When Religion Turns On Us

     If you haven't been paying attention, there is looming what the NY Times is calling an, "ISIS Crisis". In the wake of this and other current events, we as the American people are starting to get spooked. Ever since 9/11, the "impenetrable barrier" around our nation is being slowly broken down. The borders have holes in them that are held open by our government. All manner of persons can slip through with inscrutable intentions.

     I don't know what's happening in your neck of the woods, but here, we are pulling out our Survival Guides, starting to learn from Bear Grylls and Fat Guys in the Woods. We are beginning to dig in, rallying with friends and family, gathering supplies and ammo for when the world is turned on its nose and all of the signs building toward The End finally rear their heads.

     "Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and pestilences. And there will be terrors and great signs from heaven... Alas for women who are pregnant and for those who are nursing infants in those days! For there will be great distress upon the earth and wrath against this people" - Luke 21

     Now, I'm not even close to being a firearms expert. Even though I've dreamed of being Robin Hood and I've read World War Z and several blogs on guns, it's not my forte (It's not even my twen-te). But, one thing I know is, when I'm choosing a defense system, I'm looking for maximum stopping power. 

     Stopping power, or the ability to incapacitate, mainly depends on your enemy. According to Max Brooks', "Zombie Survival Guide," a zombie feels no pain. To them, pepper spray might as well be water to the face, and an RPG or assault rifle is too loud and inaccurate to be of much use. You need precision in the form of a silenced rifle and/or a machete, along with the skill to use them effectively.

     In most situations against a human (fully possessed of his faculties), an imposing threat of pain has all of the stopping power that you should need. However, we may very well face foes that aren't deterred by mankind's normal sense of self-preservation, and so we must make extra precautions. 

     Advanced Military Personnel, or for the sake of brevity, "AMPs," are able to infiltrate, overpower, capture and/or kill all but perhaps 4.7% of American Citizens at will, regardless of their level preparation. Unless you've been training for most of your entire life, you're in the 95th percentile. 

     Even if AMPs aren't initially a threat, we may face the abstract enemies brought on by various levels of economic collapse. Along with looters, these foes include, hunger, thirst, and the elements themselves. So we train with the Fat Guys in the Woods (FGWs?). Yet, when only equipped the level of society that they could personally bring to bear, more initial American colonies failed than succeeded. So, how will we, the self-inflated, educationally-cushioned elite of the world, survive when our chairs are pulled out from under us?

     Let's imagine this guy, for example:

     

Let's say he came to your home, with four other guys, armed with handguns, bent on stealing your food with or without your consent, fully prepared to, and even banking on, taking it over your dead body.

     What's your best bet for greatest stopping power?


     Traps? Snipers? Assault Rifles?

     What if, instead of four guys, it was this guy?

     HA-ha, just kidding. But look at Luke 8:


     "For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he had not lived in a house but among the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell down before him and said with a loud voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me.” For he had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many a time it had seized him. He was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the desert.)"

     So, my question is, which of these two has the greatest stopping power?
     

          - A high- powered assault rifle, or a command from Jesus Christ?

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven"

     Jesus taught an interesting form of Non-Violence.

     In John 18, though the mob was coming to take Jesus to his death, he rebuked his follower's offer of protection, instead healing the wound that Peter had dealt.

     In Matthew 5:39, Jesus says "But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well."

     To be clear, I'm not against arming yourself. Apparently, there is a time and place for it, too. However, let's consider who we follow, or at least who we claim to follow.

     In our preparations for the end of life as we know it, are we also preparing our daily, personal relationship with "EL Shaddai," the "All-Mighty" so that when Emperor Palpatine comes knocking, we know how to face him?

     Do we walk with Jesus closely enough or hear Him clearly enough to know when to be bold, when to show compassion, and when to defend the helpless through force of arms? We are told not to be conformed to this world (or the view of our favorite pundit), and we sure as anything can't trust our own opinion. Yet we are guaranteed the opportunity to rejoice at the glory of sharing in Christ's suffering.

So, when we encounter trials of various kinds,

"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast [to the truth] under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him." - James 1:12

Be strong and of good courage. Set your feet on The Firm Foundation, fall into step behind The Way, the Truth, and the Life of the Narrow Path.

Legends of the Apostle - Part 1

 Not too long ago, and not too far from here, an old man sat alone on a park bench. Head in his hands, gentle sobs shook his shoulders. The cold wind chilled the tears as they fell from his cheeks. He was very alone.

A small hand on his shoulder startled him. Looking up, he saw a small boy, his blue eyes wide.

