Speak your truth...

...in love

What’s your truth?  What does your spirit resonate with that allows you to grow and to see ever clearer the picture of what life is here on this planet, and what it could be beyond?  Is it scriptural, aligned with truth, aligned with the breath of Spirit we’ve been given?  Where does your truth come from?  

There are many sources of truth.  And without starting a faith-based debate, I really don’t care what anyone believes.  Choose your poison!!  I personally feel like we have all been given this wonderful gift of choice.  No one is forced, coerced, chained to making one decision or another.  Live your own personal truths.  I plan on living mine.  

And…

Speak your damn truths.  But be careful, because if they aren’t aligned with Spirit, with Scripture (if you follow those), with knowledge, then you might be setting yourself up for a rebuttal.  

The breath that we carry in us is magical.  It allows us to continue to capture oxygen and life, and in a deeper way it allows us to see truth.  But when we speak it, we have to remember that the spirit of truth is also the spirit of love.  And when we speak, if we are truly listening, we’ll start to learn that the love that comes with our message might make even the hardest words more palatable.  Love conquers…

But with maturity (something I’m working on), we have to learn how to show our truths as much as say them.  Our words will only mean as much as our actions that follow, and then our patterns which define us even deeper.  

“Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming.  Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.”

~ Ephesians 4:14-15

My truths are not your truths.  And I am NOT pushing the guise of Christianity on anyone.  Hell, I barely can say the word.  But I will say that there is truth here.  Live by that.  Know that when we reach a deeper sense of what this planet is really about, and let’s face it, there are some truths we can ALL agree on – life, death, mortality here, we can start to find what matters to each of us.

I’ve come to a place where I really don’t control much anymore.  It pissed me off to begin with, until I realized that all I could do in the bigger scope of things was to speak, live, breathe my truths… in love.  And you know what, I’m content with where it’s led me.  That path has given me challenges, but I face them knowing that all I got is me.  My hope.  My spirit.  My faith.

And so I wait…

Until.

 Rodney Dangerfield - Back to School - Don't take S***

Ephesians 4 

Unity and Maturity in the Body of Christ

1 As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. 2 Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. 3 Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. 4 There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; 5 one Lord, one faith, one baptism; 6 one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.

7 But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it. 8 This is why it[a] says:

“When he ascended on high,

    he took many captives

    and gave gifts to his people.”[b]

9 (What does “he ascended” mean except that he also descended to the lower, earthly regions[c]? 10 He who descended is the very one who ascended higher than all the heavens, in order to fill the whole universe.) 11 So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, 12 to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up 13 until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.

14 Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. 15 Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ. 16 From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.

Instructions for Christian Living

17 So I tell you this, and insist on it in the Lord, that you must no longer live as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their thinking. 18 They are darkened in their understanding and separated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them due to the hardening of their hearts. 19 Having lost all sensitivity, they have given themselves over to sensuality so as to indulge in every kind of impurity, and they are full of greed.

20 That, however, is not the way of life you learned 21 when you heard about Christ and were taught in him in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus. 22 You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; 23 to be made new in the attitude of your minds; 24 and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.

25 Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body. 26 “In your anger do not sin”[d]: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, 27 and do not give the devil a foothold. 28 Anyone who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with their own hands, that they may have something to share with those in need.

29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. 30 And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. 31 Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. 32 Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

Some Kind of Renaissance

Yo! What if...

What if we boasted about our weaknesses?  Not trying to get sympathy, but realizing that the things that make us weak, make us cling to the ideal, the notion of a God that is beyond our physical grasp, yet close enough to feel his presence.  I am no saint.  Quite honestly, I’m one of the ragamuffins - rebellious faith fanatics that want to live disparately, clinging to the reality of this world while praying, conversing, even openly scoffing the father we so desperately love.  Naked and afraid and powerfully drawn to the truth in his spirit, his scriptures and in his call to suffer for what we truly believe.  Mind you I’m not looking forward to ending upside down on a cross, but I am content with knowing that the one thing I always, without doubt cling to is him.

Not religion, family, not riches, not fame or notoriety.  Just breath, hope, faith, love.  I am resolved to be me, sometimes brutally honest, often times foul mouthed (we should let our kids explore cursing.  They’ll get tired of it.  After holding back from that your entire life, when you start doing it later it just doesn’t go away easily LOL), deeply devoted to those I love, crazy about one, and never willing to let myself drift too far from the only arms that have always been there - felt or not.

