Who?

In life the hardest thing to accept, but the thing that will make your life the easiest is that no one cares. Even the people that say they care, they really don't. Anyone can say they care, but very few will actually show it, and the longer you sit around and try and convince someone that they should care, the more time you waste. You can't make someone care, if they don't want to do what it takes then nothing in this world will ever convince them otherwise, and the quicker you can accept that, the quicker you can move on with your life. Does it make it not hurt? No. Does it solve all of your problems? No. But it takes away the false hope, the misplaced expectations, and the bitterness of always giving and never receiving. It's almost as I write this that I'm trying to convince myself this is true...I know no one will ever read this anyways so it really doesn't matter. But the truth is that there is only one person that won't let you down, and that's Jesus Christ. Knowing that you just have to find someone who knows they will mess up, who knows you will mess up, and will be willing to mess up with you, and never doubt you or who you are. Someone who believes that service comes before self, and that sacrifice brings blessing.

Prison

With silver swords of fire they allow no evil to pass, but allow all to enter. They are mighty warriors...They are our guardians. His angels, sent to watch over us. I can hear them, they scream out my name. I hear the scratching of their claws on the roof as they try so desperately to get in. BUt to no avail. Im safe, I'm secure, Im here, in his arms. I see the hard part ahead, I still feel the pain...I still feel the burdens. Even though my demons are locked out I have to drop my burdens at his feet. You see, no matter how long I'm here, or how many times I come, nothing will make those burdens disappear except me choosing to drop them at the cross. But every time I try and speak my mouth goes dry... I hesitate, I rethink my plan. I want them gone, but can I humble myself enough to do that, Im right at the edge, my mind is on the verge, and at the last moment I find the courage to speak. I've said the words before, and so I say them again. As I will for forever, as I pulled back my flesh to reveal my slow beating, blackened heart, I felt his hand touch my chin and gently life my head. I felt the warmth of his loving gaze, and the searing power resonating through his finger tips. they shocked my skin ever so slightly, and in that moment I knew that I was his, and that I was forgiven. That emptiness that I had tried so desperately to fill with idols and demons was gone and I was made whole...In that moment I was made new. Yet with this new found forgiveness they didn't go away. I could still sense their evil presence outside of his walls. So I bowed before him and felt the steel of his blade on my shoulders and suddenly I felt a burning pain in my chest and looked down to see his name burned on my heart.

And I felt the tremble in my soul, I looked up on clouds of thunder and saw them. Riding horses of pure silver, I dropped my shovel in fear. I begged them to see...I cried out that they might open their eyes and see the war before them. My requests were rejected, I turned to run, no idea where, but I had to get away. Every where I looked they followed me, their eyes of dark fire burning in my soul. I raced through the rain soaked woods, over the old mill bridge I stopped, out of breath. I looked left and right, my eyes frantically searching for any sign, any shadow.Then suddenly I was back, shovel in hand. I looked down at my hands, stained brown from weed sap. I could see the world before me, in flashes of light, as if in a dream. I slowly raised my eyes, the clouds were darkening over head, yet they were still there, riding to and fro, their horses shimmered in the light, their scarlet capes flapped with the wing. Their riding was far from frantic, no, it was deliberate. A battle was brewing, and I knew I'd be the only one to see it.

