This House Stands Empty

    Greetings and Felicitations! It's been a month or so since I've written anything. Oy! I tell you what though, I've been beating myself up for it. I was like, "How am I supposed to be a writer when I don't even write stuff!" But finally, an idea came to me out of a line from a Paramore song. While I was thinking about my book, I realized that inspiration doesn't just come on it's own. We have to prime the pump, so to speak. I had to be thinking about stuff. Go figure. Anyway, this is what came out. Love it or leave it, but let it simmer for a while, and maybe do some thinking of your own. 

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     Up nine stairs to the off-white door. Flip the light on the wall. Pain ignites behind my ears. Eyes revolt against the sudden light. Flip the switch back off. Phone light out to check the thermostat. Seventy-five. Walk to the kitchen for water from the fridge. I slowly take in the small apartment embedded in cold linoleum and tan stain-masking carpet. Bland liquid slides down my throat. That hard edged, not-quite-tingle prickles my arms as the heater drags the cold out of the room. Stomach growling. Fridge is empty. Sit down at the too-small-to-be-dining-room-to-big-to-be-coffee table, and boot up my laptop. Wan blue light shows that, unlike me, the world outside of that dual pane, second story window is tripping by under the neon lit night. Slapping the lid closed and flopping onto the small wants-to-be-but-isn't-quite couch, I stare blankly at the eggshell popcorn ceiling.

This house stands empty.

     Bass throbbing. Lights flashing. Booze flowing. Girls dancing. It's all here and it's all now. A hazed stupor fills the air of the downtown condo. A late night retreat from the doldrums of the nine to five. The couches, occupied by couples I wish had stayed home, are blinking through the colors of the rainbow, their paisley florals flashing like a bad acid trip. Claustrophobia cloys in my mouth as I look at the mass of anonymous flesh undulating to the cacophonous beat of the latest pop sensation. Every Brad seems to have an Angelina. Some have two. Me? I'm leaning against the bar, in the corner, where it meets the living room wall. Yep, in the décor of college night life, I am an electrical outlet.

This house stands empty.

     Behind me, the screen door slams shut and I drop my keys on the table. The television warbles out a show tune as I head to the bathroom. Business finished, I holler into the living room as I head to the kitchen. Noodles on the stove and meatballs in the oven. Spaghetti again? Well, I guess it's easy. Grabbing a Heineken from the fridge, I step in to the living room. How was school, kids? Nothing. Jen and Casey sit enthralled, reality TV holding their gaze. A break comes, commercials and channel surfing. I repeat. Eric, the littlest, gives a shrug over his left shoulder. Eh, it was school. He sprawls out again on the floor. Judy? Oh yes, dear, they went to school, same as always. The show's back on. Right. Dinner. Spaghetti, Heiniken, the Tribune, and me, at the little table in the kitchen. The Sox lost again, well, Andy'll be mad at work tomorrow, but he'll get over it. Laughter and light burst from the living room, quickly hushed by the murmur of the next scene. As the noodles slip from my fork for the umpteenth time, I realize that it's funny how silence can be devoid of actual quiet.

This house stands empty.

Alone. Forgotten. Discarded.

Aimless. Hopeless. Stagnant.

Wishing. Longing. Desperate.

This house stands empty.

The Real Her

She stands on hill alone completely

as setting sun illumes her skin,

embrace of night descends about her

and breath of wind finds its way in

Encircling hands both soft and stately

coax life back into chilling arms

the heat, her weapon, temporary

to keep alive internal warm

Old tattered clothes drape from her figure

the gaping holes bespeak her plight

what cloth she has she pulls around her

refusing to give up the fight

Her thought is for the town below her

a squalid port upon the sea

it's beauty lost amid the clamor

dark streets abandoned just like she

From far it looks a shining jewel

with alabaster, jade and light

but from within, the city cruel

is anything but pure and white

Deep dusky eyes survey the chaos

of hatred, strife, disease, and greed

a thousand hundred voices clamor

each calling out unending need

A breaking pain from deep within her

splits tender lips in breathless moan

a longing or an aching hunger

for what was lost to be made whole

A lacking and an empty feeling

resides within her maiden breast

when what seemed fair became a horror

the price she could have never guessed

She sinks to sit, her knees enfolded

sheltered from the the biting wind

lamenting innocence forgotten

her hope is flick'ring, growing dim

Her eyelids shut, brief, momentary

the peace of solitude arrives

her face is cured of cares long carried

and beauty is once more alive

Caressing cheeks cherry in twilight

and waving golden hair like grass

across the meadow in the sunshine

as summer of remembered past

Yet woes return as oft they're apt to

and darken once again that face

so lovely when her cares are lifted

but pained with sorrow when replaced

She stands again and stretching stiffly

descends on high to reach the town

but as she goes a soft voice whispers,

“Come back my love, do not go down.”

“The city lies disguised in splendor,

it's hiding 'neath a mask of white

but just like you it's heart is broken

enslaved beneath the prince of night”

“Before you seek to alter nature

confront the emptiness within

for only with hope from your maker

can stains become pure white again.”

Dot Matrix- Day 1

Hello! My name is Dot.

I know it's a girl's name, but I'm definitely a guy.

I live all by myself in a splendid little eight sided house.

Technically it's a nine-sided house because one side has a door. See?

Anyway, one day, I read in the paper that dashing young explorer discovered that the world was round! Her name is Dasha, and just the other day, she got it in her head to leave our little community and travel to the ends of the world!

So she set off:

That's her, telling our local reporter about her discovery.

It was really incredible! Who would have thought that there were only three people in our whole world? 

(And a few bushes) 

Go figure.

I just may try walking around the world tomorrow.

The Process - Part 1

"Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God, for you have stumbled because of your iniquity. Take words with you and return to the Lord."


The rain is falling hard on the roof of my car, drumming out a constant patter of invasion. The glow from the dome light fights hard to expel the darkness, but it can't reach every nook and cranny, and darkness clings tightly to places the light is not allowed.

Parked in the middle of nowhere, I'm sitting numbly, staring at my hands gripping the wheel, my mind blank. Years ago I learned to throw up a wall against the pain. To check out while it was happening was the only way to cope. I was too weak to keep it away, but I could ignore it. I could block it from my consciousness until it stopped hurting.

Why do I keep getting myself into these situations? It's like I crave the pain. Even now, I hurt. Even after it is all over, I can't escape. They hate me. They love me. I'm worthless. I'm good. I can't do this anymore. God, I just want to die, to find the escape of dark unfeeling. But I can't do it. I can't take my own life. I don't know why, but I can't. God, it hurts. Help me?

