What Would Happen If You Leave?

People walk in and out of our lives everyday. Some leave for brief moments, and then there are those who you never see again. With every departure we run the risk of loosing people. Cars crash into each other everyday causing families to break apart. Disease rage and live slips away from those who are trying to hold onto it with all their strength. People make decisions to never return, and worlds get flooded in the wake of these decisions.

There is something deep within all of us that looks at the rest of the world and asks the question, "What would happen if you leave my life?" Some internally ask this question to parents that never seem to have enough love. While some parents cry at the thought of not having the children they watch sleep at night. Some ask this question of the brother that always seems to make the wrong decision; when all the while that brother make every decision based on the fear of that question. Husbands ask the question when their wife's leave for the grocery store, and all the while their wife wonders what is on the other side of a final "goodbye".

But why do our hearts ask this question? For some it is fear of the unknown. We ask this question because it is the last thing we want to happen. While others ask the question because they want to be ready for the "just incases" of life. And some ask the question out of pure pain. There has always seemed to be a place in all of us that wonders about the unknown, and no matter the motive, we try to get ready for it (even sometimes by running away!). If you watch the news for just five minutes, you come to the understand that loss is apart of life. We have become conditioned "deal with it". So, why do hearts break when loss become personal?

Our creation is a testimony in understanding the desire to relate. The Lord created us because he wanted relationship. He was totally satisfied within the Trinity, but he took a chance (knowing the whole time what the outcome would be.). He wanted to walk in the cool breeze with us and have conversations about everything! He wanted to hear laughter from us. That's not emotion it's fact. But one day a piece of fruit became the symbol of a fall that has plagued everyone from our first breath. Then for the first time the question was asked by a naked couple holding some fig leaves, "What would happen if you leave?" And all of us have been asking that question of everything in our life since that moment.

People leave, but the Lord never left. He returned to physically dwell among his creation several times. He died among His creation just so He could rise to show us that He would never leave (even if the physical body wasn't present)... But this doesn't stop us from asking the question over and over again, and our sins are our way of yelling at Him to leave us alone. I am thankful that I will never know the what would happen if He left.

Long Talks In My Old Room

This is my brother Nathan and his kids (McKayla and Evan). It always seems that I have a lot to say after I spend a weekend down in Crockett. The four of us woke up to take some pictures in the in the early morning sun. All Evan wanted to do was use sticks as swords and McKayla just wanted to make Uncle Chad and Daddy happy... And Nathan, well for the first time in a long time he looked rested... And I have no idea why. He and I were up all night talking about everything we knew and lied about the stuff we didn't know.

We sat in my old room talking about growing up in that small town and leaving it for "big dreams" in big cities. He and I spent a lot of time talking about the past. We laughed about starting fires and farting in public places. We stopped looking each other in the eye when we started talking about dark times. We sat in respectful silence after one of us bared our heart to the other. We sat in amazement after we realized how far our relationship with Larry (our Step-Father, aka. "Pops") had come. We helped him put together a new BBQ grill, and it was the best time we had all weekend.

What I love most about my relationship with Nathan is that neither of us are content with staying on the surface of things. Both of us want to dig deep, and find every opportunity to be as genuine as we can with each other. He never lets me get away with just saying a passing comment about pain or happiness. He wants to know why I say what I say. And I always want to know how his mind rationalizes the blessing of his two kids. Those kids make me wonder what I am doing with my life(in a very good way!). He tells me about his struggles and the victories he finds in the small parts of his day.

Life isn't perfect, but the sun shines gold a lot more than I notice. I am so thankful for my family. We are all screwed up and make no sense most of the time, but what family isn't? I have come to understand how important it is for a person to be a part of something bigger than just themselves. That is why Jesus taught us that as Christians we are members of a family, part of a body. We help each other when we can, and stop hurting each other when we find out we are causing pain. Family... a cursed blessing that embarrasses you, but the first place you run to when you hurt and find yourself in need.

More Than Just Blood

Sometimes when I read the gospel accounts of Calvary, I fail to grasp all that cross accomplished for me. The first thing Christians come to understand is the unexplainable salvation that flows from Jesus' blood. Sins forgiven and wiped away like old tears; all at the moment one believes upon the life and sacrifice of the Christ. There is nothing better than knowing that someone paid the price for all my wrongs that I could never correct by myself.

But what I fail to grasp sometimes is the freedom the Cross gives a person. Not freedom to waist my life with the actions that put Jesus on that cross; but a freedom to live my life without a hesitation for what "might be" or what "might have been". There is nothing this world can offer that come close to that freedom and love. It almost hurts to understand what the Cross has given my saved soul, and know that I still waist my life doing anything less than embrace this beautiful mess I find myself in.

