted And saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Great to Good 