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."