Almost made it to 200.

196 Posts in this blog, and life is so very different from the way it was before.

Time for a new chapter in my life.

So follow me here.

With A Head Like A Wolf

File under The End.

...

Their clothes are all clean.

Blankets are ready to go.

Their toys are ready.

The house is warm and waiting.

And because of some petty bullshit that was over two years ago.

I may not get to see them.

Happy New Years.

When Sleep Evades

There are nights where I have trouble sleeping.

I sit here in this living room.

Comfortable.  Well lit.  So large compared to so many places I have lived in recent memory.  There is no one to distract me, there is no ambient noise unless you count the dish washer running.  The little basement apartment right after the divorce.  The three kids in that strangely shaped room literally paces away from where I was sleeping.  Cramped and low ceilings, but I could just walk in there sit on the couch and watch them sleep in their bunk beds. 

Then another room, large in size but only to house the 20 plus men laying in hard metal cots around me.  All of our personal belongings either in a drawer below our bunk, or in a locker in the hall.  And the things that we couldn't bring into work release with us, in a locker outside the facility.  There is the constant noise of men coming and going, and I just sit and wonder.  Where they are, what they are doing.  Are they happy?  Are they safe? 

I long for their little arms, and their joy filled voices.  I miss them.

Then a move to a big city.  A place where there are jobs, and hope.  And a small room that a woman comes to when she can, and loves me the way I have never been loved.  And sirens and drunken jerks yelling, and the blue light of midnight writing, and sorrow of knowing that they are so far away, but that I can't get them here just yet, that I have to keep working for it, and keep fighting for a toe hold, a single shred of a life that is real and stable.

And here I am.  In this comfortable place.  And I'm trying, I'm trying so hard to get to sleep.  To not wonder, and worry.

And I slip the head headphones on, and I find something that makes me think of them.  Something that makes me know that I will have them here with me someday, if I keep going.  If I keep working.  If I keep...

I just miss them sometimes.  A lot.

The Gospel According to Charles Bukowski.

I've often wondered at something.

We are meant to follow Christ, but so often the scripture quoted to us is from Paul. And so much of the bible is words taken from other men to delineate to us what Christ meant. Not something that I have a problem with. How else are we supposed to unpack the words of Jesus if not through writing, reading and discussion?

But why is the conversation closed?

Why is the bible the only "God Breathed" word around.

If a former murderer of Christians help us understand the Gospel, why can't they all? Why can't the drunk, and the fiction author, and the rapper, and the poet? I feel like the Word is still around, and still speaking through whomever it pleases.

I got off the elevator and the sun hit me just right, and I felt hope and love, knowing that sometimes you read the truth from the most humble of places, and that God uses us all for his will. No matter what we think of Him. Because no matter what we think of Him, He sees His son, and try as we might, we are still all created with a little bit of Him inside of us. A bit of Him that sees the world for what it is and still wants to make it a better place.

"and after we burn the nation, we replace it with what?"

"would you say that the American Revolution failed, that the French Revolution failed, that the Russian Revolution failed?"

"not entirely. but they sure fell short."

"it was a try."

"how many men must we kill to move forward one inch?"

"how many men are killed by not moving at all?"

"sometimes I feel like I'm talking with Plato."

"you are: Plato with a Jewish beard."

it gets quiet then and the problem hangs between us. meanwhile, the skidrows are filled with the disenchanted and the discarded; the poor die in charity wards among a shortage of doctors; the jails are so filled with the disordered and the lost that there are not enough bunks and the prisoners must sleep on the floors. to get on relief is an act of mercy that may not last and the madhouses are stuffed wall to wall because of a society that uses people like chess pawns...

it's damned pleasant to be an intellectual or a writer and to observe the niceties as long as your OWN ass is not in the wringer. that's ONE thing that's wrong with intellectuals and writers - they don't feel a hell of a lot except their own comfort and their own pain. which is normal but shitty.

-Charles Bukowski

My Church, My Church...

It is hard to write these thoughts without them being taken wrong.

I don't know how to put them together so that they don't sound accusatory.  I'm not pointing a finger.  It isn't what I do.  I know what that feels like.  I know the shame of going in front of a judge and admitting that you hit the woman that you had sworn to love and honor for the rest of your life.  I know the shame of getting into the back of a police car while your children are watching.  I have coveted my neighbor's wife, I have taken the Lord's name in vain, I have pulled off One through Ten over and over and over again.  If not in deed, than in thought and in word.  All of which is condemned by The Great Forgiver.

