the Spiritual Dilemma:

I was born out of the womb.  Suckled from the teat of the south.  Raised and fed in the way most kids of the early suburban 70’s were (think cul-de-sacs, creek banks, bicycle freedom...)

In my flesh I am carnal, earthen… shaken by the strong winds and quakes of the ground that come from being here.  Human. Being.  My body aches with sore muscles after a long day working with my hands.  I feel the deep chill of impending winter.  Embrace the cascading rain as it hits my brow… sometimes hiding the underlying pain and tears of just Being. Human.

My flesh is fragile, temperamental and always changing and sending signals to my brain - my knee aches, often proclaiming impending rain; my back remembers the weight it’s carried over days and months of hard labor; my hair continues to grey, just on my beard, but still pressing the agenda of age.  The 5 miles I walked today is a reminder that I haven’t been as active the last few weeks.  

In essence.  Being Human just hurts.

But that isn’t the essence of my thoughts here.  I am aware of a battle that wages within me.  A battle of heart and lungs, soul and skin.  While my physical form was raised from the sensual longings of two other physical beings, my spirit was bound to thoughts and places much higher than my simple, rudimentary carnality.  And this set forth the dilemma that I face tonight.  

Do I succumb to the dark, to the needs raised so clearly today out of loneliness, hunger, want?  Or do I look deeper.  Not the depths that my carnality holds.  And for anyone who doesn’t understand that there is a depth to our animal side that can rival that of our ‘higher callings’, I beg of you to not overlook the reality of flesh and sinew.  It is potent and of a magic that helped bring forth life.  But the depth I want - is a depth of character, of love, of spirit.

This is my spiritual dilemma.  And it is NOT to be taken lightly.  We hunger - so we feed ourselves.  We thirst - and we drink.  We want - and we take.  But when do we move away from the carnal, the flesh and into the spirit?  A place that doesn’t always hold such a concrete, defined place in our sometimes feeble imaginations.  A place where we find enlightenment over engorging ourselves.  Spirit isn't as easily defined as flesh.  Its whispers are often overlooked amidst the cacophony of life.

The dilemma is clear.  Do we chose to find our spirit as our guide or our flesh?  And I was raised on “you just have to let the Lord.”  “If you pray, he will take it away from you.”  BUT the Lord isn’t really all that concerned with our timing - He tends to work in his own time!  Our spirits seek light, seek energy, seek substance.  Our flesh seeks sustenance.  Our FLESH is not ALL bad.  Our SPIRITS are not ALL good.  In the depths of scripture there are references to the darkness that ‘pierces the light’, the dark realms, the purity of sex (READ Song of Songs).  So as a Human. Being.  I find myself often torn between the two.

What I am battling tonight is my future.  I have 346 days of freedom.  I’ve fought with my entire life force for this.  I did not do it alone, and I thank God every day for those he’s allowed to interject into this journey.  But it’s hard to be alone.  To want the flesh, but more to want the simple touch of another’s hand.  The companionship of walking and talking with another.

To pray with that special person.


I will not succumb to the darker sides of me.  I’ve walked down that road - almost to my death.

Yes, I still pray.  Every. G. D. Day!! 

For my kids.  For those around me.  For lost love.  For breath, life, sustenance and substance.

And when it’s his time.  Someone to show up.  Because that’s what I think all of us really want at our core.  We want to know that we’re never alone.

~ Peace

The Burtle 

You are Enough

Take a moment 

to breathe

to dream

to believe

a little more in Yourself

Don’t let 

the whispers in Your head

all the dread

remove all the good 

remember You have

so much more inside

Your heart

And even when 

the tides 

seem to turn

You can return

to that solace

that is always part…

Of You.

And You,

are enough.

10/29/21

clc

Hope - 11 months in.

It’s an interesting word.

Hope.

We can’t put it in a box.  We can’t map it out on a medical device or scientific monitor.  We can’t earn it, buy it, or sell it.

Hope just is.

Or it isn’t.