“What's wrong, mister?” the boy asked. In the playground, the boys mother was watching cautiously, her attention split between the boy and two girls playing tag in the grass.

“Nothing,” the man said, "You run along now, don't mind an addled old fogey.”

The boy's brow scrunched together seriously, "I don't know what a fogey is, but nobody cries about nothing." he hesitated,"but you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Mom always says I ask too many questions.” The boy wrapped his small arms around the old man's knees. He looked into the man's tired, careworn eyes and smiled a young and joyful smile. 

Tears sprang to the man's eyes again, "It's my son, he's disappeared."

"Did you tell the police?"

"It's not like that. I just can't remember him anymore. I know I had a son. I can remember camping trips and birthday parties. But I can't see his face, or remember his smile, hear his laugh, or recall anything about him. Worst of all, I can't find him and everyone I know tells me I don't have a son, never have. I'm afraid I... I might be losing my mind." The man broke into sobs again.

 “You should talk to the Apostle,” the boy patted the man's shoulder gently, “He'd probably be able to help.”

“The Apostle? He's not a shrink, is he?”

“I dunno." The boy shrugged. "He's the Apostle, he helps people with getting what they need. He helped My mom find her keys one time.”

“Oh really?” The man chuckled. “Do you have his phone number?”

“He doesn't use a phone,” The boy said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, “Write a message on this, sign your name, and throw it to the wind. He will meet you here tomorrow.”

“I don't think it works like that, son.” The man smiled sadly.

“Sure it does,” The boy smiled and turned back to his mom and sisters, “You just have to believe.”  

Is "Jesus" Really the Answer?

   

  “Alright everyone, close your eyes really tight!”

     Mrs. Poplin couldn’t help but smile at all of the little grunts and grimaces as kids screwed their eyes closed. Kevin’s eyes were glinting out between scrunched cheeks and a wrinkled forehead.

     “Now, I want you to picture in your mind all of the animals getting onto the ark with Noah. There are the horses! What sound do horses make?”

     The kids whinnied and flailed their hands, imitating horses with the abandon only kids can muster.

     “Oh, what are those, climbing in the trees?”

     The kids loved this game. Guesses of, “Monkeys!” “Sloths!” and even, “Tarantulas!” rang out.

     “I’ll give you a hint if you promise to raise your hands. They’re small. They have big bushy tails and they eat nuts. Yes, Joy? What’s your guess?”

     Off to one side, the little girl piped up, “I think it’s a squirrel, but I’m going to say… Jesus.”

     Is, “Jesus,” really the answer?

     It’s raining outside. Dark and heavy. The clouds spray icy drops of water at the upstairs windows of the church. Inside, several young men are in close conversation around a small table. The room looks to normally be used for children’s Sunday school, but on this dreary Wednesday, the small chairs force the men into somewhat attentive, if uncomfortable, postures. Three bibles lay at random, unopened, on the table.

     One man, perhaps a handful of years older than the rest, reads from a copy of the paper they all hold. 

     “All around you, the battle rages. Demons lay to your left and right, gutted by the armies of the Most High. You see men equipped in all of the armor of God, swords flashing when the lightning strikes, raising their voices with the mighty trumpets and charging fearlessly toward the battle lines.’

     “Looking down, you see that you have no sword. You have no armor. In fact, your pants are around your ankles. You are chasing after a seductress’ call, in the middle of a warzone!’

     “All around, the enemy is falling, the kingdom is coming to earth, and you are chasing an orgasm!”

The group leader looks up, half-smiling and making eye contact with the few boys who grin back.

     “How many of you guys can identify with that picture? There are totally times that I can.”

     A chorus of quiet agreement.

     “But let’s keep reading.” He says, looking back down, “John 1:2 says you are God’s child. There’s more to life than addiction. Romans 5: 1 says you’ve been justified. Romans 8:28 says God loves you no matter what. All of these verses,” He pauses to count, “all thirty five of them, say that we need to stop looking for the harlot on the battlefield. We need to open our ears to the trumpets! We need to fix our eyes on the Commander leading the charge! We need to pull up our pants, grab our armor and get in the fight! We don’t need sex, we need Jesus!”

     Is, “Jesus,” really the answer?

     Even we, the Lord’s men, are rapidly and in increasing numbers falling to pornography. Our addiction leads to late nights and lost hours that sap our desire to be with anyone but our minds and our hands. As the hunger grows, even that fails to satisfy and we turn to sexual experimentation. Soon, we hate who we have become, a shell of the good man we seem to be, not enough substance within us to cast a shadow. Left unchecked, our cravings will lead us to strip clubs and whorehouses. Downward this addiction will spiral, its claws sunk tightly into our chests until we have lost all notion of the way to the surface and, gasping for air, we drown.

