Seeds of Hope

 It was 17 degrees out and my toes were numb.  I was watching the sun peek over the horizon and the rays begin to bring the slightest warmth to frozen ash and blackened trees.  There was still some smoke arising in different places towards the sky.

What makes 9 out of 10 houses burn down to the foundation while another stands tall and unscathed?What makes a life survive where others are taken away?

I was serving in Gatlinburg Saturday with Grant and one of his friends to help in the fire recovery for families.  Serving on the front line is something that is an adventure and also a way to give support to those who need it.  It's a way to bring Hope to those who need it most.  Hope has many origins...it can be as simple as a smile and listening to a survival story....it can be as simple as shoveling the ash and removing everything out of the home for those in need by just serving.

I've been to the front line for hurricane relief and flood relief...never to fire relief work.

 What starts the same is upon arrival to the site the work looks daunting and larger than what can be attainable.

It's not really about the work though...that always gets accomplished...

It's about a place for the owner to share their story...telling our stories validates who we are and the scars we have endured. It also help us begin to heal.

Debbie started sharing and while I didn't want to crowd her with so many pressing in to listen...but I wanted to hear her story--to honor what she had endured and valiantly survived.  The fire was closing in all around her home.  She stated that only two homes on her road were occupied that week--an older neighbor across the street and herself.  She was scared...She felt she was running out of time so she got in the car and the power garage door wouldn't open...so she threw it in reverse and smashed through the door--quite brilliantly.

There was burning debris all around especially pieces of metal roofing coming off and wrapping around trees or hitting the road.  Power lines were down all around...The roads on that mountain are narrow and windy...she was driving too quickly in her haste swerved and rolled the car down an embankment and onto its roof.

She managed to regain her composure, pulled herself out of the car window and ran back a block to the neighbor's home looking for help or a way to get down the mountain.  The neighbor was gone.  She was out in the dead end culdesac looking for help.  She dialed 911--guess what?  She was told they had no way to get to her at this point. They told her she was on her own.

She said she threw water from her water bottle on herself and scooped up her cat and she stretched her arms out and around the animal to provide protection.  She watched the house explode in the intense heat.  Somehow--miraculously the fire moved on and she survived with minimal burns.  It's amazing she is alive today and she is grateful. As she stated "I'm nobody special...I didn't do anything to deserve this."

It's an interesting conclusion to her story.  The stories we tell state a lot about who we are and who we think we are.

Later in the day I was talking with her mother Betty.  I stated I was sorry for her loss (the home) and without batting an eye --looked straight squarely into my eyes and with a big grin stated "we have everything that matters--our daughter is with us."

Somehow a rescue mission had given them $100.00 as part of the rescue and housing them in the shelter.  Do you know what they did with that money?  They wanted to take the rescue team out for dinner for all of the work and kindness show to them. Here were people that had lost so much financially and yet they were giving....

Scooping out ash 3' deep down to the foundation and pulling out all of the metal and spikes, nails...it was work but it was a good work--the kind that leaves me with a tiredness that something good happened there that neither side will soon forget.

I was looking at the outline of a wobbly chimney and a foundation and some cinder blocks...a complete loss....but Betty had it right...they had their daughter alive and life is precious...there was no price for that recovery..it was priceless.

The images are burned into my mind forever...out of respect for these families and the lives lost in other stories connected to these fires--I will not post pictures or cheapen the horror they went through.

I disagree with Debbie's analysis at the end of her story though.  That she survived is amazing and now that she has--she is destined and now challenged to write the next chapter of her own story--and to make it originate out of that place where she is...grateful and thankful.

Hope planted some new seeds today...who is to say what will grow from that?!

untended gardens

What do I mean--untended gardens? That's a strange title....

Yes it is....

I was out cleaning up the yard and fixing things up today when I noticed something peculiar. I had pulled out all of the tomato plants and cucumber plants in September....In fact I pulled out everything and started cutting up firewood and stacking it all where the garden once stood, getting ready for more campfires in the backyard.

I value the stone fire ring that Grant and I built together.  It represents a dream fulfilled for me --and magical things always happen around the campfire--whether it be thoughts, dreams or deep conversations, there is no denying the magic that occurs there...and so I was stocking up preparing for more of those good things.

As I was cutting up a few more limbs for the stock of firewood I noticed we now had four firewood stacks of wood outlining the entire space of the garden except the very middle of the square.

Inside that square was a pepper plant that was on it's side and practically uprooted.  It now had 6 green peppers on it ready to harvest bright green and glistening in the sun.  There was second plant buried under the weight of the the first plant also on its side and it had another 3 baby peppers.  The garden was yielding what I had not tended...what I was not weeding or supporting...was not watering or guiding to grow up straight and tall.

As I turned in wonder at what I was gaining in my harvest for the day--I realized other plants were growing up through stacks of firewood as well.  At last count I had one flowering cucumber plant, 5 tomato plants and a cantaloupe vine reaching out--pushing up though a mess of wood covering it almost completely....yet it had found life...and a chance to push through the mess to reach up to the light...up towards the sky.

As I think back on my hard work and efforts to weed and grow a garden this spring and summer...I harvested much from that hard work.  Now I am harvesting what I haven't tended, haven't toiled for...yet it is mine...mine to enjoy and to smile upwards and outwards.

I love the lessons I learn from the seasons and the garden this year.

Adam had two jobs in his life....To name things in his world as a man...and to tend to the garden.  Sometimes I can hear the question "how am I tending the garden?" and know with confidence I am on target and changing the world...

