Miracles, Signs, Wonders

What is mankind that you are mindful of them,

a son of man that you care for him?

You made them a little lower than the angels;

you crowned them with glory and honor

and put everything under their feet.

Hebrews 2:5-8

I’ve had one experience with an angel.  More than one experience with God.  The deep kind that just lets me know that I’m so fucking small, and yet still not inconsequential in this maddening world.

I met God as a child.  He wrapped himself around me and protected my heart, my spirit, when I should have given up.  He loved me.  He watched over me and yes, sent his angel to watch over me.  I have a name of that angel* – given to me only months ago, but I know it was real.  God – watching out for a small soul here.

And as for here, well, there is nothing small about me.  I live large, I breathe heavy, I am LOUD, boisterous, and even my silences are huge.  I am me.  I am no longer ashamed of what I am.  I am his, and I am free.  But freedom comes at a price.  The price is that of a child who lost his childhood, a man who still yearns for things he cannot see – or even dream of anymore.

I stand.  I stand amidst this world and I have no more pretense (well less and less pretense).  I am wounded and yet alive.  Born out of religion into light.  I am no longer ashamed of the man I am.  I’ve said that twice.  I fail a whole fucking lot, and I am still here.  Not by my power – I’m not big enough for anything like that – but through a group of misfits, a rag-tagged band of gypsies in life who I myself never wanted to be a part of.  Maybe somewhat like twelve from long ago.  Disciples?  Apostles?  Believers? 

I’m not trying to be preachy.  Hell, what can I say but my own experiences, my own hope, the strength I’ve found in those who stand beside me?  We cannot do this alone.  Life.  Believe what you want to believe, there is nothing without each other.  Otherwise, we fail.  I can tell you the story of a child who stood alone.  But that’s a sad tale that was so hidden it wrecked his whole existence in a moment (26 when the walls came down – just for an instance).  It wasn’t until finding the calm, the deadly eerie calm that changed my entire life in an instance that I could stand.  

We all believe in something.  I believe in those around me.  I believe in a God that isn’t wrapped in fear, evil, malice.  I believe in the words I utter aloud so often now that they’ve become part of my own daily, if not moment-by-moment meditation.  “God, grant me the serenity…”

But what is serenity?  I had someone ask me ‘how do you do this? How do you stay clean?’  I don’t.  It is entirely about NOT doing this.  I don’t have some magic elixir that rids me of the hurts and pain.  AND LET ME TELL YOU – this week I have felt pain.  I have felt an anguish that I haven’t seen in months.  And no one knows that but God (well now all of you know – sorry, still working on the whole ‘letting people in’ thing).  And he gave me people – men and women who are just there.  Who have listened to me wail.  Who have listened to me cry and shout and yell.  Who have listened as I lost the words to say and they turned into groans that only some deity on high could comprehend.  

They were there.  And even as my tears roll down at this moment, I know that I’m not doing this alone anymore.  

I still fight it.  The need for others.  The need to place trust, hope, anything in someone else’s hands.  It’s a hard lesson for a fucked-up human to do.  And I never lose sight of the horizon.  Knowing that there’s something out there – not necessarily some great reward or riches.  But a hope that is much bigger than this child, this boy, this man has ever truly known.

Today, early AM, I am focused on now.  Not tomorrow; not yesterday.  Today.

And Coffee.

In recovery we’ve talked about having a ‘spiritual experience’.  And that’s truly where this life changes.  Not just with addicts and mental characters (of which I am court jester), but in anyone who finds Him.  God, Yahweh, Higher Power, Peace, Spirit.  Believe in something.  Believe in bigger, better than ourselves.  “There is a bit of good in the worst of us, and a bit of bad in the best of us” – The Big Book.  We all have the capacity to be more, less, you, me.  Us.

We just need to believe.

My thoughts.  

It works…

…if you just listen, and let it be.  My all-time favorite Beatles song.

And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree

There will be an answer, let it be

For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

~ Peace

The Burtle


The Burtle is part Bison; stampeding headfirst into the storm – facing the hurt and pain, and part Turtle; slow and steady, watching his steps – learning as he goes.  I AM the Burtle.

And to the curly haired girl,

You promised me on December 13, 2020 - ‘in six months.’  Face-to-face.  That’s now, just about.

I still love you.

Chad

*Zadkiel

Letter from God

If we were to stand face-to-face with God, many of us would be so fearful that he would look at us and say, “I am so ashamed of you”.  When in reality God looks at us and calls out with open arms, “I am so proud of you. I love you”.