The rain continues to pour, as I merge onto the highway, headed for home. The storm rages inside and out as my wipers try to help me see the road. Thunder crashes overhead, shaking the car, and a fresh torrent of rain plummets from the skies. The road ahead is now a curtain of water, and I can't see a thing. I don't know where to turn, can't see what's ahead, and have no idea how long this storm will last, so I pull over, flip on my hazards, and stop the car.

Before I know it, the tears are rolling down my face as the frustration boils out. I scream in the confines of the car, "WHY?!" Pounding the wheel with my fist, I rage on in the night, "Give me one good reason this is happening to me! I hate you! You're supposed to make things good! I tried to serve you, tried to do what was right, and what have you ever done for me? You stranded me. Alone. Penniless. No one cares about me, everyone has left me. I'm alone. Give me one good reason I should do what you say."

Anger seething, I fall silent.

No sound but the pouring rain. The skies are silent. Water streams down my windshield, drop combining with drop until the whole bubble gives way to gravity and slides down the glass. With the streams of water, the heated emotions gently drain away, and I'm left with cold, empty sorrow.

"God, I can't do this anymore. I suck at life. Everywhere I turn I get beaten up and left for dead. I'm doing it all wrong. I need something to  rescue me from this wreck that I've made. You do that sort of thing, don't you? Will you do it for me too? Please?"

I wait.

The rain slackens a bit and I pull back onto the road.

And So It Begins - Part 2

A small sigh escaped my mouth as I turned my mind back to the task at hand. He had to learn to walk without thinking before he could really know me.

"Look how far he has come! Abba, he can take many steps now. Yes, they are unsure and faltering, and he falls yet again, but soon, soon he will be able to follow us wherever we lead. Soon we will know each other."

We both knew that day would come, but Peter had one thing standing in his way. His body had been cleaned, but it was not yet strong. Even now he was on the ground, covered in the slime once again. And while he was there, the enemy had the power to entice him.

Yet something was different this time. This time he was not taking my hand. The enemy had convinced him that walking was not worth the pain of learning. He had given up.

"Peter, Arise!" I pleaded, but the enemy had stopped up his ears with the muck of the earth.

"I am here my child," I said, reaching out to him. But I could tell his heart was no longer searching. As he rolled about on the ground, his eyes became clogged with garbage once again, blocking out our light.

And so, it begins…

He has been in this state for some time. At first he would try to walk again, but he did it alone, and was so blinded that he would collide with things and cause more pain than good.

As the long months went by I begged my Father to let me intercede. Often, Peter would smash into walls in a headlong fall, or crawl into a thorn-bush, and his pain would become mine. I would weep with him and weep for him, longing to intercede, to save him from his own foolishness. Yet he had rejected my help, and I would not go against his will, for I loved him. My Father and I agreed that the best way would be if he were to come to me of his own choosing.

And yet I was able to steer him away from the more dangerous obstacles that he encountered. The enemy sought his life many times, yet we were able to thwart him, although often our limited influence could not completely protect him. Now he is battered and bruised to such an extent that he barely moves. His spirit is broken; I fear he will lose the desire to live.

But there! What was that? Was it? Could it finally be? Yes! There, in his mind, was regret. There was remorse over his falling away! Oh Abba, Yes! There was the desire there for reconciliation! Joyous day! The long awaited moment had come.

"Now is your time, my Son," spoke my Father's voice.

Simultaneously, joy filled my heart as sorrow invaded my soul. I knew what I had to do; in fact, before I found him I knew I was going to have to do this. I was desperate for the restoration it would bring, and yet I dreaded the steps I would have to take to achieve it. I drew together my resolve, steadied myself, and began praying to my Father as if my life depended on it.

Reaching down to Peter, I spat in my hand and began to massage the fluid into the layers blocking his eyes. Slowly the crusty dirt clouding his vision began to dissolve away until he stared at me once again with those sapphire eyes. I flooded my gaze with all the passion, desire, and longing that I felt for him until it spilled over into my voice as I reached out my hand.

"Walk with Me?"

Tears welled up in his eyes and he looked away. "But, I gave up. You still want me?"

It was then that he began to realize the love that I had for him. It swept over him, penetrating deep into his soul, washing him with my desire.

The moment he reached out his hand to mine, my hesitation at the cost passed. Relief washed over me and tears of joy sprang to my eyes, and I gently enclosed his hand in mine and pulled him to his feet.

The enemy screamed with rage. "You cheat!" he yelled, "that one was rightfully mine!" Haughtily he leered, "You are righteous. You cannot steal from me. Return him!"

"Who said anything about stealing? This was a trade, a life for a life."

And so, it begins...

The grime on Peter began to flow; with a vicious tenacity it attacked my hand, searing my flesh with an acidic hatred. The pain grew. Down my arm it came, burning all the way. Never had I felt this level of pain before. My body began to shake violently. Across my shoulders it crept, leaving an acrid stench in my nostrils. The enemy's laugh rang out over the sizzling of my flesh. Peals of triumphant laughter echoed in my ear drums as the pain intensified and I dropped to my knees. The slime was now down to my waist, dropping toward my feet, consuming my skin like a horde of hungry ants. I could feel it moving slowly up my neck, burning like a thousand tiny fires. It went first toward the sensitive areas of my body, burning with an intensity that turned my stomach. Waves of nausea crashed over me and threatened to make me faint, and yet, I did not. The enemy, in his evil, had caused the acidic slime to move slowest toward the vital parts of my body, in order to extend the pain as long as possible. Even now my head and heart were free of any contamination. It felt like hours of continuous burning before the slime finally reached them. At that moment the pain up to that point had paled in comparison. It touched my heart as if a thousand flaming brands were driven through my chest, searing away flesh but exposing the screeching nerves. I'm not sure what happened next, but I found myself screaming in pain from the depths of my soul, writhing on the ground in agony.

And then the worst part came. The slime reached my head. Agonizingly, it closed over my face, blocking out everything. Everything! I could not feel Him! My Father! Where was He? That comforting presence that had always been there was gone! All that was left was pain, throbbing along my every nerve, piercing through my innermost being, and aching in every muscle, all at the same time. But that was nothing. I could easily have endured with my Father there. But He was gone. He had turned His back and forsaken me. I was alone for the first time in my life. The cold dark enveloped me as even the memory of everything good and whole was driven from me. The anguish added to the agony and I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside. Everything I had left poured out of me, crying for my Father to return. And then… it ended. I was empty, dying. As my life ebbed away, silence replaced the pain. And then... Oh glory, He was back... “TETELESTAI!!”