I can’t tell you how to find hope.  Most days early on in this program I felt like I was just stumbling upon it.  Like some bigger force was opening doors when I couldn’t even find the knob.  But hope is real.  It exists in the eyes of the dreamer, the artist’s canvas, the mother’s lullaby.

We aren’t human without it!

Hope for a better job, hope for a person that ‘gets’ us.  Hope for a child to grow up knowing the love of his father.

Tonight I got to hear someone exclaim “I quit my job”, and I was ecstatic!  Because hope CAN be taken away from us.  We let life whittle us down to shards the size of toothpicks and we get caught in the Roller Coaster of Disaster (a new name for one of the ones at Six Flags?!).  My hope is this dear soul finds a place that they can thrive.  I’ve wished and been praying for them - a new job, a better work-life balance.  <Better be reading this Ashley!! Lol>

For me, I built a bench recently.  A bench built for two.  I’ve sat out under the stars several nights and wished…

I know where my hope comes from.  It was given to me again in November of last year.  I am thankful, beyond grateful that there is a power beyond this world that continues to look after this crazy boy.

But I’m also a man.  A man who is standing, doing the next right thing, one day at a time.  To have hope and to sit on our laurels, our dairy airs, our asses and do nothing is meaningless.  I’m all for believing.  Hell, the song that I’ve probably listened to the most in my life is Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’.  But life takes action, movement, luck, faith, trust (still working on that one), and yes, hope.

It’s like the BEST Beef stew of all the things that make this life tick.

Salt.

Paprika.

A really deep sauce.

A really good piece of meat.

Potatoes…

You get the gist!

Tomorrow I hit 11.  11 months of truly working on me in a different light.  I’m going to share some of the words that I’m sending to the court below.  I’m fighting for my son.  It’s not about winning or losing, it’s about showing up.  I didn’t show up real well last year for him.  And every day now I make sure that he sees my face, he hears the words 'I love you' and he knows that I care.

~ Peace, 

The Burtle

Letter to the Court - October 2021

In November of last year we had a court date for this court case, regarding my ability to be a father to my son and the safety or lack thereof that I might be to him.

In 2020 I was broken.  Like many people I faced the obstacles of a pandemic and on top of losing myself, I also lost my job, my living situation, a deep love, and my mother.  I faced November of last year not wanting to be here; suicidal at times throughout the year.  I’m not going to shy away from that.  I was broken.  When we came to court on November 4th  I wanted nothing more than to be done with all of this.  I had faced my childhood abuser without any success in finding peace there.  I don’t know what else more could’ve been taken away from me last year until I lost the ability to see Topher.  And that took away the last of my hope.  

I don’t know what else I can tell you about how hard last year was.  How bad it was for me and also how much it affected those that I love the most.  Especially a little boy.  I will take the time when it’s appropriate to explain that to him.  Right now it’s about me showing that I am stable, healthy and sound.

After that court hearing I decided that I couldn’t do this anymore.  The meds my doctor prescribed weren’t working and counseling didn’t seem to be getting through to me.  At my lowest, I found a moment where I wanted to live.  And in 48 years it may have been the first time where I truly asked God to help me want to live.  I’m not going to get into my spiritual experience, other than to say that a moment on November 19th, 2020 changed everything.  I didn’t suddenly become better.  But on that day I made a decision to live.  There had always been an underlying current of thoughts and feelings that resonated from the abuse when I was seven years old.  But now for the first time I saw hope.  I reached out to my counselor and we set a plan in motion.  I couldn’t afford to get into a rehab facility; after racking up several hundred thousand dollars worth of medical bills last year it wasn’t an option.  What we did is devised a simple plan for every day.  A plan that I still follow today.  I made a phone call to a hotline and joined an anonymous group that opened their arms to someone who struggled.  Not just with substances, but with life.  I did this for me.  Because I had nothing else. 