I wrote this as if God was talking to my 7-year-old, 14-year-old and present-day self.  The two places most shrouded with hurts and abuse and who I am now.  It is an exercise to allow myself to stop feeling so ashamed of who I am and realize how much God truly loves me.  You don't have to believe in the same God - this is my journey, but I hope you find your own higher power to love and guide you.

Dear Son,

I know you love me, but do you know how much I love you?  You’ve spent your entire life seeking.  Seeking acknowledgement, acceptance, love, respect.  Do you know how much I am all of those for you?

I gave you breath, and even before you were, I was watching and waiting for you.  You come from me.  You are my child, my love and my servant.  And I know how much your heart longs to serve.  You gave your clothing to the homeless man when you were just a teen, you have showed how big that heart (that you claim isn’t there) is – yet you still don’t want to accept my love.  You never feel worthy or good enough.  I tell you son; you are more precious than the heavens to me.  You were made from me.  I have seen you every day.  I know your heart.  And I know all that you deal with inside.

I was there when you ran.  Ran from Lee.  Ran from the realities of life to survive.  Do you remember me calling to you?  You have always had such an instinct to survive.  But what I ask you to do is to rest.  Rest in me.  I have sheltered you from the beginning.  No, I didn’t stop him. I gave each of my creation the power of choice.  Yet even through that experience you have loved me.  And do you know?  I have loved you too!  You aren’t less because of your scars.  You are precious because of the fighting spirit that resides within you.  You are such a brave young man.  And I know you are trapped in those years inside your head.  But I don’t hold you there.  I am NOT ashamed of you.  I am grateful for the example you are becoming each and every day.

And son, I accept you.  Not for what I expect of you, not for what you have been taught is the ‘way’.  I love you like all my children.  You are loved – just as you are. 

You were ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’.  You bear my likeness.  I look down on you every day and I say the words that were echoed about your brother… “this is my son… in who I am well pleased!”

I know you still hunger for me, and I know you still often want to hide from me.  I am not scared of the dark you want to hide from me.  I know how much you love me, but son, listen. I will not leave you.  I will not forsake you.  Your dark will rise at times.  You will hide.  But I am always here.  I know how it feels when those closest to you have walked away – often times because of your own actions.  I know how you ran to wherever you could find to numb yourself.  But I don’t want you to numb anymore.  I want you to feel – to know that I am there with you when it rains and also when your spirit soars.

I will allow the trials to happen.  I do not promise prosperity there in life.  But I promise myself to you.  I am always watching you.  I see when you are lost.  I turn on the light.  I am waiting.  I will always be here.  Waiting.  I was there in the back of the church when you realized all of those nightmares were true.  I was there to give you a place to hide.  I know you ran from me, you blamed me, and I am sorry.  I wept with you when you first spoke those words.  When you uttered aloud his name… when you couldn’t even say what he had done… but you could say that it was real.  For the first time.  I carried you through those days.  I saw the first drink hit your lips.  I knew you wanted to find a place to hide.  Son, I was there.  I know you weren’t ready for me to show myself fully, but I was there.  Waiting.  I know that you felt like you had betrayed me.  You did not.  You carried yourself the best that you could over the course of those years.  And those 5 years after saying it, well they were some of your hardest.  I was there the night you couldn’t handle your sins.  Chad, I embrace you even in your sins. 

You are lovely and special.  I numbered the hairs on your head.  I cast you in a mold that you often joke about, saying I have hidden it so there will never be another.  And I have hidden it away.  I want all of you.  You are so very special in my eye.  There is no other creature, no other person quite like you.  And that is true of all my children.  I do not pick favorites.  I love you as much as the sun loves the sky, as much as the stars love and chase the heavens.  I love you fiercely and I love you completely.

I hope that you will see my love even more present as you are working so hard to find peace.  But Chad, I am your peace.  I will give you rest, solace, cool water and manna for your soul.  But don’t put all your effort on working hard to accomplish my love.  You don’t have to do anything.  All the misguided, yet good-intended efforts taken to teach you the ‘way’ are nothing compared to hearing my spirit.  And that is your gift.  I know you hear me.  I know you can stop on a mountainside or sidewalk, look up, around, down and find my blessings.  In the structures I create, in nature, in the couple walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk – in the dandelion.  You have a special gift of discerning my presence. You hear me. 