So I don't point fingers anymore.

Because when I do.  I know I'm just pointing at myself.

I don't accuse anymore, because when the tally chart is thrown up on the wall.  Sin for sin.  I'm winning.  I'm not ahead by a nose, I'm ahead by a mile.

-

She walked in my door and changed my life.

The way we start isn't always the way we should start.  And the way we love isn't always the way we should love.  The way we fell into each others arms.  It's on my tally sheet.  And the way I stole her from another man, also on the fucking tally sheet.

I'm not proud.

I'm not obligated to confess guilt to anyone.

It is a dichotomy. 

A friend called.  A true friend.  And he presented hard words to me.  Told me things that I know, and that I wrestle with.  And he did it out of love.  He told me he hated how it made him feel, and that he was disheartened and hurt, and sad.  And that he had gone to the other man to tell him, that from his perspective, what I did was wrong, and that he felt as though I had done a poor job of representing Christ and The Church.

I agree with him.

And I respect him for calling me, and for going out of his way to reach out to someone that despises and rejects faith in anything.  Because that is our job.  We step into this faith with the understanding that we are supposed to "go and make disciples of all nations."  It is on the back of the Billy Graham deceleration of faith hand out that I signed all through middle and high school.  Those words were crowded into my head every time I dedicated, re-dedicated, and re-re-dedicated myself to the Lord.  In every head bowed and eye shut room, so that no one would feel any pressure, yes Lord there is one, so that no one would feel any fear, yes Lord I see that hand, so that no one would be embarrassed, praise God there is another.  Because even while we are supposed to be shouting our joy from a mountaintop, we were ashamed.

The faith I was taught, was one of passivity.

One that had a lot more to do with taking the moral high ground in your mind, but still acting like an asshole to people. 

It was about going to church with your family, but pretending like you didn't.  You didn't want your friends to know that you were a Christian, you wanted to hide that light so far under every bush, barrel and blanket you could find, while attempting to not let Satan puff it out.  For two reasons.

First no one wanted to be on the same team as Tipper Gore and Bob Larson.  Standing in a bully pulpit telling the world that everything that is fun is evil.

Second it is so easy to justify the things you do, or don't do, if you can be ambiguous about your faith.  Oh I don't drink, I'm a Christian.  Oh its ok for us to fool around on the couch I don't really believe in that God stuff.  It was a switch that could be turned on and off.  You know the one that God is going to vomit from his mouth.  Mark that one up on my tally sheet too.

I spent a lot of years like that.  And when I decided that I was done with it.  I prayed one prayer.

"God if its your will take everything.  Because this isn't how it was supposed to be."

-

He did.

-

I tried to live wrong first.

This fucking thing is a chronicle to that.

I tried to live right.

Also a chronicle.

That is the point of this place.  Sure a lot of the time it is just some rambling and some mental exercising, but when it comes down to it.  This is where I put my thoughts.  My struggles.  And when I started it, I said that I would just say how I felt.  And I will. 

I went through a divorce, and struggled with money, and with work, and with drinking, and with the courts.  I still owe money all over the place, I spent three months incarcerated, I got hands up, and hand outs, and I got beat up by the world pretty bad.  And while I went through it there were very few people that were willing to stand next to me.  There were very few people that didn't make me feel shame just by the way that they looked at me.  There were very few people that treated me like I was worth more than shit on the heel of their shoes. 

There were friendships that disappeared.  There were ones that I questioned ever even existed.  I get that I committed sin.  And that sin deserves rebuking and correction, and some kind of guidance in the right direction.  And I got that, some.  And there was pain there, grief over a lost family, and over lost self-respect.  Self-loathing, and hatred for everything I had become, because what I wanted to be seemed to be falling apart.  I needed comfort.  And I got that, some.

But mostly I got stony silence.

Indifference.

I was told in catechism, Luther's small one.  That there are sins of commission, the shit you do, and omission, the things that you left undone.  I understand how it feels to be on the receiving end of that now.

I don't ever want to feel like that again.

I don't ever want anyone else to feel like I did that to them again.

-

I don't accuse here, I just relate.