     At some point along this path, before the end, we will realize the trap has sprung. We turn to books, then pastors, then friends, maybe even to family, but to no avail. The hooks are set deep. No program on our computer, no insightful book, no accountability meeting, seems to help us escape from the trap waiting just around the corner. We are evil men and our desires are continuous.

     Time and again, we are told that Jesus can help. “Give it to Jesus and you will be free!” But is “Jesus” really the answer? If so, why is it that so many who claim, “Jesus” are still bound and gagged to their god called sex?

     You cannot serve two masters.

     Yet, I have found freedom.

     Rather, freedom has found me. His name is, was, and will forever be, Emmanuel, or “God with us.”

     Before my first thoughts turned inward and prepared my heart for these evil hooks, he overpowered them. The chains no longer drag me down. If I waste away in front of the computer screen, eyes glazed, mouth slack, heart pounding until judgment day with a flat-lined conscience, I will be counted innocent of it all.

     Christ died for sin, once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring them to God. 1 Peter 3:18

     However don’t be deceived, when I come to him prepared for a mansion and golden streets, I will hear,

“Be gone from me, I never knew you.” Matt 7:23

Wait. What?

     Even before Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection he told the paralytic,

     “Take heart, your sins are forgiven.” Matt 9

     Why did Jesus come to earth? To die? To rise again? To forgive sins?

     Jesus came so that God could be with us. “Emmanuel.”

     The answer is Emmanuel.

     There is one source with the strength to reverse the undertow of addiction, one escape from the perversion of our evil hearts. One person is the way and the light shining in the darkness.

     He knows you. Do you know him?

     What is his favorite color?

     What does he like to do with his free time?

     Why does he let sin run rampant?

     Sheeple, what does his voice sound like?

     Get to know him, let his love grow through you, he will lead you to freedom.

     Without vision, all people perish.

     Before you can hope to transform, you need to look to what you will become.

     Now we see as through a mirror, dimly, but then we shall see him face to face. We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.

If you don't know Casey

Ahem.

Gentlemen,

If you're seeking a girl 

with that chrysoprase sparkle,

whose eyes swim with lightning, 

bold joy and delight

whose looks will inspire 

soft men into battle

and strengthen the timid 

to run to the fight,

Then if you don't know Casey

you're sure missing out.

If you don't know Casey

then without a doubt,

your life missing Casey

is dreary and dull

but it sucks to be you, ha! She's mine.

If your thing is a smile 

like a springtime green meadow

and teeth like the moon 

on it's thirty day climb,

one that lightens your heart 

and quickens its beating

each time that she chooses 

to let its light shine,

Then if you don't know Casey

You're sure missing out

If you don't know Casey

then without a doubt

your life without Casey

is incredibly dull

But I pity you dude, 'cause she's mine

You'll have to keep looking, she's mine.

The Call from Thailand

A small boy sits alone on the street corner, head in his hands. Tear-streaked and bruised, little Khun hides behind fingers that are, “too delicate to be a man's hands.” His mother hates him, his father doesn't know him. An outcast, discarded and rejected, he collapses within himself, one small, cracking soul among countless millions. The masses surge by, uncaring, expending their lives in the whirling metropolis of Chiang Mai, Thailand.

Twelve years later, that little boy is no more. Years ago, he chose to become the woman Kamala. “Born of a lotus” and “desirable”, (s)he flags down passersby for a night of exotic pleasure. (S)he offers them a night with Kamala, who was Khun. A ladyboy, a mistress of the night, a lost soul in the darkness, bereft of hope, (s)he is clinging to life because it's all (s)he knows.

We go to Thailand to rescue the Kamala's. We go to find the Khuns who were lost long ago. Light Himself has promised to go with us into the darkness. Hope, rescuing the despairing. Joy, lifting the downtrodden. Purpose, choosing the ignored.

When I say we, I mean we three. The Lord is in the field, seeking workers for the harvest. I am traveling the miles from home, taking you along with the written word. We're looking to understand the raw truth of the need. In America, the demons are concealed and subtle. In America, miracles are quiet and the voice of the Lord is easily mistaken. I'm going to a place where good and evil are bursting the seams of the physical realm, to catch a glimpse of the truth. I hope that my discoveries from Thailand will help you see the reality of the people near you. Americans suffer as much as anyone, but they hide behind the walls of wealth and prosperity. Through the stories we find, maybe we can see a deeper layer of reality, a layer that equips us to bring life to our own world.