But I want you to listen.  I want to give you so much more of me.  Slow down.  Be that Burtle that you joke about.  I know your strength and tenacity like the Bison.  Yet I also know the Turtle is there.  You know how much clearer you hear me when you slow things down.  I don’t need you to change.  I want you to evolve.  I want to take who I made – your incredibly talented vessel – and fill it even more with my words, my wisdom, my life.  Will you let me?

I know you don’t give up.  Even last year when you continuously tried to come too soon to be with me, you didn’t want to give up.  But I tell you.  I still have more for you there.  I am watching, and I see every day the good in you.  I know you struggle still, and I also see you letting the burden be mine more.  “Come to me…”

I want to end this with praise to you son.  For all the wonderful things that you are, and all the wonderful things that you do.  I see them.  I acknowledge them.  And I love you for them.  AND even if you falter; when you fail.  I am there.  I will continue to pick you up.  Like the sand on the beach outside of St. George.  I will not let you perish without me. 

I am forever, and I will see you at my right hand one day.  Not in some small shed like you often claim you’ll occupy just outside the gates of Heaven – but in a place of honor and blessing.  You are mine.  And I love you.

Dad

Verses:

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

Matthew 10:29-31

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” 

Matthew 11:28

“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.”

Psalm 139:13-15

“and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: ‘You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.’”

Luke 3:22

~ Peace

Chad

and for Annie.

T-minus 10 and counting

10... 9... 8... 7... 6... (you get it by now)

It’s almost been half a year. Damn what a six months!

Whereas a year ago today I was desperately trying to win back the love that I still hold, I find myself on the threshold of a brand new adventure.  It’s still me, with all of my character defects and all of my flaws, but I’m not bound.  I’m not bound to a substance, or to a codependency on others that made me so scared to breathe.

I’m hopeful, I’m grateful, and I’m daily finding guidance beyond me.  God‘s voice through others in the rooms, friends that have stuck by me, through the ‘wind in the trees, the birds and the bees’ (that last part was for Jack, my counselor).

I’ve written a description of what I am…

Hack carpenter, handyman, musician, writer, modern-day poet.
‘Street corner philosopher’

I’m also a father, a son, a friend, a brother, and so much more.

I am growing.  I am changing.  I am also still the same beautiful soul that God created.  I am me.

I live and I breathe in every day.  I am so thankful for that.  After a year of  trying to dog-paddle against the waves of my own personal tsunami, I found a lifeline through the one place I never wanted to go.  And I have found healing.  Slowly and methodically.  Painstakingly.

The tribe that I’ve been adopted into has deep roots.  I have peeps that already mean so much to me.  And I want to give of myself to those  who’ve traveled down that same road I did.  The road that I’m still walking on.  One day at a time.

Since November 19, I haven’t had a day that I wanted to leave this planet.  To blast off into outer space or to meet my maker or to go to hell.  See, that was my entire world before.  I was just counting the days till I wasn’t here anymore.  It wasn’t my fault; I had embraced that as the only path a long time ago.  Formed out of the misconceptions of an abused child growing up with his secrets.

Oh I'm still EAF, LAF, CAF and all the other "as F*c&s"!!!
(Emotional as... Loud as... Crazy as...)

AND now for the last six months (well in ten days!!) I have found hope.

So I am counting down.  Six months.  I didn’t think I could make it six days.  And I haven’t done this alone.  You know who you are.  All of you!  I am so blessed to have you in my life.  You are the people that were placed here to help me find life.

And that simple prayer that I’ve said many times over the years now rings even more true.  Helping me to navigate through my days.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.”

~ Peace

Chad

These are my hands.

These are my hands.  They are weathered now, not as soft and as supple as they once were.  They work hard.  They try.  They persevere.  But not without help, not without worry, not without consequence.

They are marked.  Not just by time or by scars, they are marked by a love that I still hold.  They are marked by me.  They hold my sins, my guilt, they hold my redemption.  They hold me – often literally.  They tell my story as much as my eyes (and if you look into my eyes you will see sadness, you’ll see joy, you’ll see hope; but that’s not the story for today).  Today is about my hands.

I talk with my hands, but more I speak through my hands (at times).  Whether I’m pretending to shake someone I want to get a message through (you know who you are!), whether I’m praying, whether I’m trying to build something that shows the beauty of this world beyond what a mere man can do.

My hands are a gift.  As much as the soil that I sometimes have to tend, the structures that I have to mend.  My hands resonate with the knowledge that everything I do calls back to the god that gave me breath.

My hands have held my three children.  My hands have broken ties.  Held the hands of the one I love, clutched together as I’ve cried through the night.

What is the work of your hands?  What do you do that glorifies your existence here?