Time stopped, I was now both alive and dead. I felt nothing, saw nothing, and heard nothing, but I knew. I knew that it was finished. I knew the pain was over. I knew the enemy was defeated. I knew all that was left was to claim the victory. Then it came. The power of the Most High filled me like a rushing river, and I came alive. With a burst of light, everything refocused. I could see Peter again! He was down on the ground, awestruck, blinded by the Father's glory. The enemy was gone; all that was left was the earth we had created. But this man, Peter, the one I loved, the one I died for, this man was free!




I continue to teach Peter, we are walking, now more easily than at first. There is so much we have yet to see, my heart is content to guide him. But there are more lost people, people that need to learn to walk. I want them all. They are rightfully mine and I love them. I am jealous for their love. My heart yearns to walk with them, to show them the wonders of this world. And so, I am constantly searching. I look for those, like Peter, willing to take my hand. My Father has given them the desire to walk. I will find them, I will claim them, and I will love them like they cannot begin to imagine. I want you. I AM coming.


And so, it begins...

And So It Begins - Part 1

This is the second part of "Walk With Me." Once again, it'll come in two parts, because it's long.

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"Where is our Beloved, the one we created to be with us?

He has gone missing.

I must find him.

And so, it begins...

"There! He is laying alone in the dark, covered in mud. We must find a way to bring him back to us. He was created to walk with us, but he has forgotten how."

"We must remind him."

"We must teach him once again. My Son, you must go. Bring back the connection that once was, but is no more. I must warn you, it will be hard, but I will be with you until the end, and then again after the end."

And so, it begins...

I came to the place we had created, now tainted by the enemy. The shadow of his influence manifested itself in repugnant garbage littering the ground. Everywhere the eye landed was covered with darkness and filth. Clouds of flies buzzed ominously across the sky. Evil had become tangible. This was a dangerous place.

I could feel my Father's presence in my soul, guiding me in the paths of safety as I searched for our beloved. As I picked my way through the mountains of trash, I thought of another road I walked, one that would be continuously strenuous, marked with pain, but ultimately yield the greatest reward. Yes, we would be united once more, but in this place governed by time, patience would be the key. The process would be long and grueling, but in the twinkling of an eye it would end. And then, then it would begin again, and oh, what a glorious beginning it would be. My heart burned to be reunited with this one lost child.

Ah! There he was, lying on the road, oblivious to my presence, not taking in anything but himself. Standing beside him, my heart broke to see his pitiful, emaciated form, moaning and crawling about, blind to the world around him. Oh, he was meant for so much greater things! We were meant to know each other intimately, like I know my Father, but this one knew nothing of me. This had to change. I would die to see this man restored.

"PETER!" I yelled, "Arise, I AM here."

As he became aware of me, I could see the battle raging in his heart. The enemy clung to him so tightly that the slime sticking to his skin seemed antagonistic, trying to blind him to my presence.

"Be gone, evil one," I commanded, "Your work here is ended, my time for this one is now."

The film covering his eyes immediately drew away, revealing bright blue underneath. In those eyes, written plainly, was the desire I was hoping to find, the desire I needed in order to work.

Gently I asked, "Walk with me?"

To my sheer joy, Peter, whom I loved with every fiber of my being, reached toward my outstretched hand.

"I want to, but how?" he said.

"Just one step at a time, my beloved"

And so, it begins. I cleansed Him from head to toe, clothed him in a radiant tunic of the purest white linen, and gently took his hand. Here he was, unstained and uninhibited, the man that our plan revolved around. This was him! My heart leapt for joy as I beheld him the way he was meant to be, free from the enemy's filth and ready to walk.

Ah, but what cruelty, his strength had been leeched out of him by the years of wallowing in the muck and mire. His pitiful frame made my heart ache for him. His legs and arms looked as if they had never been used, frail and lean. His bright eyes were sunken in a gaunt, drawn face.

"We must strengthen Him" was my quick prayer. In the quiet of my heart I called out to my Father. "Abba," I said, "give this little one strength as he learns to walk with us. My desire is for him, this you know." And with that, I led him forward. As with all children, he began by falling on his face, and as with all fathers, my Father was overjoyed that he was learning.

How great was my joy when he took his first step! My heart turned violently inside my chest as I saw, in his heart, the burning desire to follow me. I could see in his eyes the longing to run, to leap, and it filled me with unspeakable excitement. I too was eager for those days, to run through my Father's golden fields. Oh, how I longed to walk in the cool of the woods with him, or to gaze off of the beautiful mountain peaks at the rolling plains below. My heart burst with a craving for this man's fellowship.

"He must learn to walk first," my Father quietly interrupted, "see, he has to concentrate his entire mind on staying upright."

"Of course, Papa. You are right."

Walk With Me - Part 2

As the years slowly dragged by, I grew to know the pain of failure. My head developed bruises from cracking against the ground so often. At first I eagerly got back up, he would cleanse my clothes, "Try again," he would say.

And so I would step again, focusing intensely. Cautiously I would lift my foot forward, careful to avoid the slippery refuse on the ground. As I placed it down I would begin to put more weight on it. At first the leg would give out and I would fall. Back on the ground the thoughts would attack me.

"HA! You are a loser. You can't even stand on your own two feet." The laughter rang out all around me.

But the Man would always be there to help me back up. For some reason, He didn't care about my failure. He didn't care that I kept getting these new clothes dirty, in His hands they became clean again.

"Aaaaaugh!" Crack! And down I go again.

"I just got back up!" I thought, "How could I fall again so soon? It hurts so badly. I don't know if I can take this any more. Every time I get back up, I fall again. I can only walk a few steps at a time before Wham! back down I fall. It hurts so badly."

Ever so slowly, I began to rest more on the ground. I would wait longer to get back up, making excuses to the Man. The ground offered no pain, it was only a little dirt, and on the ground I couldn't fall. So eventually, I refused to get back up. I just stopped caring.

But then it all changed.

"Ugh! What is this?" Someone had defecated in the middle of the road, and I had crawled right through it. The reality of my situation suddenly crashed in on me. I had abandoned the only one who ever cared for me. I was crawling around in human waste, and what was worse, it didn't bother me.

Tears sprang to my eyes, I couldn't believe it. How could I have let myself fall back so far? I had been walking! I could take several steps before I fell. But now I was so caked with garbage that I could barely see. The Man had probably left me when I refused to get up. He must have gone on to find other, better people.

Curled up in the fetal position, my body shook with sobs of remorse. The anguish of my failure once again threatened to crush me. Hope was gone and I felt totally alone, worthless even in my own eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, pressure started to build up on my eyelids, as if someone was pushing in on my eyes. The caked dirt covering them became mud, and slowly dissolved away.