What is done is done.  The past is that.  It is something to learn from and move forward from.

-

Maybe this lesson is never fully learned.

Or maybe it is just that I commit some of the big sins while the rest of the world is just cheating on their taxes and shit.  I don't know.  But I caused that pain to someone,  several someone's since I was made to feel that way.  But imperfect vessel that I am.  I try not to back down from what I feel is the only thing that sustains.  This faith in God.

No church looks at this bundle of damaged goods and says, "Dang mister, join up now."  But my God does.

And so does my congregation.  Those "And I got that, some's."  A Pastor, A Brother, A Woman, A Fellow Traveler, A Group of Children.  Titles, characters in this grand story, my life.  People that are my church.  People that may not love the decisions I make, but that love me.  My church.

A church made of other tattered, and ragged, weary and beaten humans.

People that make the same mistakes over and over, because the are human, and flawed, and live in an over privileged society, just like me.

-

"You deserve better, You are a daughter of a King."

She was told about me.

I am a son of that same King.

Washed in that same blood, forgiven of those same sins, doomed to sin in those same ways.  Can you do better than the son of a King who accepts all as His own?  Can you do better than to find the love of that King in another's eyes and never look back?

I'm sorry if we didn't do it your way.  Truly.

But we did.  And now we chose to move forward.  To live, to love, to serve one another, and all that we can.  And it may look like "too soon" for some, I fear that we cannot wait.  We cannot afford to sit on our hands.  Because in spite of our sin, He still works in us.  In spite of our shame, He still calls our name.  He still whispers, "Feed them, clothe them, visit them, let them stay, I'm in the least, and I work through the least.  And trust me you are the least.  And I give you another commandment, love one another as I have loved you.  Because that is how they will know you are Mine, that you love one another."

He even washed Judas' feet.

File under Virtue I guess.

Tonight.

It is late, and I know that I should be asleep. 

I went to bed late last night and it made me shit at work today.

But I can't seem to lay down.  There is just something about this night.  This moment that is almost magic.

I remember sitting in front of this same screen not so long ago.  Struggling to sleep.  Lashing out at myself with drink and smoke, and vice.  Throwing myself into the deepest pit that I could.  Finding the darkness, seeking it out, running into its waiting arms before it had a chance to swallow me whole unbidden.  It wasn't so long ago that was me.

Swallowing my sleep.  Lusting after the darkness.  Wondering how much longer I could keep my mind.

How much has changed. 

Tonight...

Tonight doesn't seem dark.  The night doesn't seem to be pulling at the corners of my eyes trying to suck me down.  Suck me in.  Tonight I'm right here, and like always I'm telling the only words that I know.  I'm putting my heart down again.  But I don't feel that desperate pull.  That darkness seems to have lifted for now.

Tonight she is right there on the couch, having fallen asleep watching TV. 

Tonight we just sat, and talked and relaxed.

Tonight we were just us.

No walking away, no alone, no end of the night. 

Just sleep, and for me music.

Soft music, that I will play for a new child.  Headphones on her stomach, so that this child will hear the beauty of John Cash, and Joe Strummer.  So that the child will know before birth, the love we have.  And a state away are my other three, and soon they will be here too.  And I will smother them with joy and love.

Life gets better.

God is good.

File under Virtue.

Autumn.

Two Autumns now.

And it all seems so long ago.

Two Autumns ago I was sitting down in front of this blank screen for the first time. Thinking to myself, "I'm done with playing a part. I'm done with trying to be someone that everyone else wants me to be. It was an interesting time that was.

My marriage had failed, my job was about to be lost, I didn't know it at the time, but I was about to do some time.

My life went from being stable to unstable very quickly. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't really know who I was anymore. All of the roles that I had played just kind of disappeared. And in a moment I realized that allowing them to fall by the wayside is exactly what I not only wanted but what I needed. I had never taken the time to be myself. I had never taken the time to really learn who that was. And now, two Autumn's later, I see a little better who that is.

I see a little better that the shadows aren't where I need to be.

From now on this will be a different place.

This started out as a place to hide my face, and still say how I feel. I don't think I need that anymore. It is still a safe place, and a place to be honest with what I feel, and how I write, but there is a change in the air. Two Autumns is a long time to wait for the leaves to fall.

