You have to leave a place to get to a place-< this is under construction

When our paths crossed there was a change in the atmosphere. All the answers to life's most important questions that had eluded me for most of my life instantly became clearer as my thoughts began to transform from flesh to spirit. I was totally unaware of what was out there. I did not know what my purpose was in this life until I became acquainted with the voice that carried me when I couldn't walk or talk. I have walked many miles to come this far and I have many more to travel on this journey. It's going to be a long walk. The road will be bumpy and there will be roadblocks set up to either deter me or delay me from reaching my final destination. It could be God allowing these things to take place as part of my learning experience. Life is an open book test. It would be premature of me to reach a place without having studied for the exam. One thing I am sure of is that everything is in His time, not mine. I didn't create time, God did. I will stop along the way only for moments of rest to meditate on what I read and what I see and hear from the father. When I am thrust into a situation beyond my control I will be able to make those crucial decisions when needed in which I must not be hasty in doing so for the sake of the process of events to unfold. I don't want to miss anything. Is that possible? I do not want to be careless with what I have been given. I will rely on Him and Him alone.

The hands that heal

 A very long time ago there was a man. He was a man filled with wisdom and spiritual insight. Many came to him for knowledge. He was an intrepreter of dreams and visions. He would seek his father on a daily basis as to his walk among the people of the day. He was a warrior who fought his battles in the spiritual realm. He was undefeated in those battles. He would walk many miles to spread the message for which his purpose would later be revealed. He was a light unto darkness. There was nothing in darkness that could not be hidden from him. His words would someday become immortal. His words spoke life into the lives of those who heard them. His hands healed those that recieved from him. His sandals were worn from many travels. He is still alive today. He walks among us, but we fail to see him at times. The hands that heal can cure our blindness.

Day by day

With a rusty nail I scrape at these four walls that surround me. My hands they bleed, but my labor is not in vain. A ray of light does shine through this once darkened prison cell. I am reminded of when I could not see as an infant. It was as if I had returned to the womb.

We almost got our goose

Drake and I decided to go fishing yesterday afternoon. It was sunny, but a bit on the chilly side. Across the street from his grandparents house is a pond that sits below the back of a neighbor's house, which makes it convenient for us to access. Upon our arrival to the pond we were met by a mother goose nesting on the bank. She became a bit fussy when we attempted to take  a couple of pictures of her. Not long after our snapshot success papa goose came flying in on our springtime moment. He fiercely marched up on the bank and paraded around, back and forth near momma goose and her nest. He hissed at us repeatedly. If he could've breathed fire we would've been burnt toast. We decided to run when he came rushing toward us in a protective,warrior, fatherlike state. I thought for sure I was going to get pecked.
It was time for Drake and I to do a little fishing before the sun set. We walked around the right side of the pond to the other side where we were a safe distance from the geese. We prepared our fishing lines and cast our reels aimlessly into the pond; giving up any hope of catching  a fish we soon headed back to nan and papaw's. We put our gear away and the day was almost over when Drake decided he wanted to ride his bike. I walked, he rode. He walked, I rode. Then we ran.
Once our short exercise run was over we headed back to the house. Things winded down and we settled down to watch a movie. He's only ten years old and time is short. Before you know it he'll be older and into other things, but for now I will settle for the time we do spend together.

My adversary

You came tumbling down in your deep rooted abyss as you were swallowed in darkness. You tried to be your own god, but a kingdom divided against itself cannot stand. As my master gives me these words that they should be fitting for your demise comes hearsay that you want to rule this world. You are out to kill, steal and destroy. Though your misfortune makes you bitter you still learn nothing . You devise new strategies  as you prepare for your next confrontation. Many have opened the door to evil as deception and tragedy followed. Some have fallen to never rise again. You stabbed your way to imminent perils, leaving behind traces of unsanctified calamity and pandemonium. You found that no peace prevailed. In chains, you ride on dark wings of perpetual agony. Illusionary configurations won't set you free. My truth does not lie. I have been set free. I am tearing down the walls and I watch as they come crumbling down. I am pulling down strongholds, one by one. I see light through walls that once imprisoned me.

The American sideshow

To the left we see a bum wandering the streets with no particular place to go. He's searching for pop bottles so he can buy himself a drink. Up ahead you see a mother dragging her children all over town. Daddy left or he's in jail. He can't handle responsibility for others, let alone himself. It's the first of the month and the welfare check is in the mail. Just like clockwork, the eagle has landed!
Here on Main St. U.S.A. there is a hustle going on all the time. In the bar over there you will find Mr. Lonely sitting on a stool, drowning his sorrows in alcoholic delusions. It's the only friend he's got; at least he thinks so.
Now we see the home wrecker, the wife beater, the domestic violator crushing someone else's dreams. The children are crying and hungry again.
Over here we see the crooked preacher who needs to go straight. He preaches the good word and slips out of the Lord's house every now and then to sin, but he comes right back to the pulpit, so everything should be alright except for his conscience. Can I get an amen?
Last, but not least, we have the family with no moral values whatsoever, but God can see behind closed doors.