It was the Man! As his hand came away from my face, I could see he had been there all along. He was there! And He was reaching out once again. "Walk with Me?" He gently asked.

"But Sir, I gave up. I don't deserve to walk anymore."

His eyes were full of sorrow and love as He looked at me, gently holding out His hand, and I realized, I wanted to walk with Him again. This Man who had first believed in me; He was the one I wanted to be with more than anyone else. And so I reached out, grasped His hand, and He pulled me onto my feet.

But what was this? The dirt from my hand had moved over to his. By reaching out to me, He had soiled Himself. I watched, horrified, as the slime started to spread. It crawled down his fingers, growing and spreading like a mob of hungry ants. His eyes gazed deep into mine, filled with a resolute sorrow, as if He had known this would happen. Then, suddenly, excruciating pain gripped the Man's face as the grime began to coat His body. It moved from His hand, searing up His arm, across His shoulders, and spreading across his chest. Wherever it moved, the white of His clothes began to lose its luster and an acrid smoke rose off of Him. As the mess reached His heart He bared His teeth in a contorted grimace, and let out a howl, full of agony, loss, and Holy rage. His voice embodied all the pain, all the shame, and all the frustration that I had felt, all in that one, long, gut-wrenching scream. I mashed my hands over my ears and clenched my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, but His anguished cry cut into the core of my being. The pain flew through me, rending my body and soul, reverberating around inside me. It felt like it would tear me apart if I didn't let it out. So I began to scream as well. This pain that the Man was experiencing radiated in my heart, and I knew then that it was I who had killed Him. By choosing the ground, I had killed Him. That revelation only added to our pain, the noise rising to a crescendo of agony and remorse. Then, in the chaos of the noise, a voice spoke in my head. It was unnaturally calm, but immensely powerful.

"Open your eyes" it said.

My eyes sprang open. To my amazement, the crust of dirt that had covered me for so long was melting away. The weight of a hundred bricks was flowing off of me like water!

I looked, and indeed, it was flowing. But to my horror, it flowed not to the ground, but across my hand, and over onto the Man. He was no longer white but covered in oily green, black, and brown. All of my filth was now on Him. Only His eyes could be seen now, burning with an intense passion beyond the threshold of human capability. Those eyes bored into mine as more and more muck piled on to Him, weighing Him down. He stumbled and fell to His knees under the weight as a demonic cackle broke out around us. It seemed to be coming from the slime itself! Still the filth continued to pour off of me and onto Him. It felt as if my entire being was draining. The maniacal laughter echoed around as the Man writhed in pain, now thrashing on the ground, shuddering, His body wracked with obvious pain. His back went rigid, arched in an impossible curve, as the scream got louder and louder. I wanted to escape. The sorrow gripped me then and my wail took on the realization of my real failure. The mocking laughter reached a crescendo when, fighting through the pain and caked slime, with His last breath, the Man’s scream morphed into a word, a single word imbued with all His majesty and power, louder than anything before, the triumphant shout, “TETELESTAI!”

Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. The Man lay still. The laughter had stopped. Silence reigned.

I looked down at myself. I was clean. The Man had transferred my filth onto Himself. I was still wearing the clothes He had given me so long ago, but now they were as pure as the driven snow. Tears began to well up within me. "What have I done?" I screamed at the sky, but there was no answer. I knew the only one with an answer lay dead at my feet.

Suddenly, the sludge on the ground shifted. Steam started rising from it once again, and it began flowing together. Then, it started creeping forward again, only this time, it was headed back toward me!

I tried to turn, tried to run, but fear kept me rooted to the spot, and the slime was closer. This evil creature that had killed the only Man ever to believe in me was now coming to finish me off. Closer, closer it came, bubbling and popping as if intent on smothering me. I didn't want to go back to that life! Hadn't I been cleaned? But now the one who could protect and clean me was gone. Closer it came; it had almost touched my feet!

But then it stopped. It flattened out, as if it had hit some unseen wall. The muck spread along this invisible barrier until it completely surrounded me, but it couldn't come any closer than a few feet. Puzzled, I took a step forward. The barrier moved with me, shoving the filth aside. I took another step...

...And instantly the world around me exploded in a flash of light. Everything was gone, drowned out by an intense, throbbing explosion of blinding white light. I fell back onto the ground in shock, dazzled by the light. And suddenly there was laughter, the beautiful, joyous laughter of a thousand children ringing out in ecstatic pleasure. The liquid emotion of the moment tugged at my heart, begging me to join it. As the light slowly faded and my vision returned, my tearstained eyes saw a hand reached out to me. It was Him.

It was the Man that had always been there for me, who had stayed with me even when I rejected Him, Who saved me from myself, who had taken on death for me. He was back, and the Man I had killed was offering me His hand in reconciliation.

Hesitantly, I took it. His solid, familiar grip reassured me that this was indeed my friend of old. His skin felt different, somewhat rough where the slime had burned Him, but nevertheless, the same love was there.

"Walk with Me?" He asked.

A smile lit my face and tears ran freely down my cheeks as I responded, "Yes my friend. You are all I need. You are all I want. I will walk with you."

We have been walking for a while now, and I am growing stronger every day. I still fall regularly, and still have doubts, as you saw earlier, but I get up, walk on, and fall less. Now I can fellowship with my Friend, instead of focusing on staying on my feet. But this friend of mine does not want anyone left in the dirt. That means you too. He wants to teach you to walk and one day to walk alongside you. He is reaching out His hand asking,

"Walk with Me?"

Walk With Me - Part 1

This is one of the first things I ever wrote of my own volition.

I've broken it into small chunks that I'll be posting over the next few days.

Some of you might have read it already. Most of you haven't. 

Enjoy Part one

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FAILED!

These thoughts attack me out of the silence. "You are a FAILURE! You will never amount to anything; you just can't stay on your feet."

"Where are you, God?" I cry out, "Why do I keep falling when I am trying so hard to walk with you?"

"My son," He answers, "it is because you are learning to walk that you fall."

The truth is, I have come quite far. I used to live my life crawling naked in the filthiness of the ground. All I knew was dirt and grime, wriggling around on my belly like a worm. Then one day, a Man walked up to me. He WALKED up to me! I had never seen a person walk, and I wanted to learn! He picked me up onto my feet, those feet that were atrophied from disuse; He cleaned me off, purified me of all the dirt sticking to my skin, the stains from years of crawling on the ground. Then He gave me clothes to cover my shame, bright, shining, pure clothes, as radiant as his own.