I had $29 to my name in October of last year.  I fell behind on my child support and could barely afford to buy food and pay for a small apartment that I had to help do work around the facility just to keep.  I got a sponsor and I immediately started working on the things that I could do.  I got clean.  I haven’t had a drop of alcohol or any substances in my body other than the prescribed ones since that day.  I continue to diligently work on bettering myself.  I was out of work for over a year and then I found work.  Over the last 11 months I have found a safe place to live in a recovery setting.  I have worked the steps. I was able to work enough to fully catch up on all of my child support obligations, getting a full-time job as a Carpenter, a new career that I love. I continue to go to meetings daily and I continue to reach out and connect with other people who have had similar struggles.

All of this I’ve done for me.  And I’ve also done it for a little boy who needs to see a healthy father.  For two older kids who need to see a man standing.  I do not disparage Jenelle for being concerned.  She doesn’t know my journey.  She’s seen some of the very ugly.  I’ve included several letters from those around me, my counselor, people with a lot more wisdom and experience in dealing with these things than I have.  All I’m asking for is to be given the opportunity to be a dad.  In the flesh.  He is that important to me!

Sincerely,

Chad Chatham

Never Alone

The Lord appeared to us in the past, saying: “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.

Jeremiah 31:3

I’ve had one great love in my life.

That love died because of Covid, my own personal issues and two very broken people who tried really hard to figure it out.  And honestly, I still love her.

And though I have grieved that relationship, I also am thankful for that time.  It was special.  Still is to me.

I often find myself relating my love of God to the love that I shared there.  And that just isn’t right. Because there is a God above.  And if you don’t believe in him, that’s OK.  That’s your journey.  I’m not here to convince you one way or the other.  But this blog is about God.  And before you turn away, bear with me for just another moment.

What would it be like to have a love that lasted through every trial, through every hardship, through the pain, through the joy, through the highest heights and the saddest goodbyes?  What would it be like to know that you’re loved beyond measure regardless of how hard you try; no matter how accomplished you are or how low you’ve gotten?

I found that love.  Through a God that just wouldn’t let me go.

There is this word - Faith.  It is often hard to grasp.  Putting our faith in a person, in an ideal, in a ‘cause’, in something of this world will often lead to heartache.  I watched Lance Armstrong race the Tour de France for years.  Wore the yellow ‘Livestrong’ bracelet (and secretly coveted his relationship with Sheryl Crow).  It all fell apart.  Doping, Lies, Cheating.  And I took off the bracelet and cursed that I’d been so deceived.  Even if the cause was worthy - I couldn’t wear the color.  Yellow.  

What if in those moments of fear, abandon, loneliness - you stopped and just listened.  The still, soft voice echoing in your ear.  There’s one there.  Some people call it conscious, others might call it ‘spirit-guide’.  I just call it God.  And I’ve fought that God for years.  Just to see that he was standing there holding the punching bag like a prize fighter’s trainer, waiting for me to stop and take in what he needed me to hear.  What I needed to hear.  Last night I was told again to listen.

There is a message to be heard.  A path to follow and a day ahead.  I do this life one day at a time.  And I am certain that I am ‘never alone’.  

~ Peace

The Burtle

May the angels protect you, trouble neglect you
And heaven accept you when it's time to go home
May you always have plenty, the glass never empty
And know in your belly, you're never alone

May your tears come from laughing, you find friends worth having
As every year passes, they mean more than gold
May you win and stay humble, smile more than grumble
And know when you stumble, you're never alone

Never alone, never alone
I'll be in every beat of your heart when you face the unknown
Wherever you fly this isn't goodbye
My love will follow you, stay with you, baby, you're never alone

Well, I have to be honest as much as I wanted
I'm not gonna promise that cold winds won't blow
So when hard times have found you and your fears surround you
Wrap my love around you, you're never alone

Never alone, never alone
I'll be in every beat of your heart when you face the unknown
Wherever you fly this isn't goodbye
My love will follow you, stay with you, baby, you're never alone

May the angels protect you, trouble neglect you
And heaven accept you when it's time to go home
So when hard times have found you and your fears surround you
Wrap my love around you, you're never alone

Never alone, never alone
I'll be in every beat of your heart when you face the unknown
Wherever you fly, this isn't goodbye
My love will follow you, stay with you, baby, you're never alone
My love will follow you, stay with you, baby, you're never alone

~ as recorded by Jim Brickman and Lady A

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes…

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure? Measure a year?