A life only gains weight when it is given away. So I'm giving what little I have in order to expand the Kingdom. But, a single strand is easily broken. I need you to stand with me. Where one can put a thousand to flight, two can defeat ten thousand. Together, we can bring change to this world.

As I head to Thailand, I'll be working with Lighthouse in Action to meet the needs of the people of Chiang Mai. MyDead Heart Lives, an online, servant-hearted community, has agreed to sponsor me. They are a viral group of Christ-followers based around the concept that, “Once Jesus is in control of my life, I don't have to worry about being perfect. I can focus on changing the world around me.” They use unique coins to track random acts of service, each serv-er passing the coin to the serv-ee. The coins have the URL printed on the back to direct people back to their home page. Each act of service is a marketing tool that gets servant-hearted people connected with servant-hearted opportunity. You can learn more and get involved at www.facebook.com/MDHL12.

Together, we're working to raise $5,000 before December 1^st, but we need help to start up the movement. Currently, we're taking pre-orders for the coins, so that we can get them minted and circulating. We need 150 of them spoken for, and then we can create the first batch of coins. After that, 75% of the profit from the movement will go to supporting me in Thailand, until my need is met. In total, it'll cost from $600 to $1000 a month for me to live over there. So, if the Spirit is prompting you to help, buy some coins on their website, go join the movement, or send me an email. Let's get MDHL up and running so that the world can taste the power of the Lord.

If you have questions about anything, I'd love to talk with you. Shoot me an email at hikingpeter9000@gmail.com. Join me in this branch of Kingdom work. Help me change the world.

Blessings to you all,

Peter

The Power of the Almighty Sea

I stand before the almighty sea, its tides lapping my feet

Wading on the edges of that endless giant, my soul has found peace.

As my gaze turns to the distant horizon, I know in my heart all will be well.

But as I stroll in the shallows I can't help but notice the crashing of the waves.

A dozen yards out, the almighty sea grasps toward the beach.

Time and again, with all of the force of a falling tree, its fingers beckon.

Dumfounding power resides in the water.

How would it feel to encounter that power?

Step by step, the pull of the tide draws me further;

it calls me deeper, it's subtle voice irresistible.

Stride by stride as the tow increases,

more of my self is allured

Suddenly, reticence grips me,

as my body rebels against the chilling grasp.

I can no longer continue in comfort.

The decision looms, retreat or continue?

Cost weighed,

In a moment of conviction,

the indomitable pressure triumphs

and I dive into its waiting embrace.

I am at one with the power of the almighty sea,

submitted to its whim and enveloped by its might,

It's no longer a relentless bludgeon, but a coercive current.

I burst to the surface to stride boldly deeper.

Wave by wave, it draws me further,

each passing swell lifting me from my feet

as my head bobs up and away from the earth

I am momentarily and inexorably abandoned

to the will of the almighty sea.

But the wave soon passes,

and dominion returns to me.

Yet no further do I venture?

Do I fear the almighty sea?

I have heard tell of men pulled out so deep that they could no longer touch the ground. They were lost to the almighty sea. There, in the midst of the endless water, they were completely at its mercy. One man in particular was swept out and lost to the world forever. I think his name was Enoch.

I too want to be lost to this world, adrift and beyond all footing. There must be some way, somewhere, to lose myself in the undiminished majesty, in the relentless, roiling power of the Almighty... sea.

How Do You Love Me?

How do you love me?

I am an animal, chasing down hateful desires as if my salvation meant nothing. Like Israel before me, my flagrant whoring reeks from the high places. Yet the Lord is faithful? His love carries on. My family remains faithful. My friends still love me and accept me. They see my lewdness, my blantant disregard of the gift I've been given, and yet they love me still. Why?

This is the best I can do to explain:

“Death. I am death. I hunt, molest, and kill. I prey on the weak and unsuspecting, luring them into abandoned trust before ripping their heart out. I destroy because it is what I do.

My name is Peter and I hate.

Love. I am love. I spend my effort, time, and thought for those around me. I give to anyone and everyone that I come in contact with, seeking their benefit with no reserve. I give because it is who I am.

My name is Peter and I love.

I am two men, polar opposite yet struggling for dominance over the same life. I am chained to death, yet living still. The things I long to do, I do not do. I do the things I hate.

My name is Peter and I am wretched.