He looked into my eyes and asked, "Walk with me?"

"But how, Lord?" I replied, "I don't even know how."

"One foot at a time," was His kind answer.

And so I tried. I took a step. My foot slowly, falteringly, rose from the ground. As I lowered it, I thought triumphantly, "Aha! I am walking! This isn't hard at all." Distracted by my pride, I slipped on the trash cluttering the ground.

Bang! My head thudded onto the concrete. The pain from the fall slowly receded, and I found myself back in the filth of the earth. Regret washed over me, followed quickly by condemnation. I had failed. This walking thing was hopeless. I would never get it right. I might as well give up. But then the Man came alongside of me, "Take my hand," He said, "walk with me." I reached up, anxious to try again.

He helped me to stand, brushed off the dirt, and said, "This is how we learn to walk, beloved. You must always get back up."

And so I did.

You're an ocular magnet, but it's okay.

- Can I tell you that I love you?

- Can I call you dazzling?

- Can I say that your smile is like hot cocoa to my heart?

And can you not be weird about it?

Because there's this other person too. 

I've known him for about twenty years. We actually grew up together. Quite frequently I tell him things like, "Dang son, you're lookin' fly." We tell each other everything about ourself, what girls we like, what girls that like us, and laugh at how often those names don't coincide. I find myself finishing his sentences, and we do just about everything together. I concern myself with his daily habits. I try to make sure he spends time with the Lord. When he's being an idiot, I'm the first one to tell him. 

I don't need to say it out loud, but I love him. He's my closest confidant, my most trusted friend. I'd like to think that I would do anything if I knew it would make him a better person. He knows me as well as I know myself. We both know that we're destined to spend the rest of our lives together. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not gay. 

I'm not attracted to him. Even the thought of it is wrong on so many levels. Still, there is no one I've shared more time with, spent more time on, or loved more deeply.

Honestly, there are times when he's a real screw-up. I've gone for days, weeks, even months not liking him. He made some really stupid decisions a while back and I beat him up pretty hardcore about them. But I never gave up on him. Eventually he realized his fault and decided he wanted to change. After months of hardly talking, we have emerged stronger. He's back on the path and I'm proud of him.

Oh by the way, his name is Peter Douglas. 

Yeah. Me. I love myself.

You see, I have a mentor who says I should, "love my neighbor as myself." 

As I work on loving myself, and I'd like to love you too.

So...

- Can I stop you and say that today you are the most attractive thing since sliced bread? 

- May I wax poetic about how your smile lights up a room or your laughter reminds me of little children dancing in a field of wildflowers? 

- If your heart is breaking and you're all alone in the world, can my arms reassure you? 

     (I buy shirts designed for maximum absorbency, and last I checked makeup doesn't stain, so don't worry about the tears.)

- Can we talk about the Lord, and how he rips our lives apart, and reassembles them in beauty? 

     (And drop the religious crap, that Bible you hide behind is a facade 'cause you think hurting is wrong. You are real and faulty, but really it's fine, because I'm the same way and we're learning.)

Let me into your life, tell me what's going on, and we'll tackle this thing together. Real love isn't a gift meant only for marriage, and our lives really shouldn't be hoarded. 

And speaking of marriage. Back up off it. 

Marriage shouldn't be based only on love, 'cause love shouldn't be restricted to just one person. 

     (Just to clarify I mean selfless love, not sex-love). 

I really don't know what marriage should be based on, other than divine direction, because I haven't got that far yet, but whatever, that's another post.

But if I can love you, and you can love me, and we can avoid all the romantic nonsense, I think we may just make it through this crazy thing called life, and possibly redeem the name "Christian."

The Order of First Followers

"Let hope rise, darkness tremble, and fire fall from the skies, for those who have gone before have arisen to fight among the ashes." -- Justus

The vanguard of the One Foretold, 

that band of bearded brethren, 

their brawn-ed fury rending swaths 

of judgment from the heavens

The faithless myriads amassed

 against the Rider clothed in white.

Judgment comes to them this day

His chosen stand, prepared to fight. 

Were minstrels to sing, 

or bards record, 

the tales of that prophesied day, 

the annals would tell 

of the brave Douglas clan, 

wrath destining damned to their grave.

The six, they stood strong, 

blades bared to the sun,

the best of men given to God.

With blue eyes alight, 

and with the fervor of faith,

they watched as the masses came on.

The eldest, looked he,

to his brothers beside,

as fearsome and proud his face shone. 

"Today is the day 

we be destined to fight, 

for the Lord, and his Kingdom, our home. 

So onward my lads,

let us show these uncouth, 

the wrath of the Lord that they've spurned.

Take heart and fear not,

recall heroes of old,

as we mete out the justice they've earned."

Then with deafening cry

and earth-rending shout

the brothers encountered the foe

And scythe-d like wheat 

The amassed legions fell

before the armed flurry of blows

An unstoppable force

The sestet advanced

not a man could encumber their charge

Yet still the foe came

as the tide of the sea,

a relentless and unceasing march

The six were surrounded,

their carnage path closed

encircled 'neath fiery sun

one brother fell wounded 

exhausted and spent

the battle plan seemed come undone

Yet rallied the five

and lifted they one

defensible ground they espied

the youngest called out,

"Hie to me, my kin

and gain we yon hillock that's nigh!"

Then surge-d they forth

like a javelin thrown

to reach the high ground aforementioned

and nary a one 

of the wretched enthronged

 could stand 'gainst their five bladed vengeance

Carving their way

left and right through the crowd

The six men surmounted the hill.

Reforming their ring

with their brother between

they fought back the enemy still.

Long hours they strove

as the sun rose and fell

yet still the First Followers stood

retaining the ground

consecrated by blood

of the evil to bring forth the good

Alas when it seemed

that they could not fight on,

when even their mighty strength waned,

A trump did resound,

from the heavens above 

rode the rider the Father'd ordained.

Fell fear struck the hearts

of the unholy horde

and they fell to their faces as slain,

as the glorious light

of the rider enthroned

announced to the world His reign.

If that's really you...

"Pull!"

Two, Three, Four

"Pull!"

Two, Three, Four

"Pull!"

     The wind thrashed against the boat, a fiend hell-bent on keeping the twelve men from crossing the lake. For what seemed like an eternity they had been straining against the fury of nature. Peter's arms ached from the toil of rowing, but still he bellowed over the shrieking wind, "Pull!"