But an honest life is not without checks and balances.  Paul has his ‘thorn in his flesh’ - sounds rather gruesome to me - and I have my own.  You know what, if God hadn’t allowed me to find him in the midst of being a kid in the suffocating environment of the church, really find him amidst struggling with abuse and then depression, I’d be dead in a ditch.  True story.

When I wail and cry from not understanding why my life just sucks sometimes, I realize I’m forgetting the truth.  I’ve seen god.  I know his voice and I know his touch.  One day I might even be brave enough to put that story to paper.  He is real, and those who have felt those gentle nudges or grand rescues that only he still can make happen know (miracles still happen).  And I don’t really care what you call your God.  I can only speak for my God.  In the midst of a week where some major doors have been opened, some hope is being poured out, I’m reminded that there are still those that seek ‘God in a box’.  Trying to limit the unlimited – WTF is that about?!

Now I’m never going to side with those who think life is all gonna be 'happy'.  Nor do I want to become the token abused, depressed little boy on the prayer list.  We all have to find our truth.  I’ve found mine.  And I will gladly sit and talk openly and honestly with anyone who wants to hear about it.  But if you just want me to follow your rules and your rights of passage, go to hell.  You may already be going there.  I’m still striving for heaven. Whatever the hell that is?!?

Faith is believing without being able to totally touch and hold something.  I’m not 100% sure of what’s coming next.  Kind of OK with that.  Isn’t it remarkable to think that we can just take each moment, savor and live? 

So I’ve got bruises.  Some have said that I am ‘messed up’.  And you know what, I want to be in a world with a bunch of messed up people.  I’ll take messed up any day over those who lack compassion for those of us who really dwell in this place.  And I hope my words, even when they’re blunt, speak truth in love.  I’m gonna keep on finding my path.  I pray a lot.  Well, sometimes I should pray more, but I try to listen - be still and center my being into where I need to be.

Hey dude upstairs,

I love you.

Your pain-in-the-ass kiddo down here.

“Even if I should choose to boast, I would not be a fool, because I would be speaking the truth. But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say, or because of these surpassingly great revelations. Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

2 Corinthians 12:6-10

Bruises by Train - Music Video

Go Rest High...

Go rest high on that mountain

Find that solace that my soul

Craves from the bottom

Restless spirit, be made whole

My whole body quivers

As I take a step toward that peak

Cause only in the going

Can my insides be complete

On that Mountain

On that Mountain

Go wait in that valley

Until these weary feet

Are ready for the journey

Never know where it will lead

But my spirit knows when I’m ready

Picks me up and says to “Go”

And I’ll climb up that Mountain

Singing hymns that quench my soul

On that mountain

On that mountain

High above the valley

Away from the ‘busy’ of the world

See the footprints behind me

Lost in time, but I can feel

All my senses resonate

of all I need

Just a moment or two

To sit before my king

On that mountain

On that mountain

And when I can’t find that mountain

When I’m sad, feel life’s defeat

He sends me a message

“Son, I’m here - I didn’t leave”

Cause he knows my soul

Is tender and needs some peace

He’s always been there

Every single time that I need

He’s my mountain

He’s my mountain

On that mountain

10/17/19

clc

LETTERS

Before the ‘intra-web’, FaceTime, personal YouTube channels and Skype (is that still a thing?).  Before electronic-mail and chat-sites.  Before MySpace, Facebook, Reddit, Snap-Crap and Tweeter.  Before cellphones, now smartphones and before the telephone - rotary if you’re REALLY old like me.  Before all of this was Letters.

Words put down on paper.  Typed, inked by hand, etched, carved in stone.  We communicated in slow, complete thoughts knowing every word would take what today would seem like eons to receive.  And then we’d have to unfold, unpack and embrace the thoughts that sat neatly or sometimes scribble-like on the page.  Maybe even in cursive!!

And not only did we wait on each stamped and delivered envelope, but then we’d take those words and pull out carefully kept stationary (it was a thing) and spend time mulling our thoughts, deciding how to answer each statement thought for thought.  Sometimes spending another eternity just gathering, growing and tending the ideas that we wanted to share, answer, explore.  It was a dance of emotions and substance finding its way inside another sealed envelope.  Awaiting its journey from caring hands to the person addressed to.

And this journey would continue back and forth until eyes and hearts could meet face to face and share those intimate thoughts in each other’s embrace.  