I would love to think that these words aren't based on emotion, just truth. Because Jesus taught us to live with a childlike faith in him. Just to trust that He has it all figured out, and all we have to do is follow Him. Easier said than done, but better than the alternative.

Old Shirts, County Music, and Salsa

I had a conversation with an old friend tonight. This guy has watched me grow out of diapers into the the guy that I am today. He had been there for me more than I ever noticed until our short phone conversation today. He had some advice that I wouldn't listen to until now. He simply said this: "Maybe it's time to give some praise for the things that are in your life (good or bad)." You are right Eugene.

I have a closet full of shirts that I have had since I was in high school. I love the fact that the Lord has helped me stay around the same body size, so that I can fit into most of those same shirts... And still wear them in public. That helps me understand that the Lord is timeless in his fathering of me.

The sun came out this morning, and I had the opportunity to sleep through most of it's rise... I am thankful for sleep... When I can find it! While sleep doesn't always equal rest, sleep helps me to see the opportunities the Lord gives us to rest in Him. What a blessing that is!

I made a phone call to my brother Nathan, and I heard his kids in the background screaming with pleasure as they ran through the sprinkler. What a blessing to know the Lord allows my brother to enjoy his kids... I love those kids because they have done more for my brother than he will ever understand.

I am thankful for a good country song! It doesn't matter what year the song hit the radio, the right sad country song can be just as big of a blessing as a good praise song. Johnny Cash or Randy Travis or Dierks Bentley, those guys are a blessing for this East Texas kid's ears!

The more poetic I try to get with this list, the less genuine I feel it is getting. So let me say it this way: When I remove my head from my butt and actually look around; the Lord has blessed me with a family that loves me, a job that keeps the bills paid, and a million small things that go unnoticed due to my arrogance! I love the way things piece together in the right moment, and I love the fact that the Lord is never rushed!

And one more thing, chips and salsa!... Other than Jesus, is there a bigger blessing found in life?...I think not!

Rain, Bitterness... And Fishing?

There is nothing quiet like a nice rain storm. Even this concrete city seems dry from the lack of rain. Like a good cry can calm the soul, a good rain can refresh the senses of the earth. There is something exciting about a hard rain that blows through the day. The sky goes dark, the temperature drops, and a scent fills the air. Then the rain comes in sheets. The wind blows it in different directions until it hits the ground. And, all we can do is watch from under some cover or dance under drops. Either way you experience the rain, I am sure you have a smile on your face. Sometimes you have to get wet to clean the deep parts of your heart.

This weekend I returned to the town I grew up in. I have made peace with almost every inch of that town. From the little league field to my high school baseball field; I have made it a point to go back to the same dirt and grass that I made memories on years ago. I have learned to smile at most of my past days. Sunday, I sat in the same church pews that I did during my childhood... It just happens to be the same place I took wedding vows. It hurt to be in that building. Memories rushed back for the better part of an hour, until my old pastor's words broke through: "The pains of your life can either be a means to an end, or they can end you. But that is your decision to make. You can either be bitter or make it better!" Those words pissed me off, because I knew they where true.

Am I bitter? What a loaded question for me to ask. By the looks of most of my previous postings, it looks like I am. I find myself thinking of this a lot, because I don't want to become "that guy"! You know who I am talking about. "That guy" who always brings up "that subject" every time you talk to him. But I see that is what this blog has turned into; my way of always bringing up "that subject". And, to be honest, I don't think it has helped that much. What once was a pain I felt, has now been turned into a drug I use to help myself escape from moving forward. Does it help to talk about matters of the heart? No doubt! Does it help to beat yourself up in front of everyone you know? Nope.

Am I bitter? No, just hurt. Am I afraid? More than you know. So now what? Maybe I will go fishing in Alaska. Maybe I will take that trip to Portland or maybe I will watch the leaves change colors in Boston. Or, maybe I will have the guts to live my life where I stand, in spite of my fears. Maybe just maybe, I will stop sabotaging myself and actually believe the things Jesus says about me. Because, I think he is right about me. Maybe, I'll go on another date... It's fun to make a girl laugh out loud! There is a lot of life worth living under any sky you find yourself living under... Time to get to it!

In The Waking Hours

Why do I wake up every morning? Why do you wake up every morning? I will go out on a limb and speculate that it has nothing to do with your job. For me most days start at 3:40a.m., and trust me when I say that I don't enjoy helping the sun rise every morning. In the hours I spending before the sun makes it's entrance in the horizon, my heart has no problem feeling the levity of the place I find myself each morning. I smile smiles and try my best to comfort those who feel the weariness that one feels in the wee hours of a week day morning. But, I can't help but feel a bit hypocritical and fake as I make my way through the day. I walk as if I have a purpose. Those people who know me as the "coffee guy" don't know the battles that beat my insides to a bloody pulp. And as the sun finally makes it's entrance among the orange and reds, I can't help but ask myself again, "What do I wake up for every morning?" Because it is so clear to me as I stand in the same spot every morning, that I do not live for this job. Sure, I am thankful for a steady job, and make no mistake, I am not complaining about my job. It has been good to me. But, there is something deeper that keeps me rising each morning.