     He shot a glance across the boat at his brother, Andrew, straining alongside him against his own oar. He caught Andrew's eye and grimaced, "This night never ends, eh?" They had spent all of the previous day traveling with the Lord, hearing him teach and serving the crowds that followed him, and now they were headed to the next town. That was the way of things following Jesus; teach and travel, teach and travel, the man never stopped. As his disciple, Peter did what he could to alleviate Jesus from the responsibility over the mundane tasks, to let him focus on teaching. He had finished feeding the largest crowd Peter had seen in his life, and after cleaning up, told them to cross the lake to the towns on the other side. That had been five hours ago.

     Still, the black night stretched on. The howling wind whipped blinding waves into their eyes and cut the world down to the small boat, the dark sky, and the spiteful water. Peter's mind started to retreat, walling off the world to protect him from the vicious elements. His eyelids drooped as fatigue crept up his spine, slackening  his arms until they barely retained a grip on his oar. The wind tore at his clothing with its wet fingers, exposing every part of him to its soaking touch, but he didn't care any more. He had detached from the pain. It was unfortunate, definitely. In normal circumstances he would avoid a similar pain, but this time it was beyond his control. There was nothing to be done. If Jesus were here, he could help. Jesus would calm it like he did the last time. But Jesus wasn't here. They were alone.

     In his disconnected mind, Peter looked up and around at the others in the boat. Fear stood plain on their faces. At first, he thought it was terror at the storm, but Phillip was obviously screaming at something. He couldn't make out the words over the howling wind. Several of the others were pointing at something in the darkness. What was it? A man? On the water? It couldn't be.

     From somewhere out of the wind, a voice reached Peter's ears, "Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid." 

     Did he know that voice? 

     He shielded his eyes from the wind and peered into the night. It definitely looked like a man. There was only one man, (if it truly was a man) that could be out this far on the water. His disconnected mind had trouble grasping the fact that this may be Jesus. He had thought they were alone in this fight, that Jesus had left them to fend for themselves. There were dozens of times he had pleaded with God to save them from the storm, to no avail. He had given up. There was no winning this fight. The waves were too strong, the wind too fierce. Jesus could do it, but Jesus was the Christ! Peter was just a man. But somewhere, deep down, Peter wouldn't let himself give up. His mind tore at the walls he had put up as protection. Perhaps, if Jesus could conquer the storm, He could help him do the same. Unsteadily, he staggered to his feet. Bracing himself against the rowing bench, he cupped both hands to his mouth and shouted to the dim figure on the waves.

     "Lord! If it is you, command me to come to you on the water!"

     A powerfully familiar voice came over the wind, moving Peter to the bone and filling him with hope.

     "Come."

With Hands to the Plow

January 2, 1411

     My cozy recliner by the fire is getting harder to resist. The warm crackle of burning pitch, soft fur of the dogs, and the soothing smell of woodsmoke beg me to stay with them. God, why is it so cold?

January 15, 1411

     It's official. Plowing season should be warmer. Gisele has enough fat on her to pull and not mind the cold, but it kills me. It's like pushing a knife through cold cheese. Acres of cold cheese. I just want it to be spring.

February 3, 1411

     Day in and day out. Hand to the plow. Pushing and pushing. Every few feet, lug a millstone off the field and trudge back. Hand to the plow. Push. Trudge. Push. Trudge. Another stone. Acres and acres of field left to go. Blistered fingers numb. Toes chilled in my boots. If I just make it through the day, there's a fire waiting.

February 10, 1411

     Even the fire has lost its appeal. At the end of the day, exhausted and frozen, it just reminds me that early tomorrow I'll be out there again. In the cold. Tired hands pushing through the field again. Where is the spring?

February 11, 1411

     Woke up this morning and thought to take the day off. Realized it would be dense not to get ready for spring. No other choice but to plow. I bundled up and went back to the field.

February 24, 1411

     I hate this. Can I just stop being? Existence is a drudgery. Nothing to do but plow. Spring will come and go. Winter will come again, and with it more plowing. Will there ever be an end? It doesn't really matter. Hand to the plow. Push. Trudge. Stone. Push. Trudge...

Jake Audette, Core Advisor*

     To say it was hot outside would be like saying a swallow could migrate south while gripping a coconut. Ridiculously assumptive, but nonetheless, ever so quotable. I sat in my easy chair, the sun pouring through the window behind me, transforming the plush interior of my high rise office into a sweaty hothouse. It could be the sun's doing, but then again, the a/c might have busted again...

The door clicks open and in walks my newest client. He's a young kid, fresh out of high school. He's got that look about him, that one that says, “Help, I can't open the lid to the pickle jar.” I motion him in, tell him to take a load off, and introduce him to the other guys. It's what I do. They're all variations of the same hand. A bit fuzzy on the rules, but holding the makings of a royal flush. I teach 'em how to win. Kinda the Mister Miyagi of the place.

     Who am I, Daniel-San?

     I'm Jake Audette, Core Adviser.

     These tough cases are my cup of tea, literally. They're my cup of sugary, over-syruped, cafeteria-brand, sweet tea. It's my drink of choice during these meetings, it calms the nerves, focuses the senses. Inspires confidence.

     I got my C.A. license eight months ago, authorized to guide these young hearts, showing them the value of the hand they hold, and pointing them toward truth in this crazy world. It's a tough job, but hey, it's gotta be done. I do it 'cause I was in their shoes once, not too long ago. Lost and alone in a huge world, no friends within a thousand miles and no idea what I was going to do with myself, I found a local C.A. and he helped me cope. I learned to hear God's voice, to act with honor, to treat women with chivalry and respect. Eventually, I graduated to the big leagues. That's when I decided to take up the mantle, make the oath, sign the dotted line, start out on the path, and all those other epic metaphors that come with the title.

     Who am I?

     It's not who I am, it's what I do that defines me.

     I'm Jake Audette, Core Adviser.

*Jake Audette is not an actual HA Core Advisor nor do all CAs resemble 1920's gumshoes. 

A Soul Cry

You know the feeling

it's way down deep in your soul

There's a knot or a tangle

and you cannot feel whole

Because you know you've been wrong

but you can't help it, can't fight

and your heart aches and bleeds

for what's wrong to be right

Dirty and tarnished

Abhorrent and trashed

darkness eats your horizon

and your whole future has smashed

down to the ground

your will, it isn't that strong

in these shimmering halls

you just don't seem to belong

Cause you know you've been wrong

but you can't help it, can't fight

and your heart aches and bleeds

for what's wrong to be right

way down deep in your soul

yeah, you know there's a light

But this darkness is blinding

it's obscuring your sight

Is there end to the struggle?

Perhaps some freedom to find?

Or will your failures torment you

and drive you out of your mind?