Maybe it was the lights, or the heat, but the sanctuary was rejecting my soul. I was at a constant argument between spirit and body. I didnt want to be here, but it was sunday. Was I fulfilling an obligation, or my hearts desire? the pastors words fell loosely on my ears, my mind was somewhere between work and baseball. I looked up in time to see the pastors eye on me as he said, "this is the will of God, that by doing good you may put to silence the ignorance of foolish men." I looked away quickly, he couldn't know...could he? What was wrong with me I thought...Why me!? Why now!? I didnt want to leave the church, I knew what waited for me outside. I could smell the darkness smouldering and growing stronger day by day. There was no relief outside of the church, I carried it everywhere, they were everywhere. here I was again, sweat dripping down my face, dirt caked in the creases of my arms as I moved shovel after shovel. My mind drifted back and fourth, I was as close to peace as I could get outside of the sanctuary. Yet it still lingered, like it always did, or nawed, slowly taking over my brain. Some days the pain was worse, others it remained tolerable, but there voices followed me everywhere, some haunting , some daunting. I shook my head, returning to my reality at hand, "this dirt wont move itself," I said. I set my mind to work ignoring the voices as best I could, simply trying to accomplish my tasks. With each strike of the shovel I could feel it building up inside of me. It was boiling, growing, till suddenly I threw my shovel down in anger. I cried out and fell to my knees. My eyes traced the ground until my gaze was skyward, "why!?" I screamed. I frantically clawed at my shirt, and  begged him to take it away, but he didn't answer. I was exhausted, tears rolled down my cheeks. Tears of pain, tears of anger, tears for them...They had no idea what kind of terror was soon to come. I got cleaned up just enough so I could comfortably take a nap. My eyes closed and my breathing slowed as I fell into a deep sleep. I heard a trumpet, loud and magnificent, near, but I could see nothing. Till suddenly I was swept up, it seems like wing as it carried me, we were out over the ocean, racing at speeds faster than any man could imagine, and suddenly we went up, and I watched as the earth vanished into a blue circle. Planets and stars flew by, we began to slow, I looked behind me and could see the whole universe. I was surrounded by darkness, I heard another trumpet, this one farther away. Without warning the darkness below me started to break and a red fiery light shined through, and thats when I heard them. It started as a distant shriek, almost a wail. The pain that the noise carried was haunting, as it grew louder the chasm opened wider and I started falling. My arms flailed about, the screaming got louder, I could feel my skin burning. I sat up suddenly, drenched in sweat and shaking. I looked around my room, the dull glow from my computer faintly lit up one corner, the whirl of my fan kept the silence at bay. Almost on Que the shadows started to move, ever so slightly at first, and then faster, quicker, darting back and forth, I could barely begin to make out shapes as the inched closer to my bed. Suddenly they enveloped me, I could hear their whispers, some were cries for help, others were pleas for mercy. What was a dream, and what was reality? Could I continue on like this? How did he expect me to carry this weight? they tore at my sould, I had to get out, I had to get away. I grabbed my bible and ran out the door down the street. Before I knew it I was on the old dirt path, running through the pines. Wherever there were shadows they were there. Only the strong ones dared the light. I ran faster, pushing my stride out. Sweat poured off my body, they lept from tree to tree leaving behind a charred trail. everything they touched turned to ash. They were nothing but destruction. I didn't know where I was going, nor did I care. I had to confront them, but I wanted it to be at my choosing. I slowed my pace to a jog, I could hear them catching up, they were like a school of sharks, and I was the blood. "come to us,"they cried, "you won't survive, give up now."One taunted. I stopped and spun around, facing them head on, I clenched my fists for the impact that I knew was coming. I could see the fire in their eyes. They circled me, surrounding me with their darkness. I looked toward heaven and let out a deep cry...there was no answer, I could feel the sharp pain as they sunk their claws into me. One by one. I fell to my knees, the pain was to much, breath by breath their evil overcame my soul, blackness encircled me until I could see no more. My mind went blank, I felt my face hit the damp pine needles, and then I was out.