What is it that makes me continue to rise every morning? Is it forgiveness? Have I been living my life for the past couple of years trying to earn a forgiveness that I never seem to feel? I take an inventory of my life as I grind coffee each morning, and the coffee always seems to run short before I find a solution for past mistakes. Who am I trying to gain forgiveness from? It's not my Jesus, because He granted me that undeserved grace six years ago... And everyday since. He paid the price for my faults, and He finds me beautiful in spite the pain I inflict... And, to this day, I still can't understand why he loves me with such passion. With such forgiveness in place, what other forgiveness is there to search for? I have taken people for granted. I have wished pain upon those I confessed to love the most. I've lied, cheated, stolen...I have wasted time. I dismissed people completely for no other reason than my own immaturity or insecurities. I once lit a candle to signify my love for a single person, but as I replay my life in the early morning I see a boy trying to daily blow out that flame with coarse words and stupid fights... That boy stopped trying to blow out that flame when someone else blew it out for him... But the forgiveness that I seek wont relight that flame.

Why do I continue to wake up? Is it a scare little boy inside me? Do I continue to smile and joke with strangers each morning as I make them coffee, in a quest to quench the insecurities of the child inside me? There is a hurt little kid inside me. He has wounds that have stunted his growth of maturity. Am I trying to heal those wounds with a false acceptance given with each transaction made for a cup of coffee? Am I in a search of acceptance? Has the rejection I received driven me to keep my job for the purpose to prove that people DO like me?

Does a search for love keep me rising with my alarm clock? Is my fragile existence being drug behind a carnal need to feel loved? There once was a time when I had the love that I now seek again. The trouble with this love is you feel it's weight the most when it is no longer there. Now what's a boy to do with such knowledge? The truth is this: I know that I am loved beyond my understanding. The forgiveness I have received walks hand in hand with Jesus' love for my broken self. The love that I seek from another human, fails in comparison with the love of a Savior. He knows the absolute worst things about me, and He still loves me the same. He knows how deep my lust runs. He knows how shallow I live my life. He knows about the punches I have thrown at him. He knows how bad I have treated people. But He still loves me. He never flinches in the presence of the mountain of wrongs I have committed. He loves me enough to give me room to question. And he loves me enough to hold me close when I hurt. He loves me in spite of my attempts to replace his love with the things of this world. What other love is there?

Maybe I wake up every morning out of habit. Maybe I go to my job because I have bills that need to be paid. Maybe I am over thinking my life. Honestly, I know that I am searching for someone on this earth to love me. I know that I am searching for forgiveness from those that I have wronged... And I know that I want those people to seek my forgiveness (because I am self-centered). I know that I am still a little scared. I know I am seeking a confidence that the Lord gives. Do I feel okay with this life I am leading?... Yea. Do I want to wake up early in the morning?... No. Do I want to live my days with no regret?... More than anything. Do I want someone to find me worth the risk of love?... Yea, that feels nice! I want to understand the meaning of living a life worthy of the life Jesus died for... Forgiveness is found like a cool breeze in a hot summer night, little boys grow up , and love has a way of taking the proper amount of time to walk around your corner. Of that I am confident!

Peace Found In the Pieces

You don't have to stand beside an ocean to feel small. You don't have to be alone to feel lonely. And, you don't have to speak to say the wrong thing. My lack of confidence makes me feel small every morning when I wake up. I feel the most lonely in a large group of people. And, the words I say with my silence yell louder than my vocal cords could ever muster.

I say these things not to be mellow dramatic... Well maybe I am, but I realized something that makes this exhausting life seem easier to swallow. As I spend these long hours wondering about my words and planning my actions; I am trying to construct something useless. We Christians like to speak of brokenness as if it is a place we once lived but we have seemed to lost the directions to get us back there. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure if brokenness is a state of mind or a place to camp. I know that we are to grow in the Lord, but I don't think we are supposed to out grow the displacement that our brokenness gave us. What am I saying? I spend so much time and energy trying to "feel" better or "look" better in front of people or "speak" better to my Creator... And all this does is exhaust my soul... And I have the feeling that I'm not the only one.