There is a man who offers life. I chose to follow Him. He gave his life for me, I gave my life to Him. He is my hope. He is my freedom. He is the life in my soul.

My name is Peter and I am forgiven.”

People can love me because they see the life in me. I am reborn. I fight so that the good may defeat the evil inside, but I no longer want the evil to win. The ones who know me best will see my fight and love me for it. Death lives in my body, but I am no longer death. I am love, and I am loved.

-Rock Darkwater

This Earthen Vessel'd Treasure

There once was a man who lived in a town, much like the one I live in today. This man owned a priceless treasure, but it was locked away in a room and he didn't have the key. The man spent his days doing what was good in his own eyes. Then one day, a woman appeared in front of him. She had a key hanging from a chain at her throat. She took the key, unlocked the room, and together they beheld the glorious treasure. They took what they could carry and went out into the town to invest it. The two of them were quite satisfied for some time.

The years passed and the woman grew restless. Whether it was the treasure, the room, or the town, something displeased her, and she decided to go. As she made to leave, the man grabbed her hand. “Stay with me.” He said. But she would not be convinced. She pulled and pushed, slapped and fought to be released, until at last, the man let her go. As he released her hand, he snatched the key to the treasure room. Startled, she considered trying to get it back, but then turned abruptly and disappeared into the blackness that is beyond our story.

The man turned, gazing wistfully at the treasure in the room. Then he gently closed the door and locked it tight. The key, he hung on a chain over his heart.

For the man, the years went by as if he were in exile. He had made something of himself, but it was as if it were a dream, or an unfinished project that he couldn't complete. The treasure he had invested produced returns, but it never grew. The man gave what he could from what he had to people who needed it more than he.

Time passed.

As he spent his days he began looking for another woman. “This one must be different,” He said. For he didn't need the door to be unlocked anymore, he already had the key. He waited and watched for the one who would make the unlocking worthwhile.  

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us." - 2 Corinthians 4:7

Baby, Don't Hurt Me

“Love lifts us up where we belong, where eagles fly, on a mountain high.

Love makes us act like we are fools, throw our lives away, for one happy day.

We should be lovers!

We can't do that...” - Moulin Rouge

Love.

In the grand scheme of the American vocabulary, we use the word for lots of things. That fact alone has led many to discard the word altogether.

God is love.

In the grand scheme of the American vocabulary, we use the word for lots of things. That fact alone has led many to discard Him altogether.

Let us sit together then, and reawaken love.

Love, at its core, is a desire. It's a wanting. It's directed a thousand different places, but remains most simply explained as an intense craving for something.

Consider:

Lust.

Covetousness.

Greed.

Where is the difference?

All can be defined as intense desire.

Obviously one is right, the others, wrong.

But why?

In any kind of desire, there are two parties privy to the emotion, the desire-er and the desired.

Does the difference lie in the substance of the desired?

No, for you can both love and covet the same woman.

Therefore, the dichotomy would have to be found in the source of the desire.

In order to find the unique characteristic that refines desire to love, I submit this question:

How can a person love pepperoni pizza and love their wife of twenty-five years?

The Christian-ese answer is that there are different types of love. (Insert inane babble about Greek words and descend into chaotic pontification)

If the Greeks had multiple words for different kinds of love, and yet we only have one, have we lost the fullness of love? Did the Greeks love more than we? Perhaps, but I think not.

I submit that we only have one word for love because we need only one word. The carnal appreciation of food, the camaraderie of a brother, and the intimate connection of a spouse are simply differing applications and levels of the same desire. All love.

So there is one love. But what is it? How can it be defined?

In regards to love, Shakespeare wrote, “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Now, Shakespeare being a poet, automatically understood all of the finer points of love. But how could he claim that love increases the more it is given away?

There is a riddle that floats about, (as riddles do) that asks, “What gets bigger the more you take away from it?” The answer, being a hole, sheds light on the fact that some things are in fact the absence of others. The cold dark, for example, is scientifically just the absence of heated light.

Thus, if love is a desire, and it increases by giving it another, then love must be an absence of desire for yourself. Love must be a desire of a thing to the point where you would give of yourself to have it.

At it's basic roots, this is Love. There is much more to it, myriads of applications, dozens of levels of intensity, and several perversions, but it remains, innately, a self-sacrificing desire.

Since love abounds the more it is given, and among the palate of human emotion, it ranks highly among the causes of happiness, I am lead to believe the following:

We should be lovers,

and that's a fact.

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. 

__________________________________________________________________

     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.

_____________________________________________

"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

___________________________________________________________

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."