-

The sun is setting and the corona of sunlight over the apartment complex is something that is stunning in its beauty. I can hear the kids in the courtyard playing soccer, and the soundtrack of the evening is Devotchka. There is that burning wood, dry leaves scent in the air. That October smell.

The house smells like food. And I'm working on getting dinner put together when she walks in the door. Her name is Mel, and I love her. When she comes in the door, she always reaches for an embrace. She always asks for a kiss. She never turns a cold shoulder to me. With her life is different. With her there is this simple happiness in just being with someone that chooses to be kind to me. Not sometimes, but all the time. The simple joy of being with someone that understands that to receive kindness you must be kind.

I wrap my arms around her from behind. My hands on her belly, there is a child in there. A new life, what seems like a totally new world to me. A world where I have nothing but hope, and the conviction that I will have a partner, that I have a team mate.

There were three before this child. Three wonderful kids that I love more than life itself. That I don't get to see as much as I want that I desperately miss. And I can't wait to tell them. I can't imagine that they will be anything besides happy. I can't wait to hear them squeal and hug and kiss Mel. I can hear Baleigh telling her congratulations, and I can see in my mind's eye her hugging Mel and patting her on the tummy. I hope that is how they react, I think that they will. They seem to truly love Mel too, they see that she is good for their father and that she makes me happy.

-

Dinner tonight isn't just for the two of us. David is on his way.

He is one of my best friends, and I haven't seen him in months. He comes up from New Mexico about once a month, and for whatever reason, we just haven't been able to make things work the last few times he was up. And though I've already told him that Mel is pregnant, I want to see him, talk to him about it. Over food and wine, and eventually Sailor.

Just like the week before when I got to talk to Steve about it. To get the, "Man sometimes you are an idiot," speech and then to laugh and be with a friend, and just spend time with the people that I care about.

These two men that were by my side as my life fell apart, that gave me moral support, and a place to live. That treated me like a human, during a time when I didn't really feel like one. The ones that treated me like a church should.

And now I get to be more like a person, I'm not shifting from place to place, from horror to horror. I'm no longer moving up a river looking for my Kurtz. I'm home now, and that is all behind me. There are still struggles, and there are still moments when I fear that it will all fall apart, but the face that I'm putting out there for people to see is no longer a mask. It is who I am, it is how I feel.

And there is Dave in the dining room, sitting with us, eating, and happy for the both of us. And we drink, and talk and laugh, and my life feels like a life instead of a sham.

And when we talk about God, it is in the way that I understand. It isn't this abstract model of a god that has been developed over generations of theology. It is just people talking, and thinking about their faith, and starting to truly understand what it means to trust God wholly. A time of true fellowship.

When Mel makes Dave a lunch for the road he says, "You are like a Christian, but in the way it was meant to be, not the way it has become." A sentiment that I shared with her in respect to her project of feeding the homeless in Denver. It just feels good to be with someone that understands that we are here to give, not take.

And these times with friends, are ones that the other woman never allowed.

That other foot always dropping. Spending an evening with Steve and within two hours she would be calling on the phone to ask when I was coming home. An emergency every time. She needed this, she needed that. And not just when I was with my friends. When I was at work, when I was trying to write. Every moment it seemed that I was required to refocus on her.

Mel kisses me goodnight at 10pm, Dave and I laughing like braying jackasses at a comedian. She goes to the bedroom to read. And in the morning she tells me. That she just wanted to give me a chance to have time with a friend. It is a new world. A new life, and it is the one that I was always looking for.

-


Two Autumns now.

And another winter on the way. Mel is always telling me that she suffers from serious depression during the winter. And having had friends, and relations that suffer from the same thing I understand what she is talking about.

I'm looking forward to it in a way.

She has poured so much kindness, gentleness and love my direction that I am truly excited to return the favor.

I want to look out a window at falling snow. Make her hot chocolate and wrap up under a blanket.

I want her to know that in dark times she is loved.

I want to hold her close when it is cold.

Everyday is a new day, a new adventure, a new memory. For the first time in a long time I get to look forward to today, and worry less and less about tomorrow. Today is a day to not hide my face anymore, because today is another day living with someone who sees me, and loves me for that. It isn't always hearts and flowers, but it is honest and real, and that in and of itself is a new adventure every day.

It is Autumn now, but soon it will be winter.

And this will be like no winter before it.

File under Virtue.