What story do your hands tell?

A story of sacrifice?  Of working hard?  Or are they Porcelain, Beautiful and Pristine, away from tragedy or loss?  I think that would be the most tragic of all.  I don’t have beautiful hands.  (I have finally learned how to work with them.)  Hands I’ve held onto others and also let go.

“Make it your in ambition to lead a quiet life, working with your hands, minding your own business.”
~ 1 Thessalonians 4:11

I am not quiet.  At least not when around people.  I am quiet in my moments alone.  When I reflect.  I do work with my hands.  As a sacrifice and a praise to a power higher than myself.  Today I am five months into a new journey.  A journey not just of my soul, but also my mind and my body.  My hands – using them to give back to others.

AW

Breaking Point

 We as humans are magnificent creatures.  "Fearfully and wonderfully made"; capable of amazing achievements, heroic displays and this unexplainable 'grit' that surpasses the bounds of what nature sometimes considers possible.

We are strong.

Intelligent.

Resourceful.

Brave beings that often times don't know the word quit.

And we weep.

We tear up and fall.  We lay prostrate on the floor and cry out in our misery.  We succumb to our demons, to fear, to others who would keep us from rising up and taking our place among each other.  

We isolate.

We hide.

We seek refuge.

There is not just bravery or weakness.  They coexist within the very core of our being.  While at one moment so sure and full of the path ahead - in the next we can be overcome with massive sadness at all we aren't.  Every day we stand at the Breaking Point (I was going to call this blog Point Break, but I figure not too many will remember the Patrick Swayze/Keanu Reeves movie from the 90s, or the Thor reference from the Avengers' movies). 

For me that's when I face myself.  When I face the demons.  When I face the inner Darth Vader who's standing with his lightsaber before me in the cave.  I willingly entered into this.  I breathe and continue to do so.  And I also know there are battles to fight, others to walk away from and yet others that I need to RUN my ass from - as fast as old bones will take me!

My breaking point came swiftly last November, but it's not something that I am cured of or have forgotten.  We are human.  We are not relieved of the stress, the toil and the grind of this world just yet.  We are also still able to make a change here.  To wish upon a dandelion.  To chose each and every moment to "Let it come, let it flow and let it go", as my mentor keeps telling me.  I sit with my troubles, while at the same time so thankful for the breeze He touches my face with.  There will still be battles to fight.  Decisions to be made.  And also life to be lived.  Springtime trees to smell the aromas of new life.  Birds and bees.  Soon butterflies.  Rain.  Tears and the heavenly type.

I lost her last year.  I still mourn that relationship.  I still love.  I always will.  

Maybe one day. 

For now - I stand at my breaking point.  I look at the life I had.  Look at where I am - and know there is so much for me to do.  Life to live.  To relieve myself of self-pity and be of service.  To help others to grow.

Look at the little dandelion, it's yellow flower so simple.  And isn't it remarkable how that seedling we use to make a wish turns into the color that dots our landscape.  It's a beauty of transformation and not stopping at the breaking point, but finding another path.  Another way.

~ Peace

Chad

AW, Zadkiel

Purcha$e

*Cha-Ching* as the cash register rings up my purchase of ‘Appetite for Destruction’, the debut album by Guns-N-Roses (back in the olden days, you know the 80s).  By the way, that album and ones by The Cure, N.W.A. and others were life changing during that time.

But that’s not the type of purchase I’m referring to.  I’m talking about footing, grip.  Finding a firm stance.  I’m talking about life.

Purchase

Noun: a firm grip or grasp, footing, etc., on something.

So let’s talk about shoes.  There is one area that I have no problem spending money on, and that is footwear.  I want to be able to feel comfortable, feel secure when I step, know that I have the ability to do whatever function I’m undertaking.  Walking, hiking, working for a full day doing construction, cozy hard-bottom slippers to walk out to the mailbox or to see what’s going on in the alley behind my house (and there is always something going on in the alley behind my place).  A pair of cowboy boots that only come out on special occasions.  My everyday “kicks” that I love when getting out casual. Every pair I own, regardless of activity have to make me feel secure in my step.  Not fearful of losing traction on the smallest puddle or loose terrain.

Or drywall.  Whenever I patch it, I look for places the piece that’s being replaced can grab hold of - hopefully a stud or crossbeam in the wall or ceiling.  A place to find purchase.  Otherwise I have to build up a mount behind to help hold it and give it strength.