Can you ever be free

of these chains that constrict

or these habits that hold you

and then cut to the quick

Your sin ends up creeping

back around to your door

and before you can blink

your tripping, down on the floor

Cause you know you've been wrong

and you can't help it, can't fight

and your heart aches and bleeds

for what's wrong to be right

Down deep in your soul

yeah you know there's a light

But this darkness is blinding

and it's obscuring your sight

In the pit of despair

when your future is bleak

and all hope it has fled

from each place that you seek

emotions they strangle

the words that you scream

from spirit to sky

in a cry for relief

The tears they pour out

down your face unrestrained

releasing the pain

that you cannot contain

Till slowly a stillness

enters into your soul

for what once was barren

has now become full

Cause you know you've been wrong

and you can't help it, can't fight

and your heart aches and bleeds

for what's wrong to be right

But the King took the blemish

with his death on the cross

and He's presenting you holy

purged clean of the dross.

Have You Been Deceived?

     In my travels to obtain truth, I have constantly run up against a particular inanity.


     It is a message that Christians of our day cling to, and usually sounds something like this:

"God is perfect.
You are not.
Hooray for grace,
But do better."

     As an example, I present the classic 1 Corinthians passage on love. "Love is patient, love is kind, etc."

     Your typical sermon would go something like this:
"How horrible we are at this! We have fast food, instant entertainment, premarital sex, and it's all for instant gratification! What I'm telling you people is to SLOW DOWN!! In the Greek, the root word for patient is "snailicus," meaning "like a snail." We have to take a step back, and be patient with each other. Let that lady at Starbucks take the whole ten minutes to pay for her 8 a.m. coffee. It's called Love, people!!"

     Now, although most of this little sermon is completely accurate, it is also completely ineffective. It addresses the symptoms of the condition, but leaves the root virus intact.

     The cold truth is, I cannot "do better" enough. You cannot "do better" enough. According to Jesus, our best is still not good enough, even our righteousness is "filthy rags."

     Wait, what the heck?

     Righteousness, like the stuff Jesus had in spades. It's filthy rags? Even the stuff we do right?

     Not only that, but Paul says that God sees us as having Jesus' perfection. So, what's the point of  trying to do good?

     Most will tell you, "Being good brings you closer to God, it makes Him happy. It's like saying thank you."

     They lie. God may not even know you.

No Dog, Seriously...

     Let me explain.

     Let's say you read my blog, lets say you even follow me. I have a nifty little tool that tells me how many page views I get per day. However, I only see your visit as a little number. Although that number puts a little joy in my heart, your contribution, changing a 5 to a 6, does nothing for me. I have no idea who you are, or what you thought about the article. Although the fact that you regularly read my writing will definitely result in lots of page views, it doesn't help me get to know you. If you truly wanted to connect, you would leave a thoughtful, heartfelt comment on something I've written.

     It's the same with God. He could care less if you let an old lady go in front of you for coffee. What matters to him is seeing your heart. Knowing you. Spending quality time with you. Having quality conversation. Following the rules doesn't help you get closer to God. Getting closer to God helps you follow the rules. He said, "He who loves me will keep my commandments." While most interpret this as a command to obedience, it was meant as a thermometer. Keeping the commandments comes naturally to those who love God.

     Not keeping the commandments? You don't really love God.

     So clear your schedule. Crumple up your to-do list. Hang out with God. Have a conversation. Talk a bit, listen a bit. Get to know each other. Sooner than you think, you'll discover what everyone means by, "what a friend we have in Jesus."

     Do it. I dare you. And stop being mislead.

The Protectorate (Intro)

To whom it may concern,

     There is a spiritual war going on around you. The unseen forces of good and evil in the world are locked in a titanic struggle for dominance. Yes, but you know this already. Angels and demons have been fighting since the creation of man. There is the physical and the spiritual. We are physical. They are spiritual. But there is always a third. Like the Holy Trinity, the third member is the one that crosses over. The spiritual made physical. That is where I come in.

     My name is Magnus. God has seen fit to open my eyes to the war here on earth. It is as real as the world wars or Vietnam. Our enemy is also just as real as the Viet Cong or the German SS were, but just as they were detached from the life of the everyday citizen, our enemy, who call themselves Gehennan, works from the shadows. I am telling you this because we need your help.

     I lead the force known as the Protectorate. We are a group dedicated to the preservation of the Bride of Christ. We work to thwart the machinations of the Gehennan, and further the Kingdom on the unseen fronts of the earth. I have seen your zeal. Because of your fervent desire for the return of the Lord and the furtherance of his kingdom, as the Protectorate's Seer, I have deemed you worthy to join our cause.

We, like any organization, thrive off of the individual skills of our members. As a member of the Protectorate, you are pledging to answer any call for help that comes from our leader, the Apostle. The call may come for you to leave your home. You may be asked to give up money, friends, family, even your very life for the cause. Know that we do not take your commitment lightly. Neither should you. It is no less than Jesus asks his followers. Dangerous times are fast approaching. We will need your help.

What say you?
Will you stand up for the truth?
Will you join us to combat the plans of Satan?

Sign your name below in agreement and we will contact you.

-Magnus, on behalf of John, The Apostle

Waiting on the World to Change

      Here's the picture.

     I'm sitting at an intersection. The light is red. It's been red for quite some time now. My radio doesn't work, so I'm left alone with the clamor of my own hollow thoughts. It's probably close to 80 degrees outside. The AC doesn't work. Oh, and did I mention it's raining? Yup, windows up, I'm suffocating.

     I know I'm headed somewhere air-conditioned. It's only just around the corner. I only have to hold on for a few more minutes. If only this blasted light would change. God, why is it taking so long? Is it my fault, some sort of grand-scheme karma thing? This is ridiculous. Technically, I could just run it, there's no one in sight. Nope. That conscience thing. Gotta love it. Ugh.

     Waiting.

Does Love Win?

     Rob Bell just came out with a new book entitled, "Love Wins"

     Controversy exploded.
     (Well, it didn't explode, I guess you could say that it proliferated)

     From what I gather (having listened to several of his interviews), Mr. Bell is putting forth the idea that, given enough time God could get people to acknowledge that He is God. I would agree. My God is awesome like that.

     Next, from that conclusion, Bell says that an eternal Hell would not work with His character, since He could win everyone eventually. Here's where it breaks down.

     In Man Group* (you could call it a bible study), I came up with this analogy.

     Imagine for a moment that entrance into heaven is contingent on one thing, namely drawing a picture of a dog.

     Only, you need a realistic, completely life-like picture.

     The only problem is, no one has ever seen a dog.