I’ve written many letters lately.  Composed thoughts in which I’ve tried to mimic the back and forth of the long-ago past.  Soaking on what I wanted to say, then releasing it to those I hoped to share with.  Those letters were sent over email and the answers came quickly.   And the thoughts I needed to express sometimes took days to compose.  I’m not blaming anyone for quickly acknowledging, but I’m resolved that some answers do not come quickly.  Sometimes patience is like waiting on those letters of old.

So, this week I started writing another letter.  This one I’ll type or hand write and put carefully in the mail (thank god for speedy delivery and tracking - I’m REALLY NOT THAT PATIENT).  And then I’ll breathe in knowing that it’s not in my hands.  And I’ll wait.

For another letter?

God

It’s often interesting what inspires this ragged journal.  I don’t ever start these without a push, a voice, something that calls me to take words and try and formulate something that hopefully makes sense for myself and those who actually read it.

Here it goes.

I have never struggled with the reality of God.  What I have struggled with is the reality of man.

This Sunday I was fortunate enough to be back at Decatur City Church for the first time in several months, holding someone precious-to-me’s hand as I listened to a truth that I think many might struggle with.  But I get it.

God doesn’t change.  He/She/They just are.

And for me, he’s always been there.  

He’s loved me when I was unlovable.  Carried me when I truly couldn’t walk, barely crawling through any real existence here.  Found me when I was hiding inside a terrible marriage and gave me a breath of peace when I couldn’t calm myself. 

I love the God that I know.    

The one truth that I have held to dearly my entire life is the truth of a spirit, deity, god that just won’t F-ing go away.  We sometimes expect this big presence, but in reality, it’s just the fact that he’s there.  Not overwhelming, not giving us everything we desire.  Not beating us up when we’re just stupid and all too human.  But present.  Listening.  Not always saying the words we want to hear but rallying around us and comforting us even in the midst of darkest storms that we face.

And we often expect there to be answers.  But often time it’s silence.  Teaching us to dig a little deeper and find solace not only in him embracing our struggles but letting us find truth in ourselves – born of what we’ve learned from time in his presence.

I have cried.  I have wailed.  I’ve just about rent* my garments before him.  I have yelled at, cursed, denied and spat in the face of my God.  And he’s never left.  He sits patiently by, waiting out the two-year-old-like tantrum of a little boy.  Yet at the same time he’s guided me along the deserts, the valleys, not always opening passage to the mountain-tops, but letting me see the hard, see the parts of me that I just don’t always want to embrace.  Allowing me to trust in a presence that I can’t always see or touch.  

God is Love.  It’s a hard concept.  But it actually fits so much within the confines of our present society.  The rules aren’t there.  He just loves.  Just cares.  Just listens and maybe every once and a while gives us a little nudge in the right direction.  All those old testament judgements are lost on the world of the God of Love – the man Jesus.  

Funny, I still struggle with the concept of Jesus (another blog, another day...).  But I embrace the hope and the love that was taught over and over from his lips.  What if we tried that?  To show love to each other more than hate.  To grasp for our common ground instead of isolating ourselves more from anyone that wasn’t the same or shared different opinions.

I’m sitting here tonight reflecting on the times when he’s truly rescued me.  But more the fact that his spirit has simply guided me along a process that allows me to be ever grateful.  Grateful for each day I’ve seen him here.  

Not full of judgment, but full of love for a man like me.

*Joel 2:13 - rend your heart and not your garments... 

REND VERSES HERE

Empty Vessels

Where do we hide?  In solitude inside our own homes, away from the world?  Or is it in plain sight, walking through each day without a sense of belonging.  I’ve swam in this topic quite a bit lately and I’m beating the drum pretty damn loud.  When you have community and suddenly you don’t, you start to think about what fills you up. And what is missing.

My thoughts reflect on what we really are.  Vessels of clay, filled with all that we take the time to place inside.  I don’t have community here.  I am working on that.  But I do realize the depth of love I had even in a place that my soul desperately wanted a reprieve from.  

My words:

“I have no pain here.”

“Emptiness, not pain.”

“Hollow.”

“Empty vessel that’s closed off for now.”

These are words from a text exchange earlier today.  I’m hiding a little in plain sight, and for the next couple of months I hope to keep a reserve of me safely hidden inside my ‘fortress of solitude’.  Some of this stems from my first two interactions with a local church here.  I hope to explain that a little later.  I absolutely despise the typical guise of the church.  The modern center of religion and ritual flavored with ‘Jesus’ colored glasses.  It is a lesson that continues when you actually expect the church to do what the scriptures say, not just prance around on mission projects around the globe and concert styled praise meetings without truly reaching the ones right in front of us that are really hurting.  Not in Ecuador or Seattle.  Sing the praise songs as work-songs of the slave labourers who truly knew the value of freedom and faith.  I have seen real churches, but few and far between.