And then there’s this week.  I’ve felt unsteady.  Restless (irritable and discontent - for my new friends!).  My ‘footing’ has been anything but firm.  Quite like the 'Lightning Sand’ from 'The Princess Bride'.

I found myself lashing out verbally at two of my biggest supporters - one while in the back aisles of Home Depot (God, I embarrassed myself).  I saw past hurts creep in during the weakest times of my day.  Reminding me that I still am so raw and new to all of this.  I was called out by a friend for insensitivity towards a visitor in our group.  I kept slipping.

So I walked.  In the midst of all this, I put on my hiking shoes - $86 Merrells that I’ve had for a while now.  I haven’t walked or hiked enough to wear them out.  Typically I’d go through a pair or two a year, but recently I’ve had the same pair.  So I put them on and grabbed my raincoat and set off.  The tears came as my emotions became a cacophony of past sins, recent hurts, failed relationships and loss.  I am still on the verge of tears.  It’s hard.  It’s so goddam hard to face all this without the old habits that would numb or take me into unconsciousness.  Even in the midst of so many new voices that show love, tolerance and HOPE, I still muddy myself inside my head and don’t want to let go – much less forgive myself.

And I looked at my days.  120 days of clean.  That’s Friday the 19th.  4 months.  I’m celebrating, even when my insides are mush and knuckled up with emotions.  I am thankful.  Thankful for the knowledge of what it looks like to be clean.  To be levelheaded (well as levelheaded as I’ve ever been). 

I wanted to give up this week.  So much.  I wanted to run and hide back in the bottle or wherever I could find a release.  I lashed out, I spat at the program and everything that it stands for.  Which for me means lashing out at God.  My spiritual heart has been weeping and longing for some F*ing relief.  And then I got the reminder.  IN AN INSTANT.  Just like November 19th.  The clouds broke.  The sun broke through the clouds and shattered my heart.  I can’t do this alone.  I can’t do this without you God.  Without the people you’ve surrounded me with.  Without relying on this moment.  Not the hurts from yesterday or the worries about tomorrow.  I can’t do this without help.

And he keeps sending me these messages when I get here.  I’m not ok, but I’m here.  I’m not healed, but I’m healing.  I’m not strong, I am weak.  And I cast all my hopes and longings his way.  I will be here tomorrow.  I will be alive (God willing) and clean.  I’ll piss some of you off with my over-the-top antics, but if you take the time to look inside you might just see the deep well that holds the remnants of my heart.  I don’t show it to many, but I’m trying.  I still fear that most of all.  

Being truly seen.  Being real.

Being me.


And that’s who I am. 

Me.

~ Peace

Chad

AW

The Work of My Hands

At the end of the day, what are we really known for?  Our lives, our relationships, our careers, our legacy?  It may be that we discover some radical cure for a disease; that we champion some cause; that we help lead troops into battle; that we care for and nurture young minds as they grow towards adulthood.  Or it may be as simple as toiling each day in the dirt, trying to produce a crop to feed others.  Whatever our endeavors, I challenge you to think about the work of your hands.  What do you do to help make a mark on your time around each turn of the planet?  What is your mark?

I’ve chosen to let go of the mindset that I fear was part of my undoing.  ‘You have to do this.  You really should be doing that.’  What are we at the end of the day but ‘ants marching’ toward our own end?  We live, we breathe, we work, we die.  We are. 

I’ve recently updated my profile on LinkedIn.  It’s the only thing close to social media that I care to do these days.  As I scrolled through the many posts and advertisements, I realized that there are so many powerful messages on its pages.  But at the end of the day, what does it really matter?  I want to know you for who you are, not what you do.  Even if you are part of some philanthropic movement that radically changes our perspectives, I still want to know who you are.  Did Einstein really have a sense of humor?  Was Teddy Roosevelt the storyteller that I feel must have been part of his make-up?  What powerful truth does the 8-year-old girl that I teach ukulele hold inside?  Because we each hold vast sums of ourselves not in what we do, but in who we are.

My mark?  Well, I hope that it will be less about the toil and more about the soil.  What did I plant and nurture in the last chapters of my life?  What will my kids remember?   Will I choose to spend the time I have left here nurturing others and also edifying myself?

I started this writing with the hopes of telling everyone about this next adventure that I’m undertaking.  But I’d rather sit back and listen.  I want to know what you plan to leave behind.  What will be the work of your soul?

It’s nothing radical, but it’s the heart that beats.  The laughter shared.  The tears cried over. 

And the life we chose to live.

“Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, working with your hands, minding your own business.” 

1 Thessalonians 4:11

~ Peace

Chad

AW