     There was a time, back at the beginning (Adam to Moses) when people tried to draw dogs. A few would cry out for help and God would teach them. But eventually everyone quit trying to draw a dog and decided to draw whatever was on their mind. It turned out like a lot of free-verse poetry does today:

Crap.

     So God decides to take this guy, Noah, and start over. Everyone drawing crap is dead, and Noah and his family are still trying to draw dogs. Time goes by and the same thing happens. People start giving up. They don't know the first thing about drawing, much less what a dog looks like.

     God steps in again. This time, he takes Abram and says, "I'm going to teach you how to draw." Abram jumps on board and off they go. Finally, when Moses comes around, God decides he can start laying out what a dog  looks like. So he calls up Moses, and gives him the top ten things every dog picture needs to have.

- 2 ears

- 2 eyes

- A Big nose

- A Waggly tail

- 4 legs

- fur/har

- A lolling tongue

- teeth

- claws

- A Collar

     Knowing this, Moses begins teaching people what a dog looks like. Things get better and better until, boom, they get out of hand. The guys trying to draw greyhounds beat up on the ones trying schnauzers, saying, "all dogs have the little tiny legs and the big barrel chests (not part of the top ten).

     Anyway, God gets tired of the bickering and sends Jesus to draw a dog.

(A Snapshot of that drawing) 

     After he's done with the drawing, he tells those around him, "I'm going to send a helper to teach you to draw well."

---Sounds a bit like Rob Bell so far, yeah? (If you don't know the answer, maybe you shouldn't be criticizing the dude) Anyway...

     Here's the deal. You've already started your drawing, and you used pen. Oh, and you suck at drawing. In fact, we all do. And the "Perfect Picture" proviso still applies.

Here's your picture so far

     Good news is, Jesus is willing to help you out.

     In fact, He'll draw your picture for you. The catch is, you have to ask him to do it. You have to let him take your hand and guide it. You have to give up control.

     You can't say which lines belong on your dog. Yeah, even that one there, the one about, "that person that makes you feel really good when they do that thing," but you wouldn't talk about it in public.

     You have to let Him do His thing with your picture, your hand just the tool. But, as long as you two are working together, His original picture counts for entrance, so that His teaching can continue for eternity.

     So Mr. Bell, I'm sorry, but you're wrong. A person has this life, their allotted time span, to realize that no matter how hard they try, they can't draw a freaking dog. If they refuse to let God help them, that's it, they aren't going to have their ticket when they get to the gate.

     Make sure you have your ticket. Make sure that Jesus is drawing your dog.

*Man Group meets Fridays at six in Rhonda Brown's office in the epicenter. We talk about God, the Bible, and life in general. All Men are welcome. 

To the hurting

Hey everyone,

We all hurt at one time or another. I know how it feels.
I wrote this to all those out there who are hurting and alone.
The best medicine is often times made of bone, skin, a little muscle and an absorbent cloth covering.
No talking, no resolving, just crying, just being held.
Because, although we know God is in control and things will work out, it hurts like hell right now.
We just have to let it out with someone who cares.

So here's to you.

Tears

Give me your tired, your broken-hearted.

Give me your lost and all alone.

Give me your hurting, throbbing, and aching

Give me your sorrows, your tears, and your moans.

Share all the pain way down deep that is robbing

your face of the joy it's been missing of late

For I have a shoulder fit just for sobbing

a shirt that will take all your wet tears away

I'll hold you awhile till your shoulders quit shaking

and heartache has left you spent to the bone

Stroking your hair and mildly whispering

Believe me, my love, you're never alone

I'll be there for you when your world comes crashing

down to the ground, your walls paper thin

I'll be there protecting, forever defending

your heart from travails of the wrath of the wind

The storm will be fearsome with clouds above thundering

and threatening to wash you away as debris

Yet shelter within, as my arms encircling

guard you safe in the rock I was crafted to be

I will protect you, guard you, and shelter

I will prevail in the face of the wind

I will ensure your safe survival

For I will be anchored, on the King my eyes pinned

Take a Look Inside

     Hey everyone, I apologize for the sporadicity (?) or rather, the sporadic nature of my blogging. I've been all over the place with all kinds of not-internetted stops.

     Apparently someone's granddad went to an ATF who knew someone who works in ATF Ops (where I work now). Anyway, he was quite the storyteller when I tracked him down. Personally, I think it's pretty accurate. I copied it down as close to the original dialect as I could.

     "Well now, jest set ye down here where it's warm and listen to the tale I'ma gonna tell ya."

     "Ye've heerd of ol' Pecos Bill and hims doin' all sorts of outlandish tomfoolery. He done lasso'ed the moon fer his ladylove, grew up with the coyotes, and dug the Rio Grande, all the way to Mexico. By golly, he was sumthin."

     "But no one ever tells ya 'bout his cousins. They be a right courageous folk, taming a beast so big and feersum, that it makes poor grammy here pale ev'ry time ye mention it. Y'see, it's been growin up these past years, gittin' bigger and more cunnin' all the time. But these folks be right professional in there dealings with it."  

     "It be called ATF Operations, the meanest cuss of a tornado you ever did see. It's got all kinds of whirlin's and whiskin's, all twisted up into a nasty ordeal of logistical storminess, but them folks handle it like a walk in the park, all dressed up fancy while they do it too. 


     "First off, they've got that Chris Lay fella, him 'n his lovely little wife there, they hold the thing steady with their lassos. Then the rest of the crew come in, all efficient like, and set up the riggin's lickety split, binding that thing up so tight that it don't know which way to go. Sure, it whips around and lashes out a bit, like I say it's a tornado of a thing, but they just do what they do, all nice an' purdy like. Mighty clean job they do too if I do say so, considering the, "cacophonous" nature of it. (He nods his head at me, knowingly)


     "Then their fearless leader, they call him “mister cool”, well, he climbs up into that saddle, all hootin' and hollerin', jes like a right bull-rider, big ol' smile on his face, enjoyin' the view an' all. Yup, that crew rides the thing clear across the whole big country, all the way out to Californee an' back, half a dozen times or so. Then, when it's jest about plum tuckered out, they take it back down to good ol' Texas (one o' the only states big enough fer it t' live in). There they unstrap it, lock it up in its pen, and right put it t' sleep until it gets all antsy to come out agin in a year or so."

     "I tell ya, it's quite a sight, them ridin' inta town like that. It's like nothin' you ain't ever seen before, an' might never see agin."

     "I seen 'em though, an' that's the honest truth."

- From the WoodStove Tales of Ol' Man Whittaker

Hope you enjoyed it, I had fun writing it. 

Peter