In daylights,
In sunsets,
In midnights,
In cups of coffee,
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in a life?

~ Seasons of Love, from the musical “Rent”

How do I measure a year?

September 28, 2020 I moved back to Atlanta from a season of couch hopping, indecision, internal and outward strife and a longing to not be here anymore.  And that move to Little Five Points, a trendy, eccentric area that I’ve always been drawn to did little to quell that fight inside me.  Instead it may have been part of the elixir of strife that set the course for the next days.

One year ago.  Not the day of victory that I claim so boldly and proudly, but a day that I was desperate to stop.  I just didn’t know how yet. Not to stop the disease that claims so many of us or the mental anguish that I’d been continually battling my entire life.  To stop the ragged breath, the physical pain, the emotional hurt and the spiritual fight to know a God that I had openly questioned “why?” so many times in my life.

525,600 minutes ago…

It’s 6:15am.  The stars are still out surrounding a not quite full moon and the day hasn’t really begun.  Yet I’ve been up.  I had a battle to fight yesterday.  And it was a doozy.  I have a relationship that was broken from the start that I still maintain for the sake of my child.  A person who doesn’t care to understand anything but ‘facts’.  Not emotion or spirit, just the facts that a sick dad (me) did everything he could to protect his son from ME last year.  Not that I was ever willing or able to hurt him, in fact when I started my downward spiral I sought first and foremost to protect him the best way I knew how.  But I wasn’t present and I was hurting.  So now I have to show her, for his sake, that I’m ok.

This year was one that I didn’t think I’d see the completion of.  A journey that started in 2006 that has had severe peaks and valleys that led me to that 260 square foot carriage house apartment in Little 5.  One that included one more trip to get my head straight.  One more dive into the battles that I fought with myself.  One more drink.  One more drug.  One more trial lost to the pain…

I write this not as the victorious crusader returning from conquering, but as the man who stands.  On two worn and weathered feet.

And breathes.

Here’s the hard.  I didn’t want to breathe last year.  I was suffocating on self and misery and just wanted it all to stop.  And there’s the revelation.  Life doesn’t stop.  We all have pain.  If you don’t have some sort of pain I truly question your journey.  I’m not saying that you have to wear your pain like the hypocritic religious leaders of some past age, but damn it, if you’ve never faced a demon or two then have you ever had to move through something with reliance on a power greater than yourself?  It’s how you face it.  Christ came and was tested.  Not just by the ‘church’ of his day and not just by the power of satan himself.  He was tested by those closest to him.  It’s how you suit up, show up and walk through theses moments.

And last year I FAILED at it.

It took one more deep, dark slide before the moment of clarity came.  As I was describing that moment the best I could last night to a new friend, I said it ‘became calm’ - maybe a simple man’s version of the calm on the sea as Christ calmed the storm.  The silence beyond the tears as this man on the cross died.  The room that I sat in stopped spinning.  Stopped shaking with my insecurities and doubt and I was asked, very, very clearly…

“Chad, what do you want?”

I chose the one thing I had ran from my ENTIRE adult life.  The one thing that I had always believed was a lie.  That was unobtainable.  

“I want to live…”

But not the life I had been barely clinging onto since the sins of my attacker became known.  I wanted to truly live. 

I just didn’t know how.

Today is one year since I came ‘home’ to Atlanta from being a wandering gypsy (I still have a gypsy soul - look it up, it’s a thing!).  And it took another bout with “Me” before that moment of calm struck.  I wasn’t ready for what was coming.  Who is ever ready for your life to be turned upside down.  But what kind of life had I known up to this point?  Pain.  Disbelief.  Loss.  The only thing I was sure of is that He wouldn’t let go of me.  That He still wanted more for me than I wanted of myself.