I remember the day I accepted Jesus' gift of Salvation. It felt as if I had stopped running or dropped the world of weight I felt on my shoulders. I was free to breath without trying to earn the air... But over the past couple of months I have started to putting the weight back on my shoulders while putting my running shoes back on. It as if I have a bottle of glue in my hand, and I am trying to paste myself together in a way that is more attractive. I don't want to say anything that might make anyone uncomfortable. I don't want act upset, because my social status is already so low... But, I remember the peace in my heart when I told the Lord that I was screwed up, and I remember the time He took with me when I asked Him to sit with me as I cried. This might sound less than what a "mature Christian" would say, but I know we all need a break from this stressful life and just breath, laugh, take a drink, sit in the shower for a while, or cry for the sake of crying. We are not to stay in these places for long periods of time. We must put one foot in front of the other... But that doesn't mean we forget what broke us in the first place. For me, I know I spend too much time in the shower(that sounds funny), but I see too many people acting like they have it all together... But you just see them crumbling on the inside when you look into their eyes. I am not trying to speak of others, just for me... And I'm not sure that I made any sense!

A Prayer For Honesty

In a attempt at honesty, I must confess a prayer of mine that I lift to the heavens:

"Lord, take me to a different place. Take me to snow capped mountains, where the pine trees' greens are covered by blankets of snow. I want to see my breath in front of me as I release the cold air from my lungs. Let me feel the freedom of looking down at the world from a high altitude. Lord, replace this concrete world I daily wake to with cool meadows of high grass, that bend with every wind you send. Show me flowers that I have never seen. Let me watch the leaves turn form green to red and yellow. Lord, take me to the base of the Red Wood's. Let me try and wrap my arms around their great trunks. Lord, let me swim under the great waterfalls tucked away in the rain forests I only read about. Let me play in a Portland rain storm. Let me stand beside the ocean and feel just how big you might be. Let me lay beneath a clear Montana sky and watch your stars wink at me. Take me to the fish of Alaska, I promise I will cook them with the reverence they deserve! Let me feel how tiny Rhode Island is, because I already know how big Texas is. Lord, take me any where, just take me away from the place you have me. I want to see the great beauty the world has, because I refuse to see the beauty in the city that I live."

I am a selfish man. I understand that there is nothing wrong with the passion I have in my heart. I believe God gave me the urge to explore and stand in awe of His creation. My selfishness lies in the allowing this passion to overshadow what he has for me here. He has placed me in this Metroplex, working at a coffee shop for a great reason... I just don't want to see this reason. I just want to see snow and different colored leaves, and I want to live in the ideals that I have of those places.

Just trying to find the strength to live in honesty.

The Cynics Heart

Don't ask me how I came across this article, I just did. As I read this, I sometimes felt as if this lady knew me, and heard some of the comments that I have made in the years since I gave my life over to the Lord. It did my heart good, to hear that I am not the only person that struggles with not allow my cynic attitude to control my view of the church at large, the building I go to on Sunday's, and the great God that I don't know well enough to question (but I question non the less). The article is long, but worth the read!

http://www.imagodeicommunity.com/article/confessions-of-a-recovering-cynic-by-jan-carson

What Are Words Good For?

Everyday I speak to people. I open my mouth and form words. Words that I hope have purpose and some meaning. I manage people at work while trying to find the proper balance of words to show grace and authority at the same time. When I am out to eat, I always try to say "thank you" and make my waiter feel like a human being instead of a robot. On a normal day, I feel that I have used my words well... Not great, but not as big of a jerk as I have been in the past.

Every time I start putting a lot of weight on the words I use, I find myself in a situation where my words have about as much use as snow tires in Texas. This past year I held my brother as he wept after his father-in-law passed away. I grew up this the man crying in front of me, and there was nothing I could say to help the pain go away. I felt so small as my brother fell to pieces in spite of my words. And this weekend I was reminded how small I felt that night as I sat in the hospital with my father as my step-mother lay in bed with medications being pumped into her through tubes. The three of us sat in the room laughing as best we could, but there was always nervousness in the air because nurses had to come in and give her shots and check the monitors for whatever information they where looking for.

As I drove away from the hospital last night, I felt no sense of accomplishment or gratification because of the words I spoke. She was still sick, and the doctors didn't know for sure what was wrong. It blew my mind that even after me spending five hours in her hospital room filling the air with my words, she was still sick. If my words made no impact, should I even say anything? If my words had no weight on the world around me, then what was my worth? As those thoughts rattled around my head, I remembered my father walking me out to my truck as I left the hospital. He thanked me for spending time with them. He told me that it meant a lot to them that I was there.