Worthy

I had awoken at last, the clock on my nightstand read 7:21, I couldn't remember getting in bed...Much less how I got home. My memory was a smoky haze of flashes of light, and my clothes smelled like sulfur. I stumbled into my kitchen, only to find it a mess, as usual. Between the nightmares and visions the last thing I was worried about was cleaning. As my eyes searched the countertop for a clean glass I noticed something I hadn't seen before, on the corner of my island was a small leather notepad. I curiously reached for it and folded back the cover, the front page read, "surely I am coming quickly." I quickly flipped to the next page, it was blank, as were all the others. Were had this book came from? Why were the pages blank?
I ate a bowl of cereal in a rush, and ran out my front door, the clouds were getting bigger, darker. I had to go back to the church, I had to get some kind of clarity. I jumped on my bike and headed down the road, it was awkwardly quiet for a Tuesday morning. I cruised into the parking lot, relieved that no one was there so that I could think in peace. The old wooden floor creaked and groaned as I stepped into the sanctuary. The walls were lined with pews, the windows had painted glass of different bible scenes, and behind the pulpit was a large cross, as I shut the door I exhaled slowly, it felt good to be somewhere safe, away from it all.
I fell to my knees in an exhausted slump, my heart was heavy, my mind was weary, and my shoulders heaped forward from the weight. I stared up at the cross, unable to find words, I imagined what it was like, how it felt. My body jolted, I could see it, my hands felt warm, I looked down to seem them covered in blood, my wrists began to burn, I gasped for breath. What was happening!? There it was again, I could see him, on the cross, his breathing was labored, blood dripped and oozed from his wounds, his face showed pain and sorrow, but his eyes read resolve. I watched mortified as a shadowy figure arose and walked slowly forward, my vision faded in and out, but I stayed focused on the cross, the figure bent down to pick something up, and then with a sudden movement pierced the side of the man on the cross. I screamed in pain, my vision faded clouded, in my head I could hear his voice, desperately, but with determination he cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” At this moment I could see the darkness begin to crumble away, I heard trumpets in the distance mixed with valiant war cries, and then it was gone. I looked around the sanctuary, I was still alone. I felt exhausted, my hands were shaking uncontrollably and my clothes were drenched with sweat. I wanted to ask myself what this meant, but deep down inside I knew the answer. I remembered the leather notepad I had put in the back pocket of my pants, I reached  and pulled it out. The first page still read, "surely I am coming quickly," I turned it to the second page, expecting to find it blank, much to my surprise it now read, "Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. 12 In a loud voice they were saying:" “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!”

The Ledger.

If someone were to keep a ledger of sin we would all find our names inside. But if someone were to burn that ledger, nay, if someone were to erase every trace of our name from that ledger, and replace it with their own name, taking full responsibility and account for every sin each and every one of us has committed, therein  purging our existence of helplessness and providing us a path toward redemption what would we do? In writing this I may only speak for myself, and therefore I can tell you only what I would do, or should I say, what I have done. I've lived my life carelessly, allowing mistake after mistake to haunt who I am. I have allowed my nightmares in my past, to dictate who I am today. You see, I've allowed my guilt, yes that bitter feeling of worthlessness and pain, to control who I've become. Instead of accepting my shame before that ledger, and humbling myself to the point of acknowledgement, that I am worth the price that was paid for my name to be erased from that ledger. I've allowed that guilt to grow, to manifest itself inside of me, just as a cancerous cell attacks other cells, so have I allowed guilt to sweep through my veins like a poisonous venom. In doing so I've watched parts of my life turn to dust and fall away, I've watched as this demon of a feeling has sucked the joy from my soul, I've watched as it literally turned me against myself. Taking things I once used for good, and using them to destroy good. The worst part about this is that it isn't my guilt...It's guilt that was forgotten when my name was erased from that ledger. It is a mutated version of shame, my shame before the eraser of that ledger. What I'm trying to say is that guilt isn't from our maker, its not of the creator. Our guilt is a monster of the sinful destroyer, a tool, taken from what is good, and made into what is bad. But in our drunken self-righteous stupor, were lost. From the beginning of existence we have allowed this means of ruin to define us, even when all it would take is one simple act, one simple commitment  to eradicate the assassin of good. We fail to remember that it wasn't just an eraser, it was murder, the act that so quickly erased our names and accepted our blame. With every beating, with every cursing, every kick, and with each beat of the hammer our guilt was taken account of, with three piercing nails, with cry's ignored, our guilt was nailed to that board, and in doing so, our maker took every feeling of guilt, every judging thought, every sinful act against his temple, and laid them on the only thing of perfection to walk this earth, his Son. Through that price for eternity we were cleansed before God, made new in him, to be of him, not in sin.