I’m sitting here breathing.  Tears falling.  Yesterday was the first hard cry in a long while.  I forget how cleansing the spiritual reset of crying out to a God that I believe is truly there is.  I have a feeling there will be more tears in the next days.  I’m hurting over my son.  Just the battle to see him and show up, that I wasn’t always the best dad a year ago - hell, I wasn’t there for him a year ago; let’s be honest here.

525,600 minutes…

How do YOU measure a year in the life?

Tell me your thoughts.

~ Peace

The Burtle.

to sit under a starlit night

“I don’t know anything with certainty, but seeing the stars makes me dream.”

~ Vincent Van Gogh 

“…we found ourselves thinking, when enchanted by a starlit night, “Who then, made all this?” There was a feeling of awe and wonder”

~ anonymous 

I sometimes sit.

And just dream.

I find myself drawn to the night. To the stars in the sky, to the moon, to the noises and the tapestry of shadows pierced here and there with the last vestiges of daylight.

And I dream.

I don’t think of the childhood dreams I had of riches or fantasy lands with dragons and knights and searching quests into the unknown (or of my high school dream to BE BonJovi). My dreams are simple. They resonate within the heart of a man who has seen all of that. I’ve fought my dragons. Slain many, still hold a few at bay . I lived most of my life torn between fantasy and reality. The world I wanted shadowed by the depths of hurt that I knew too well.

And as I sat recently under the guise of a starlit night, I found a breath. And I dreamed.

Am I going to tell you my dream? No. That’s for me. But what I do know is that we have to stop. We have to take a moment and just sit on a simple bench, look around us and see…

The world is filled with darkness, with hurt; disagreements over politics and religion and the price of processed cheese. And if that is all you see, then I ask you to pause. Here in Georgia the rains are about to stop. In the next couple of days the stars will shine, the moon will rise and our hearts can be lifted from the hardships of the day. And we can dream.

A simple life. Our children to laugh and love deeply. The tasks we do each day to be filled with joy and a sense of accomplishment. The moments that we share be filled with heartfelt laughter and deeper meaning.

So as I sit looking for the next cloudless eve, even now I ponder - wondering what the day will unfold. How rich my life has become just by standing on my own two feet, working with my two hands, and living my dream.

Because dreams change. And sometimes we find what we want in the middle of sitting…

Under a starlit night.

~ Peace

The Burtle

The Romance of the Game

While scores of thousands head on Saturdays and Sundays to celebrate and root on in brilliant colors and vibrant tapestries their teams to victory, the brutal stretch through summer into autumn and the Series is often left in the background.  The old ‘national pastime’, oft deemed a relic and relegated to third or fourth tier in the world of fast, immediate gratification purposefully marches on.

I sat the other afternoon and watched just a few short innings of a Little League baseball game. One team adorned with matching jerseys, pants and cleats; the other more a ragtag bunch of mismatched T-shirts straight from the images of the Bad News Bears or the Sand Lot.

I told a friend that this was romance.  One boy facing another.  Pitcher to batter.  A Gentleman’s duel of sorts.  In those brief seconds nothing in the world mattered except for facing whatever is being thrown their way.  Simplistic and yet defined, it’s also scary as hell.  No, it’s not a 98 mph fastball thrown towards your knees in an attempt to get you to swing. But it is standing up to the plate, saying a ‘nod to God’, and preparing yourself for whatever comes.

And the outcome; sometimes we strike out.  Sometimes we stand and realize that we’re outmatched. But we do it with dignity. Well, sometimes it’s not so much dignity when we’re swinging -  swinging - swinging and the umpire yells ‘he’s out!’  Other times we pause, realizing that there’s nothing we need to do but just stand. Ball 1.  Ball 2.  We become mindful. We watch and we take in the moment.  Ball 3.  Now we decide. Maybe it’s okay to swing, but only if it feels, looks right. Ball 4.  Patience sometimes wins out. We take our base.