There are no magical words that someone can posses to fix everyone's problems. And sometime the more we try to find the right words, the more we end up putting our foot in our mouths. There is more power in being invested in peoples lives, than saying the right thing at the right time. Jesus taught us that he would give us the words to speak on his behalf. That give me comfort and boldness to speak my heart, and to constantly be involved in peoples lives. But I still must be honest, I want my words to have the power to change situations, and heal hurting people... And this blog is proof that I still think my words have such weight (how silly of me!).

Maybe There Is Something Bigger Than This Big Guy

What happens to the "know-it-all" boy when he finds out that he is wrong? Is there use for a "know-it-all" that doesn't know anything? Is there use for a critic that has no better plan? I am learning that my cup is much more broken than I first thought... I know less than I hoped for. So, maybe I should speak less than I think I need to. When did I stop listening to those around me? When did every conversation NEED to be filled with my thoughts and views? How shallow is the man that is afraid to move away from bad situations because he might receive less attention or sympathy. What happens to the self-centered boy that wakes up in the middle of the night to find out there are other people hurting in this world?... All of the sudden insecurities are confirmed and a new brokenness is achieved. Maybe this time the boy will find a way break away from the chains that he holds on to so tightly!

Out Of Control, But Right On Schedule

The longer I breath, the more I am understanding that I have no control over the days that I am allowed to live. I can make every decision that comes my way, and I can choose right or left... But control is not in my hands. I can only live the days that the Lord chooses to let me live, and I must be honest, sometimes, that is hard to swallow. Not because I believe that I could do a better job than Him... It's hard because the world my eyes are watching me live in.

It is hard because I am watching Multiple Sclerosis eat away at my mothers body. My mother taught me everything I know about being strong, and now she has trouble finding the strength in her legs to get out of bed in the morning. The women that taught me the value of a hard days work now has a hard time getting through a work day without her wheelchair reminding her that she can't do the things that she once took for granted (like being able to reach a book on a shelf). She can't hold her grandkids without some form of help. The stress of life keeps her from remembering everything that the day has held. It's hard for me to deal with the lack of control I have over this life because I hate the pain that my mother lives in. I hate hearing her voice crack as she holds back the pain. I hate the fact that my mother is in her early fifties, but she is forced to live as if she is seventy. I don't know how much tread my mom has left on her tires... And I hate the fact that there is nothing I can do to make her better.

My lack of control in this life brings me to the feet of the one that created the air I draw into my lungs. I fall to my knees because I have no lofty place of power to sit. As much as I struggle with the futility of my actions to control my surroundings... I have to place my bet on the author of this story. I have no doubt that He knows what he is doing because the sun came up again today. He loves with a force that you feel on a cool breeze or when the small stuff works out right. I have no clue why my mother is suffering while thieves have the strength to steal. But, I know why Jesus died on a tree. I know that if my Savior felt pain, then I will too. I also know that if death had no power over him, then death has no control over me.

The longer I sit under this city sky, the more I understand why the Lord made Crockett, Texas. The more time I take to stop and listen for the Lord... The more I understand that his knowledge has depths I will never reach in this body. The more I watch my potted plants grow, the more I understand that the Earth existed long before I cried my first tears. I trust that the Lord has a plan that is good for me. And, I trust that nothing that happens can take him by surprise. The Bible tells me that He knew me long before I was in my mothers womb... I am starting to understand how personal and intimate that is. I wish my mother did not understand the pain that she lives with, but I am thankful that she has a personal relationship with the only person that has the power to do anything about that pain.

Half Drunk, but Hurt Straight To the Bone

Forgive me all those who look to me for advice and strength for living your life… I am a flawed man. This isn’t going to come out right… and this won’t sound “Christian”…

I am sitting on my patio tonight trying to drink away this hurt that I thought was in the past. Ben Harper is pleading over the stereo not to be hurt again. My heart seems to be screaming the same thing right now. It’s amazing how a hard day at work can unearth hurt that you buried so many times before. The grave always seems shallow when you are exhausted. I drove away from work today knowing I would feel this way. I knew I would be the only one in this apartment when I got here. I knew I would battle with these thoughts and emotions… and I knew I would fall at the feet of this pain again. I have never been good at being alone, but I am trying so hard. I try to keep the smile on my face, but it seems as fake as the words of wisdom I try to pass on to those who seek it from me.

Sorry my thought are so random (the empty bottles are starting to pile up)…
I remember being dressed in a black tux with a white tie. I was scared I was going to screw up the ceremony. I knew for sure I was going to say the wrong words or set her dress on fire with a unity candle. I did neither. I said the right things, and I even made it through our first dance without falling all over her. That day runs through my head a lot, so does the day that she left me for the “what might be” of Arizona. Just the name of that state sometime hurts my heart. Memories haunt me, and words still cut me to the point of tears.