Regrettably we forget this story of sacrifice, we choose to pretend that we are him, not, made by him. You see, we will never be perfect, and we will never have control over what happens to us no matter how much we think we are in control. But lucky for us are names aren't in that ledger, lucky for us, every day is new, every minute is new, every moment of every day is a new opportunity to humble ourselves before him, and acknowledge that he is the one creator, the eraser, our savior...

Direct my path

Some days I wish I could understand the difference between doing what I want, what I’m called to do, and what’s realistic. All I want is to do something meaningful, to feel needed, without the frivolity of it all, without the requirements, the restrictions. At what point does it become stupidity? At what point does faith turn in to blindness, or does it? I know there is no limit to what God can do, but is there a limit to how much we can trust him as human beings? I’m talking about the kind of trust that allows me to leave everything and follow him, the kind of trust that allows me to live without worrying about finances, jobs, everything. In my mind I live in a world where I can go and do and be whoever or whatever I want. One where nothing holds me back, where I can trust solely in God. But outside of my mind I live in a world where I am held back by people’s expectations, requirements, and opinions. Most days I just want to run away, live my own life, do my own thing, away from all of this nonsense, away from the world. Other days I live in a constant state of panic in a last ditch effort to try and understand my place in it all, to understand where I fit in. Proverbs 3:5-6, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths.” I guess the answer lies in that verse, and this one, James 4:7, “Therefore submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you.” We will never see what is from God, until we submit ourselves to God and become of God, then he will direct our paths. It’s like trying to listen to the radio and watch the television at the same time. Matthew 6:24, “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be loyal to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.”

Writing

Sometimes my writing is the only thing that keeps me sane, I wish that I could figure out how to put everything in my mind on to paper. Sadly that isn't possible, but I suppose that is what makes writing so intriguing, it isn't easy, it takes practice, and lots of thought. But writing can be some mysterious...so mystical, so magical. Words have the power to change attitudes, persuade minds, depict history, and change history. I have always wondered what I would be like to just up and leave. To forget about everything and go on a journey, an adventure of sorts. In this century everything that we do has to be thought out, or logical. But why can't we just go do things for no reason at all. Why can't we just do things to do them?

The most beautiful thing about life is that everything, everyone, tells a story. Sometimes with their eyes, sometimes the clothes they wear, even the rhythm of their walk. These stories are what we pass on from generation to generation. Many times they are lessons learned, and lessons taught. Some of these stories are jovial, some sorrowful, but everyone has a story, and each person is waiting for their story to be told. Everyone just wants someone to believe in them. These adventures, as one could call them, come from every walk of life, and from every background, and just like a book they have a beginning, and an end. However, we have been given the gift of being able to write our own story, all beginning with the choices and decisions that we make. I don’t believe in fate. I believe that everything happens for a reason, sometimes our stories have tragic endings, sometimes they have tragic beginnings, but our stories, much like those of Hollywood, all carry a message. They all have a purpose, a reason why. For us that reason why is the reason that everything happens for a reason. Everything we do, everything we say, becomes words on paper, like a writer and his thoughts, they become words, hidden from the eye, unseen to many, but visible to a few. It doesn’t take a college education to see these stories, or to even be able to read them. What it takes is a heart of understanding, empathy, and passion. We are not the judges, we are not the jury, whether you believe in a higher power or not, what would give us the right to try, sentence, and convict another person? No, we are all equals, and as equals we are all entitled to the same basic rights, the same principles of freedom. So with that I challenge you to read people’s stories, to see where they are from, where they have been, and where they are going. We are all the same, we are on a journey, some near the end, some far away, but each with a story to be told. Life isn’t about everything being perfect, life is simply about living. It is about taking the opportunities that you have, and living them to the fullest. History is laced with tales of bravery, sacrifice, tragedy, and victory, but the real stories are the abstract ideas, the things we can’t touch, taste, or see; only the things we can feel. They are the passion, the commitment, the honor, the service. They are that feeling deep down in your heart that cannot be moved, they are resolved, resilient in more ways than one. If there was a way to avoid the mistakes, to live without the pain and the hurt, then I would be the first person to support it. But those mistakes we make… the pain that we feel, that is what makes us human, and keeps us who we are.