And other times we make contact. We get to hear the crack of hickory and leather. Now we move forward, quickly leaving our stance and running with all we have towards the next destination. The next step.

Each time we step up we never know what the outcome is going to be. But we prepare for that. We don’t know when we’re going to stand in awe and watch as we’ve hit the perfect pitch, over the heads of the infield. Going, going, going.  Gone!

And sometimes the ball gets just enough contact to send the players in the field into a beehive nest of activity; all with the common goal of defending not just their turf, but their pride.

It is a beautiful sport. A beautiful game. A game played by boys, young men and old.  My grandfather played softball into his late 70s. And he was good at it. He also taught me how to watch a game without the sound - relishing in the moments of romance.  Something I’ve never thought of until I sat with him. To watch the game; it’s passion and revelry and the chase for some meaning.

I stand today, facing the morning.  And I know that I have the opportunity to breathe, to be patient…

and to swing when the pitch is right.

for Richie

~ Peace

The Burtle

All We Are Sayin…

“Ev'rybody's talking about Ministers

Sinisters, Banisters and canisters

Bishops and Fishops and Rabbis and Pop eyes

And bye bye, bye byes

All we are sayin’

is give peace a chance.”

~ John Lennon

I thought I was going on a journey. Several years ago my ex-wife gave me Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey and a couple of other books regarding the man and his mythology. And while I don’t give her credit for this path, it was in the midst of our divorce, it was part of this character arc of a man that I never would’ve known.

Do you have demons inside? I think most of us do.  I think many of us struggle with overindulgence, pride, success vs. failure, aging. Some of us have seen the end of our lives.  And in the moment of my last breath, I didn’t want to be revived to something that was worse than what I knew before. That’s my journey. When I wanted to die last year, when I wanted to die my entire life, I thought it could never get worse. But I did stop breathing. And if it wasn’t for one brave soul I would be dead. And I hated him for that for a long time. Because I didn’t want to face me. I didn’t wanna face my demons.

I woke up in a hospital, angry, volatile, marked a dangerous patient and aware of only one thing. I was going to die. I was damn well going to do it. I spent the next five months on that quest.

And I couldn’t appreciate the gift of life that I was given. Why this man who stood just days after my mother‘s death and told me that he would “take me out” would also be my momentary savior.  I was angry at someone for standing up to a drunken, addicted bastard who didn’t even know how to mourn.

Because I didn’t know peace.

I knew the rationalizations. I knew the religious contemplations, but I didn’t know how to let God show me how to settle.  To breathe.  To be.

The journey isn’t to find some mythic Quest.  The Journey is to find our ‘self’.  

On this journey I met a man. I met him through the one place I was never willing to go.  I met others.

I found God.

Though he really was always there.

Peace doesn’t come out of some miraculous journey. Peace comes out of practice, prayer, petition, practicing more and proving that you are willing to give up everything for it.

I heard the story of a man who gave everything to bring a form of peace to the world.  Not peace in the world, but peace beyond; a peace inside that resonates from a deeper belief in something that we can’t explain with science or philosophy or cable network news.

I lost my serenity yesterday. I found myself sobbing hopelessly at the Portland airport.  Angry at God, mad at my circumstance, and alone.  Yet I wasn’t alone.

God presented himself in trials, in trusted people from the rooms, and in a little boy who loves his daddy.

I hugged that boy and knew that it was going to be okay.  If even just for a moment.

And this morning I realized that I’m still learning, I’m still growing, and I’m still finding peace. Sometimes even in the midst of the storm.

I’m thankful for Ron. He gave me the gift of life when I really just wanted to die.

For my group of peeps. Even though I shut down yesterday and didn’t want to talk. 

For my mentor who has shown up for me many times.

For my daughter. For my sons and my family. Even though I feel estranged most of the time. For a new relationship with my father.

For tears flowing freely as I write this. The spiritual reset that they bring.

For a day with a little boy. Baseball, hiking and hugging.

And for peace. One step at a time.

~ Peace

The Burtle

A.W.