There is no sunshine in this post, just the truth: Sometimes it still hurts to be alone. When I am just tired enough, I get sad that I don’t have someone to hold. When a certain song comes on the radio, Sometimes I am taken back to a place from years ago. I am not saying that I long for the days of the past… But she always had a smile to get lost in…

Tomorrow I will wake up, go to work, and try to do better than I did today. This isn’t a permanent emotion of mine, just tonight as I sit here under a breezy night.

I love how I still write these posts as if anyone reads a word I have to say. 

I Am Not Job!

Job 1:8 "And the Lord said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that fearth God, and shuns evil?"

Anyone who has ever felt the fire of trial and the desert of waiting for an answer from the Heavens tends to gravitate toward the books of Psamls and Job. We try to identify our situations with those of David and Job. But, I must confess...as much as I try to convince myself that I am "Job-like", I am not Job. I am no where close. Any pain that I might feel is nothing compaired to the pain of literally loosing everything I own, as Job did. I feed my selfish nature with the thoughts that my situation holds a flame to that which Job went through.

More than this, the Lord tells us in this passage that we are not Job. Read that verse again, and look at the words that the Lord uses to describe Job. Perfect (or blameless) and upright. There is only one other man that is described with these words... Jesus. I am no where close to being the man that Job was. My nature lends itself to the bad situations I can find myself in, but Job's did not. He gave sacrifices on his sons behalf, just in case they had sinned... I barely stay awake long enough at night to tell the Lord "sorry" for my selfishness.

In the Lord's eyes, our pain is real... but temporal. No matter what our names are, he longs for our trust. It is true that he allows pain and tragedy to enter our lives in hopes that it will bring us closer to him. And that sounds cruel for those who haven't experienced His love; but for those of us who have tasted hints of this love... we see the beauty in the hurt. At the end of Job's trial he is humbled by the whirlwind of God's speach, then he is restored and blessed two fold. This is not a promise for the rest of us. However, it does give me hope. I know that the Lord is preparing a place where pain has no foot hold. I like the sound of that... the aching will stop one day. 

Being There

I have an amazing mother. After my parents divorced, my mother raised three boys on her own. These weren’t regular kids. I used to break every glass bottle I came across, Nathan taught me everything I knew about acting like a Tasmanian devil, and Stan grew very angry trying to keep up with his younger brothers. My mom used to work three jobs in a day, bake cakes for extra cash, and still somehow had some time for us kids.

I have been spending a lot of time thinking about my mother recently. Being the baby boy, my mother and I had the closest friendship out of us boys. Mom and I would have long conversations about everything. She taught me how to make objects out of clouds. I would sit in the front seat of the van and shout, “I see a horse! Look it’s a pirate ship! That one is a dragon breathing fire on the horse and pirate ship!” My mom always saw whatever I said was in the clouds. When Nathan and I found an artistic stroke with oil paints, mom bought us every color paint there was, and we pieced together a set of paintbrushes.

Looking back now, on those years growing up, I am surprised at all the memories I have of my single mother “being there”. I remember going to all of Nathan’s basketball games. I remember going out of town, traveling to Sea World, I remember her teaching me to cook. She was there more than most single parents are, and I have no clue how she did it. I remember the bags under her eyes after she came home late from a 15-hour day at her jobs, but I remember the pancakes on Saturday morning. I remember her short fuse at points, but I also remember the hug the next morning when I woke up. My brothers and I agree. Our mom gave us the best possible childhood she could. We had a backyard with a trampoline, a basketball hoop, we always had cable TV, we had a Nintendo the year in came out, and we have great memories of her “being there”.

The years have been hard for our family. After all the long hard years of her raising her boys, she finds out she had Multiple Sclerosis in the mid- 90’s. MS has put her in a wheelchair, and forced her to learn to write with her left hand. Physically my mom is a shell of the women that took me to my first professional basketball game. But, her heart is as big as it has ever been. My mom has watched all three of her boys grow and marry. She has three grandkids and a divorcee baby boy. She struggles with her physical body. There is anger under the surface when she can’t physically do what she once could. There is hurt when she can’t “be there” for her boys or for their kids.
My mother is so beautiful. The years have robbed her of walking, but the Lord has given her strength to live when most would have given up. I love my mom more than I realize. I have her nose, I have her thick hair, and her pail skin. But more than anything, I have her love no matter how much I screw up. I will never forget the phone call when I told her that I was getting divorced. The mom inside her started to cry and was at a loss for words. The women that went through the fire of a divorce got angry and tried to “get me through it”. But the mother in her won that fight, and we cried together. I could feel her love on the back of my head (it felt like one of her hugs, when she reaches up from her chair and pulls me close with her hand on my head). I love my mom. I love her for “being there”.