Show me the heart and I’ll show you a dozen jaded spirits who deny any form of deity because of the lack of humility and connection in the local pews.  Those of us who cringe at the term “christian” because we can’t really see the Jesus from the scriptures in most modern era congregations.  Scarred humans who might be a little wary of going back into the world of the church.  Did you know that Jesus was kind of hard to handle?  The message of love was absolutely there, but there was also the blunt calling-it-like-it-is to Samaritan women, Jewish Leaders, Romans, Hard-headed Fishermen.  He kind of pissed a lot of people off.  

I love that Jesus.  I can dig the truth.  The way he’d look at me right now and sure, show love, but he’d also tell me like it is.  He’d call me out for my crap (and I’ve got my share).  Not give me some cookie-cutter story that takes the highlights and promises prosperity or blessings (those kind of come later, folks).  

He has sent people into my life to remind me that it isn’t all a scam, a pyramid scheme of so-called faith.  At the church I attended in Atlanta he gave me a young, alternative friend who served (yes, served) on the parking team.  She was the ONLY person who ever truly put effort into learning me.  And I was ripe, people.  I was willingly walking into a church!  Hello, that’s a pretty big F*cking STATEMENT!  Without ropes and chains and the promise of a stake and a fire!  He also sent me a precious person who’s faith I wish I could capture.  Her spirit blew my mind.  And we sat together in a service and I cried.  Big, ugly tears that were so full of love – they actually came later in my truck.  Not just for her, but of there being some reality to this whole ‘religious’ experience. She’s the type of light you don’t get to see very often, so watch out.  She’ll call your bluff if you start to be all PC and crap!  

Recently I’ve seen more of how we fail.  How we still wallow in the muck of commercialized Christianity.  So, I met a pastor here over the phone.  He’s actually from Gainesville, Georgia, out of one of the big corporate churches there, and he’s a little shit.  I’m sorry, but I call it what I see.  First Strike – not returning a text to a person who had just talked with you on the phone and reached out to you for help.  Like NEVER.  I got ghosted by a 20-something year old pastor with tight jeans and funky hair! Second Strike – his people being way too Martha, when Mary was closer to Hey-sus’ heart (come on people, more of the world calls him Hey-sus than Jesus.  Just deal with it, wall or not!).  And I witnessed this at his church, amidst some of his workers and leaders. Crickets…  Third Strike – when I emailed him about my interactions and he gives me the most underwhelming statement of excuses I’ve heard.  Come on people, these are the people you’re putting out there as “missionaries”?  So, I’m done with you church.  I tried. I’ve given you my last effort. Swan Song.  There’s really nothing left for me with any of you.  

What I do have left is a belief.  It’s simple.  Almost too easy.  One God that might actually have been there through all the shit.  You see, I don’t want to see your programs or your outreach.  I really just want to see your heart.  I got a message out of the blue today from the couple at my church in Atlanta who simply said, “We miss you!”.  It doesn’t matter how much time I get here with my son; I still need community.  And though I miss it, I know it will come.  But at a time when I would have really considered jumping back on board with something more organized, I was left alone again.  And that is a pain I have no desire to actively put myself through.

So the story of the Widow with the jars of olive oil strikes a chord in this direction…

The Widow’s Olive Oil

“The wife of a man from the company of the prophets cried out to Elisha, “Your servant my husband is dead, and you know that he revered the Lord. But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves.” Elisha replied to her, “How can I help you? Tell me, what do you have in your house?” “Your servant has nothing there at all,” she said, “except a small jar of olive oil.” Elisha said, “Go around and ask all your neighbors for empty jars. Don’t ask for just a few. Then go inside and shut the door behind you and your sons. Pour oil into all the jars, and as each is filled, put it to one side.” She left him and shut the door behind her and her sons. They brought the jars to her and she kept pouring. When all the jars were full, she said to her son, “Bring me another one.” But he replied, “There is not a jar left.” Then the oil stopped flowing. She went and told the man of God, and he said, “Go, sell the oil and pay your debts. You and your sons can live on what is left.”

