post again? write again? rhyme again?
Stay tuned for a long-overdue answer.
In the meantime . . .
Is this guy for real? What does he think he’s accomplishing? I mean, really. Go get a job. Or something. Anything. Go feed the homeless, maybe. I dunno. But I’ll bet that that’s what Jesus would want you to do. Not . . . this.
Writing Camp, Summer 2014
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My favorite professor in college used to tell a story. As a young man, he’d been in a jazz band and then the army. He’d traveled solo around the world, dreamed of being a pilot, gone to flight school. After receiving his pilot’s license, however, he couldn’t find work. Times were desperate; money, scarce. One day, in a moment of frustration, he cried out, “Lord, please . . . What do you want me to do?!” Continue reading
Still reposting my rock-climbing accident story. This is part four, where I talk about something many people are often surprised by — you.
Ten years ago today (January 25, 2003), I fell 80 feet (24 meters) while rock climbing at T-Wall, a popular climbing site in Tennessee. The doctors said I might not live; when I did, they said I’d never be the same again. Today, not only am I “normal,” most people don’t even know this incident ever happened. This is part four of my story. (To read parts one, two, or three, click here, here, or here.)
THE MISSING PIECE
For an audio recording, click here:
There’s a piece of my story that’s missing —
the piece that is all about you.
It’s the piece that I’ve struggled the most with —
the piece so many assume true.
I recovered from my accident eventually.
My rehab is on the next page.
But what of my soul, of “God‘s purpose”?
What is it that I…
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From darkness I came,
to darkness I went,
and wondered, inane,
how my days were spent.
As there in my grave,
in coffin so cool,
regret was a wave:
“Had I been a fool?”
My days had been good,
my days had been bad,
The life that I led,
was all that I had.
But what had I thought?
How far did I think?
Had I seen it not —
this critical kink?
See, money was mine,
and power and fame.
And all was a sign,
I’d much to acclaim!
And if I lacked love,
I wasn’t to blame.
That came from above,
was God’s little game! Continue reading
Image by Nathan Gray*
The truth is: I don’t like writing posts like my last one — at all. Say what? you might ask. Why?
Why? Because this blog isn’t about me.
This blog isn’t about me just like life isn’t about me — just like it’s not about you or him or her or them or those. This life isn’t about any of us; rather, it’s about all of us. There is nothing I detest more than a braggart. People who are either too full of themselves or too insecure to acknowledge the strength and beauty in others make me sick. After all, it is the intrinsic value of all of us that makes this world a beautiful place. Without that . . .
And so if my last post came across at all boastful, my friends, please forgive me. Truth be told, I am anything but. I recognize my strengths but am acutely aware of my weaknesses — in every way. I think this life is about the collective — about each and every one of us pushing ourselves to be the best we can be, and about encouraging and helping others along the way — and not about placing people on pedestals. We are all of us human. Let’s keep it that way.
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“The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.”— Picasso
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The wild wind blows
in caverns – slows
the beating of my heart.
In darkness deep,
where creepers creep,
I dream of days, depart —
To summer sun
where rivers run,
and all the world’s an art —
And all of love,
a perfect glove,
and you, the perfect part.
The wild wind blows,
a blanket, snows,
alone, I’m miles apart —
And as by day the sun doth shine,
by night, oh moon, you are but mine.
For whilst the world around me sleep,
I walk alone and you doth keep.......
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.. Image: Google
And what is beauty, anyway?
And how do we decide?
If we look around the world,
it changes with the tide.
And what about the history books?
Do they all agree?
From days of yore to evermore,
not from what I see!
And so it is that beauty lies
somewhere down, deep inside.
Our differences are beautiful
and not to be denied.
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Image: woophy.com
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My dad with his dad, 1956.
We start out mere mortals,
’til “Father” turns son.
It’s then our potential
“forever” is won.
We live through our children,
and they on through theirs.
So what will we show them?
How say, “Daddy cares”?
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Dad’s love for the water started early. (Dad, right, with his brother Verlin in their backyard in Riverside, late 1950s.)
Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Two kids in a tub.
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It’s here I’m no expert,
but look to the best.
And he to his own dad—
they both passed the test!
With love and compassion,
through fire and through ice,
they gave with devotion,
and never thought twice: Continue reading
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