Happy Birthday To Me!

So, it is officially my birthday. I am now 24 years old. It has been a long journey since my last birthday. I sometime feel like I am 40 years old. My back hurts when I wake, and my heart weighs more than it should.

But I am as thankful as I can ever remember being in my life. I am so thankful for my family, and the support that they have shown me (even when they haven't agreed with my actions). I have a wonderful mother who has done more for me than I will ever know. I have three brothers that bless me more than I could ever tell them. And I have some good friends that do everything they can to make this boy feel as good about himself as possible.

There is a lot that I could blab on and on about, but I won't. I am glad that this past year in my life is over, but I am thankful for the things that the Lord has shown me. I have a smile on my face, because there is hope for me! Thank you Lord for being who you are... even if I don't fully understand all that you are. I am glad to be me! Thank you, to all those that have helped me get to this birthday! You are blessing to an undeserved kid!

"Touch'em All Kirby, Touch'em All"

I have been contemplating blogging about this for a long time now. On May 7th, Kirby Puckett passed away from a stoke. He was 45.

In 1990, I became a baseball fan. I was at the age when boys truly start to understand the rules of the game. While I enjoyed the season that year; the following year I became a Minnesota Twins fan. That season I remember watching the Twins play the White Sox a million times, and I saw them beat the stuffing out of the Royal's every time they stepped on the field.
I have never been very athletic, and height has never been associated with my name. So imagine my surprise to find out short fat kids can play baseball too. I watch Kirby Puckett knock the cover off almost every ball pitched to him, and jump over the wall in center field to make a catch. He was shorted than the rest of the players, and he wasn't the skinniest guy on the field. I was inspired. In my mind I had a chance to make it to the "big game". That year I watched the Twins win the World Series and Kirby had a great series. From that season on I have been a Twins fan, and Kirby was my hero.

What captured me more than his ability on the diamond, was his heart off the field. Kirby was constantly being named "Man of the Year" by the league for his work in the community. He was always in the hospitals visiting kids with cancer, or starting his own foundation for underprivileged kids. His smile was as famous as the great catches he made. He was a great player, and a better person.

Kirby's career was cut short by an eye condition, and he became...Well, to be honest, fat. He gained a lot of weight, and it showed as he gave his Hall of Fame speech when he was inducted in 2001. Shortly after his induction, he and his wife divorced. Sports Illustrated ran a big story on Kirby after he assaulted a lady in a restraunt. The story told of Kirby's affair with a women that lasted during his marriage and it also told of his "true" feelings about the charitable work. He hated it. He hated spending time with the kids. Kirby never commented about the article, but he no longer helped in the Twins front office. And, he was no longer the face of the organization. I was in college when I read this article. It broke my heart. The image that I held of him was broken.
I remained a Twins fan, but I stopped talking about how great of a guy Kirby was. When I watched ESPN break the story of his death, I was little busted up. I always knew that any person that is put on a petalstool will let you down, but when he died I felt bad for the way I totally dismissed him as a person because of a magazine article. No matter how he felt about the charitable work he did, he still did the work. He still did mountains of good for the kids in his community. He never went to the media to complain about "the organization" or his team mates. He played for the Twins his whole career, even when it was becoming popular to play the free agent market. The kids that he visited still found hope even if he felt the inconvenience of his time.

I am a fan of Kirby Puckett. He was a great player, and did more good for the people he came in contact with than I have attempted to do. I am still a Twins fan, even though I have never stepped foot in Minnesota. Hero's can let us down in the ways Jesus never will... but I don't know if Jesus ever played baseball (please understand the humor of tat statement, do no take that seriously). I am thankful for the life of Kirby Puckett. He meant a lot to me as a kid who knew he would never reach the majors, but still loved the game. I played sports because I saw it was okay to be on the field even if I wasn't most athletic. He made it easy to watch a full nine inning of ball.
Thanks Kirby.