2 Kings 4:1-7

That empty vessel. Yeah, that’s me.  And a ton of others that are just wanting someone to really, in love, reach out with compassion and not with an agenda of the steps to righteousness.  All that woman did was ask for help.  And then she poured.  Before that the prophet (Elisha) actually listened.  What a crazy idea!!!!  Instead of holding to the script, what if we just stopped and took the time to hear one voice crying out in need?  If one person started pouring out themselves to others, could a radical new thought of how we share come to be?  That’s a ‘church’ I’d be interested in.  Not a video screened message from ‘on-high’, but honest, painful at times conversation about just how devastated some of us are.  

As I said, I’m closed off at the moment.  I have a path to continue to follow.  And I know that my prayers aren’t lost on the wind.  But what I wouldn’t give for a community built around people like Laine and Annie.  They are the church I want to attend.  We’re given the empty vessels.  They’re just waiting there to be filled.  And if they aren’t filled with something good, they’ll get filled with something. I can guarantee that.

Really WILD

If you’ve seen the Reese Witherspoon movie “Wild”, you’ve found a very poor rendition of the Cheryl Strayed book about one woman’s quest to find something, anything of meaning on the Pacific Crest Trail – a grueling 2600-mile trail through some of the harshest conditions imaginable over a 6 or 7 month timeframe.  And while I herald the book as a true memoir of overcoming the harshest trail/trial anyone can ever tame – life, I sometimes feel like it sensationalized Cheryl’s real story into being so far out there, so unbelievably believable that she has to stand alone as the one true guide to what my friend Kristin today penned “Hiking is Healing”.

But Cheryl wasn’t the only one who ‘strayed’.  

I met Kristin last fall in Utah on a weeklong trip through Zion and Bryce Canyon National Parks.  There were many wonderful people on that trip.  I went alone to seek closure to the pain I had been carrying since the divorce.  I only spent a small amount of time around her, but we bonded in some way and kept in touch over the last year.  

Her journey is still very new to me, but I feel like we share a spirit.  A downtrodden, stuck in the f*cking mud, ultimately won’t give up (though we’ve tried several times) spirit that just won’t let us GO AWAY!  We’re here.  Kristin has that quiet resolve that I glimpsed in Utah, but have seen more as we’ve talked about hiking, life, the journey.  She’s not completed the PCT, but she’s still at it.  She’s also fighting to conquer some pretty harsh hills in her life, but I am watching, waiting for her to get over those.  

I’ve taken a keen interest in my friend.  I follow her right alongside my friend Ryan, who just finished the 2100-mile Appalachian Trail.  They have a wonder about them.  A set of Gypsy Souls that have never met, they only wrap together through me.  They are both strong.  Resilient.  Yet I’ve heard them both talk of leaving the trail.  Quit.  “I’m done.”

I sat down with Ryan before he started his journey.  We had only hiked together one time.  An ill-fated, rainy backpacking trip through Panthertown Valley in North Carolina.  He was in the early stages of learning bushcraft, yet in denial of his alcoholism.  He attempted the AT at the end of his marriage, trying to find some kind of peace, but ended up failing.  He stopped.  He walked away.  We talked before this second attempt.  He has wisdom in his eyes now, and even though he had set-backs along the trail, he finished at the end of August.  Katahdin.  The northern terminus (end) of a journey that I know from following him through his writings and posts on Facebook, was full of deep transcendence.

Hiking Heals.  Ok, take the word Hiking and insert your word. Yoga.  Running.  Cycling.  Swimming.  Advanced Water Polo?  We were made to move.  And we were made in spirit.  We breathe in oxygen and expel the toxins.  We sweat and cleanse.  We walk.  We run. We live.

But how can we live without taking care of our spirit, our body, our mind?  

(For the Christians, what if it's this way… God = Mind, Jesus = Body, Spirit = well, Spirit! You can’t truly believe without feeding EVERYTHING that was given to you, can you?)

You can’t.  Kristin has told me a little of her story.  Enough for me to know that she needed to find peace.  And isn’t that something that we all, no matter what your belief system, are looking for?  I don’t need to be happy.  Happiness is a carnival ride that is great to ride, but if all you do is ride it over and over, you’ll find yourself hugging the porcelain king and regretting that you didn’t go hold Sally Nelson’s hand on the love tunnel a time or two.  Peace is deeper.  Content within the times of struggle.  Joyful when respite is found.

I spoke with her tonight, and I’m going to follow up and learn more.  Our stories of survival, searching, saving our lives may not be in a book or a movie, but I am blessed to know others who are finding their way.  Not perfectly, but perfectly flawed and still getting up every time they fall.