The child with no voice part. 2

It's Sunday at 9:09 a.m.. I am deeply troubled by the alarming statistics I just read concerning child abuse. The subject stirs my emotions. Yesterday while fishing with my son I recieved a call. The caller let me know that one of my sisters had placed two of her children in foster care and the oldest of the three was placed in a juvenile detention center. Upon hearing this news I looked at my son and thought how thankful I am to  be able to spend time with him. I could've left and not come back, but I need to be in his life. He needs me. They all need me. I stuck it out for me and my family. I've been counting my blessings. I had to stop because I couldn't count that high. Do you hear me? I hope so. I have three wonderful children who are all special and unique in their own way. I get the enjoyment of watching them grow and develop into who they will someday be. This cycle of abandonment, abuse and neglect has to stop. It's real. It's in my family and your family. My sister has an addiction that has taken over her mind, body, soul and will. It has blinded her perception. She needs help.
My sister told my wife that I would understand why she did what she did. Well, I'm sorry, but I don't. Many oppurtunities could've been seized in getting help. No!, it's not too late. No! I haven't written her off or pulled the plug. I'm not the doctor.
My mother gave up all four of her children. One by one we were seperated. I have long since forgiven her and I love my mother. I have grown distant from my siblings and my mother due the fact that we never bonded as children. When I lived with my father I sometimes felt like an only child who longed for a brother or sister, but that was not possible. I wanted and needed a family. As a child I had no voice. I lived in fear of what might happen to me if I spoke up.
Triggers go off around me like landmines and I have one less thing to carry. My load is getting lighter.  

The child with no voice

It has occurred to me that child abuse needs to be raised to a much higher level than people might think. You might ask, why would I write about such a delicate subject. That's just it! Those who are being abused are delicate and innocent. It's a very personal issue that I have had to deal with throughout my life.
The national statistics do not justify the actual accounts of abuse and neglect that take place in households. There are some that go unreported. Many of these children are in our neighborhoods and in our families. I, myself  was a victim of child abuse and neglect. It literally took me years to overcome my painful and poverty stricken childhood. It wasn't until I became a christian that I was able to deal with what happened to me and the abuse I inflicted on others. It got worse before it got better. Don't think it didn't! I was carrying around a lot of baggage. Both of my parents were abusive alcoholics. Both of my grandfathers were abusive alcoholics. The patterns went back three and four generations. One doesn't just wake up one morning and decide to inflict abuse on others. Although, in some cases I agree that  certain situations are pre-meditated.
At this very moment while our economy and health care reform have taken a front seat to our nations problems, which also didn't happen overnight, somewhere children are being abandoned, abused and neglected among other things. They don't have a voice, but today I will be a voice for them. Children who are left unattended have to fend for themselves. Children who have been abused, whether it be mentally, physically, or verbally are afraid to speak. Again I say, today I will be a voice for them.

Confession of a dreamer

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and make myself vulnerable to the public. That's if anyone is listening or looking. Checking......1,2,3. Check, check! Like Martin Luther King jr., I have a dream. I haven't really shared this with too many people since I moved to Canton, Ohio over ten years ago. Back home is where my writing began. Back home is Hamilton, Ohio. A small town good enough for me. At first, it came out like a drip from a faucet. It kept dripping so I stopped turning the faucet off. Then it began to flow like a river so I got myself a canoe and a paddle. I wanted to see where it was going to take me. I had some of my material published in anthologies, newspapers, magazines and a chapbook that I had self-published. I was on the front page of my hometown newspaper. There it was for all to see. If I had never accomplished anything else in life that was all I needed to feel like I was somebody for the very first time. How cool was that? Then, to top it off I was selected along with two other very talented writers and speakers, to appear on a local television program. That was an awesome feeling to be of a chosen few to do so.  That was over ten years ago. I shudder at the thought of what might have happened to me and my writing career if I had still been living back home. I am a writer. I always was. I put it away until it was time. And that time is right now. I love to read and write. I have since I was a small boy. Currently I am working on my memoirs among other projects. I have written songs and music that was actually recorded in a real, live studio. No kidding! Just when I thought it couldn't get any better. And ofcourse, there's the poetic voice that's crying out for release. As fast as the current is coming I think I might need a life jacket this time around. The first trip was calm and serene. This one is leading me to unchartered waters, but my guide is well aware of what lies ahead.

Don't abort the baby

I have aborted many things in life such as careers, education and relationships, etc. Some I regret and some I do not. Some relationships were not meant to be. In some of them I didn't know what I was thinking.  Some were definately a big mistake from the beginning. Time wasted to say the least. And I learned the hard way. Because of my decisions I have been set back in one way or another. I would like to be more relational than I have been lately, but I am pulled away by other seemingly important things. I must nurture those things that are healthy for my growth as an individual. I am thankful that my mother did not abort me. The baby must be birthed in all of us.

My spiritual house

My spiritual house is in disrepair. Broken furniture, broken shards of glass and a remnant of old dusty carpet remain where I once used to sweep things under the rug. Anger once lived here, but has since found a new place to dwell. The fence that surrounds my property is in desperate need of repair or replacement. Grass and weeds have overgrown in my once lavish flower bed. Perhaps I should pull the weeds that hide the inner beauty of my garden. Dead family trees surround my property which I will make good use of in a fire pit. I will plant new ones that will give birth to something new and magnificent when time for harvest; something never seen before. Dust has built up on that good book I used to read with such delight and fervency. I remember the excitement and expectancy I would have when reading the spoken word. The words spoke to my heart. It was like taking a drink from a river of living water as I would stoop down hastily for a drink. My thirst would be forever quenched when my ears, eyes and heart were opened. The river never dried up. I just went for a long walk and it still remains upon my return. It's time to shake off the dust from my boots and wipe the dust from the cover of the living word.