My Brother Became My Brother

My oldest brother, Stan, lost his job over a month ago. He was building planes for a living. It was the job that he dreamed of having when he graduated from college. But, the bottom fell out and the world slapped him in the face, again. This new free time that has been given to him has offered him lots of time to think, and time to be with his young daughter. My brother has not led a charmed life by any measure.
When he was young he was constantly sick, and he even slipped into a comma for a small period. Later in his childhood, he watched my parents go trough a painful divorce. His father faded from his life, and he was forced helped my mother raise his two younger brothers. He didn’t have much time to deal with his emotions for himself. Instead for learning how to be himself, he had to help his brothers grow up. Stan went through his high school days very angry and confused about what his life meant. I watched Stan at his high school graduation come face to face with the man that he hadn’t called dad in a long time. Our father had made the trip to Texas from Florida, with his “new” family, to watch his oldest son graduate. There was a lot that both felt they needed to say to each other, but none of the words where said that night.
As Stan continued to live his life with a chip on his shoulder, he went through different jobs and different girlfriends. Life never made total sense to him. He could never understand why his life had unfolded the way had. After making the move to go to school in Waco, his long time girlfriend left him. He was left with nothing left to do except study, work, and try to forget the overwhelming feeling of rejection that life had been giving him for about 20 years.
Stan met the girl that eventually became his wife. Life didn’t become any easier when they learned that they had a baby on the way. His wife had a history of loosing a child during a pregnancy, so they braced themselves for a long nine months of uncertainty. They didn’t make it nine months, and Skylar Freeman was born a couple months premature. Over the next couple of months, Stan watched as his daughter fought for her life. Fast forward, a couple of years and Skylar has the biggest blue eyes and the goofiest grin found in the state of Texas. In this past year, Stan came face to face once again with the man that he had grown to hate. The three Freeman brothers drove to the home of their father. Making that drive, Nathan and I had no idea what would happen. When we arrived at the house, I prayed for Stan. I asked the Lord to move in the heart for these two men. And he did. There was laughter and tears of healing between a father and his oldest son. When we drove away, I heard Stan use the word “dad”.
All of these events lead to the defining moment in Stan’s life last weekend. Because he was out of work and had a world of time on his hands, my mother ushered Stan to a Christian retreat. I have spent hours and hours talking with Stan about the Lord. I have listened to Stan question the hurt in his life, and ask hard questions about the nature of our Creator.
Last night I called Stan to see how his weekend went. I listened as my brother talked to me about how the Holy Spirit moved in his heart. He spoke of humility and thankfulness. Over the weekend, my brother received the free Salvation that Jesus created on the cross. My brother became my brother in Christ. Now time can’t stop our relationship. I don’t know a lot about Heaven. Nevertheless, I believe we will know our family and friends when we get there. I am thankful for the Lord not giving up on Stan. I am hopeful that the life Stan will lead will be filled with great moments of following the Lords Will for him as a father and husband. I hope he is able to watch Skylar grow up, follow Christ, and chase her dreams.
I will say it again, because it fills me with joy, STANLEY FOWLER FREEMAN JR IS A BORN AGAIN FOLLOWER OF THE RISEN JESUS CHRIST! Thank you Lord! 

The Year In Review

My head can get clouded very easily. My view of myself is constantly getting too high or too low. My head can swell like a balloon around my personal thoughts of my goodness. I can become prideful of the stupidest parts of who I am. And on the flip side, I can force myself into the deepest, stickiest pits of low self-worth. I use the word "force" because there are time when I want to feel less than I might be. There is nothing healthy about these types of actions. What drives a person to "want" to live eye level with the dirt. Why would a person want to sink into hurt and pain? Why do I want to feel this pain of the past? To be honest, I would drather be know for shades of arrogance than to swim in pools of self loathing.
It has been a year since, what I thought was, my life walked away from me. She took her ball and went home... And I think she took some of my DVD's as well! As I look back over this "journey" to this point, I see a kid that has done a lot of growing. But there has been a lot of pain in my steps. There have been laughs and good things that have happened to me as well. I have watched the Lord move His hand in my favor. I have seen prayers answered, but not the way I asked him to answer them. And, I haven't deserved a bit of it. There is much for me to be thankful for, and I am...But my head can get clouded sometimes.
Even my moments of thankful clarity are bitter sweet. Pain stabs at wounds that haven't healed. There is comfort in the pain of the past. I think it is comferting because we own the pain. It is ours to feel and "get through". It becomes part of the person we find ourselves becoming. I find this true in my life. I keep my divorce close because it is inevitable that the wound will open again at some point... If it will be opened again, I should be the one to do it. I have to remind myself that I didn't do this to myself. I made mistakes, but leaving wasn't one of them. It has been a year...Wow! Now it's time to "move on". Time to move past what once was. Now it is time for me to allow myself to be more than the painful past. Full steam ahead... I have a feel this is going to hurt just as bad. I hope I really meant that!

Quick Question

I just want to pose a question. Where does our past stop and the future begin? Because if we are who we are today because of the past we have lived, where does the past stop? I want to fully give myself over to the possibilities that today and the future hold, but what about past that I still live in? My skin is burned from last week, so I am still wearing last week. I have grey hair caused by years of stuff, so I am constantly reminded of the past. I guess what I am trying to say is that the past doesn't stop just because the sun sets everyday. It seems to always be with me. Hard part about the past is finding a way not to allow myself to be a slave to it, because Christ has broken those chains...So why do I keep trying to put them back on?