Tiny Lights

I hope I don't bore you with my daily trips to the store...

Seems that I have minor epiphanies (is that such a thing?) alone in the car most days...

Today I went to my local grocer via the same route I take almost every day.  As I travelled down the street I noticed the number of Christmas lights up and glowing. 

As I usually go quite early it was just getting light...  here's the thing...

I was struck by the soft lights that were fading in the coming dawn.

Twinkling reminders of this peaceful season.

I knew that the day would only obliterate those tiny, hopeful beacons...

Then the thought struck me..

It was the hope that they stood for.  Hope for better. Hope for life. Hope for mankind...

I had hope in that moment...

I also had the assurance that tonight, when all went dark, those tiny lights would again come to life and speak to a world needing warmth.

No matter how small.

Stone

You may think that I have a heart of stone.

You think that I am guarded, hard, cold.

You say that I am distant and unyielding...

I'd like to answer to that.

Yes.

You are right... it is a heart of stone...

It has been beaten, broken, bruised.

It has been spent before swine...

It has been with me since I have been here...

It has been my mistake when I didn't listen to it.

It has nearly stopped more than once.

It is strong.

It is forgiving.

Is it stone?

Does stone stand hard and fast?

Does stone make a good foundation?

Is stone chiseled away into a work of art?

Yes.

It is stone... and it stays strong for me...

Sometimes for you, too.

Nothing To Be Proud Of

I wonder just what I have to be proud of...

I have never cured a disease .

I have never made a million dollars.

I have never won a gold medal.

I have never led a victorious army.

I have never invented anything that changed the world.

But...

I held a baby in my arms. 

I held a broken man, too.

I wept with both.

I gave my time, money, spirit...

I forgave.

I put myself last.

I made dinner, 

beauty,

gardens,

music,

love.

I looked the other way.

I embraced change.

I learned more than I ever thought I was capable of learning.

I accepted.

I prayed.

I let my dreams die for yours.

I never let you see me cry as hard as I can.

I kept secrets so no one would be hurt.

I honored, 

respected,

encouraged,

you, 

him, 

her,

strangers.

I told a drunk, lonely man that he was loved.

I risked.

I tore myself apart trying to be a better human being.

What is it that I have to be proud of?

Leper

I have read the story of Jesus and the leper...

I wonder about just who that leper was... who all of the lepers were...

Taken away from society. Taken away from their families.  Separated from the world...

Judged and ostracized...

Freaks...

It makes me wonder just who are the lepers we have today, culturally speaking.

Who do we want to separate from the world?

Is it anyone that might be different than ourselves?  Is it the unlovable?  Is it someone with a dark secret?

What if it's you?

In my own life I have been the freak.

The different...

The unusual.

Could it be that my heart just won't resonate with the most popular lub dub?

Does your heart feel different?

Maybe that only means that it's yours and not someone else's.

Today I embrace the figurative lepers of our world...

I embrace you without cringing.  Without shame.  Without doubt...

I'll touch you, leper...

The Destination

It seems to me that just because we can say what we want, it doesn't mean that we have the privilege of saying  what hurts.
I have been hurt many times over for things that someone felt "guided" to say.

Thanks for sharing but I have guidance as well...

I support some very difficult issues and stances...

I support people right where they live...

I support the not-so-popular...

I support my fellow sinners...

I have stood on both sides of many things that are uppermost in our world today.  Both the timid and the bold.

There may be a variety of things that guide us such as rules, regulations, religions, opinions, doctrines and perspectives.

Though there may be a true and right answer to some of life's hard questions, your bias has no bearing on my life.  Nor does mine have any real bearing on yours.

Do I have a voice?  Yes.

Do I have an opinion? To be sure.

Does that make your experience wrong?  No.

Does your experience make ME wrong?  No.

I wish for a world where we can all learn from one another in order to make our lives the best they can be...

I pray for understanding...

In the meantime,  I'll go forth in honesty and truth.

My truth.

We may approach it from different angles but the destination is the same.

Hard As I Can

I awoke this morning to a wonderful world.

Some days it's hard to crawl out of bed as I lie there listening to the birds, feeling my heartbeat and thanking God for not simply another day, but another chance...

To live.

Not just to live but to really live. To think. To feel. To enjoy.  To breathe in the splendor... To love...

To get it right.

Today the bliss was short lived.

Though I appreciate the complex world of connections, news and exposure, there are times when I think I could just chuck it.

I understand that my involvement is of my own choosing, so I give a bit of leeway.

However...

It is getting harder and harder to wrap my head around such atrocities as hatred, judgement, hypocrisy, condemnation, et al.

Even as I attempt to walk in understanding and forgiveness, I feel that my faith is shaken.

I feel besieged.

I pray that it is the world that needs changing, yet I know that it is me.

It's up to me to shine brighter... stronger... without reserve.

I'm loving as hard as I can...

That Night

I'll never forget that night...

I was having the best time with my friend over a pitcher.

I saw the way you looked at me...

I felt it, too.

When we left the bar, you grabbed me in a headlock.  You growled in my ear... faggot.

It was so much more than the words... I felt your breath in my ear...  I heard the catch in your voice...

I heard you weep.

Still, you pushed my head into the wall.

I fell to the ground and felt your foot connect with my ribs and head.

I can remember that the bar refused to call the police.

I remember the long walk home... bloodied and scared.

I had to wake my wife and tell her what had happened. Please, God, let her miss the blood.

I'll never forget that night...

I'll never wear that stained shirt again.

I'll never forget the police telling me that "It was just a gay bashing."

You made me look over my shoulder everywhere I went after that.

You made me retreat.

You made me wish like hell that you remembered me the next time you held a man in your arms.

I'll never forget that night.

Mail

I miss being surprised.

I went to my mailbox today.

All I found in there was a tired, redundant ad from Geico.  It just as well could have been any number of other companies regaling me with their same old song.  Yes, I know, I know... You could save me hundreds.   I have my doubts.

I seem to spend more of my time these days checking said box for nothing more than the odd assortment of things that are destined for my recycle container.

As much as I have embraced and enjoy the internet and all of its wondrous advantages, I have to say that I miss mail....

Real mail. You remember that, don't you?
Those items that arrive at your house in that little curbside box?

I long for the days when I could go to my mailbox and find a letter from a friend... nothing big... just a note or a card.

Something that they chose to send to me...
Something that said, "I had you on my mind."
Something that made me come alive in their heart... and was acknowledged.
Something I could touch... feel... hold... especially when what I would have loved to hold was them.

I miss real connections.

I miss the artwork that is a tiny, sticky piece of paper affixed in the upper right hand corner.

I miss being surprised...

I miss mail.