Lately I have felt more that I am off the mark from my intentions...and not tending the garden very well.

Today again reminds me of the tidal wave of grace I am receiving in many ways--and the presents that grace yields.  Although I want and strive to be intentional about all things in life...I fall short of the mark in many ways.  Sometimes we are blessed with a harvest we never planted nor tended to intentionally.

And the reminder in this for me today?

It's not all up to me...

I need this reminder frequently--so I can have grace and forgiveness for myself...and forgiveness and grace for others.

It's not all up to me...

I just need to do my part.  The part that's in front of me...not everything...not save the world...just this part now...even if that part is harvesting untended gardens.

the swingset

 For my youngest daughter Kelly Hope it was a safe haven and a place she could always be found.  Through the emotional ups and downs of her teenage years--if she wasn't in the house she could be found swinging in the backyard under the big sycamore tree singing to herself and listening to her music.

As I was cutting the lawn the last two weeks I came to the realization of a sad fact...

The space underneath the swing was no longer as bald of a patch of dirt--grass and weeds were beginning to grow there and I had never seen those sights before.  It occurred to me that she was no longer gliding on the wind and singing to herself in her own safe place in the world...a place where she was the singing star--honing her talent singing to an audience of crickets, lightning bugs, rays of sunshine and an occasional fox or squirrel.

You see...everything eventually changes and we are left with the reality of the present.  Some changes and some new realities are welcomed...many times we are left longing for the past.

I stopped mowing the lawn to reminisce of the many, many years she would ride the swing without a care...the time of drama where she was burdened by acceptance and finding her place amongst groups at school...thought about her belting out a song's lyrics with precision and melodic passion.

The swingset had been there for all of it...a witness to the passing of time and coming of age. An audience member for the songs of years of melodies...

I am writing this now thinking about what my "swingset" in life growing up would be?  What and where was my place of creativity, safety and dreaming?

Was it the sun drenched summer days of endless fishing adventures in the Tohickon creek? Endless hours of shooting hoops in the driveway dreaming of playing playoff games against imaginary foes?  Playing softball and running like the wind with speed and reckless abandon?  Playing trumpet softly and sweetly to a self composed tune in my basement with the greatest of passion?

We all have had places--someplace that was that place of safety and dreaming...every now and then as we grow older there comes something of a ghost calling to us from the present age...something that reminds us --hey--it's ok to still dream...it could a trip to the beach and hearing the rolling ocean waves...the beauty of a walk in the wooded park...sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking majestic views....whatever it is...go there...go there and dream again and remember you were created for more than working long hours and solving problems at work....we need to unplug in the right ways to recharge and center ourselves...with our families...our challenges in life..and with our God.

We were created to unplug and sometimes to again find our "swingset" --and love and dream.  It actually makes us better able to re-engage the world and the challenges facing us each day. Ecclesiastes 3---a time for everything.

"even if he doesn't..."

"Mr. Taylor--your daughter is in the hands of God now..."

Of course she is in the hands of God I thought..."He has her--there is nothing more for you to do..."
I loved this doctor--he was so kind throughout...and observant.  My daughter was in a coma...not a calm one mind you...there is much more to this story than what I can pen to a blog today...it is a full chapter in our lives.

This doctor meant well...he really did.  You see--more than 80% of patients that arrive at the ICU--do not leave alive--or have even a remote chance for a happy ending. That's not a statistic I researched on the Internet --it is from talking with the nurses in the ICU throughout long stretches of time during sleepless nights.

I thought--I am really having this conversation..."we have to begin thinking shortly about whether to continue life support or not..."  Wow--we really ARE having this conversation now.

Up until now I had believed in a miracle but with each day that my daughter fought restraints and broke restraints with her strength--yet remained unconscious through test after test--and MRI's, and many more tests I don't recall the exact technical terms for..checking her brain activity and possible bleeding on the brain....my hope was fading...now I had taken a full frontal cannon fire to the remnant of hope that remained in my heart.

As I flipped through my bible that sleepless night I came across a story that peaked my interest.  I was looking for a crumb of hope to cling to like a life preserver. It was Daniel Chapter 3--I stumbled across.  Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego...they refused to bow down to the king's gold statue and so they were to be bound and thrown into a blazing furnace.

"If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God whom we serve is able to save us. He will rescue us from your power. But--even if he doesn't..." 

What-?! --don't say THAT...
And so there it was--even if he doesn't... So many begging prayers from others hurting...
For the family begging that Alzheimer's would be banished and their family member healed...
For the family that has a member stricken with mental illness--praying for peace and healing...
For the family where autism distorts the day and keeps a child from seeing and filtering actual truth and relaxing in who they are...
For the family begging that depression loosen its grip on a loved one...
For the family battling cancer for one of their loved ones--and begging God for a miracle...
For the family begging for the health of a child...

So many prayers...
All people desiring the miraculous in the middle of the mundane and even cruel world that has all but stopped as everything slows when the most important things raise themselves up in front of us---the fragility of life.

I began to wonder in my heart that if God didn't heal her--would I still speak of his greatness--his power--even his plans for my life?

Where else is there to turn...I could ache and hurt in my heart--even be angry if this went badly--but I did not blame God...I only wanted to understand why a healing could not or should not happen?  I called a few of my closest friends and asked the question "what purpose could God have for this other than to miraculously heal her--and her life be used in a way--as a purpose--to point back to the healer of the broken?!

The next day I was not myself...I was lost--without hope.  The past 6 years I had built my life on the rock foundation that I had a hope--and for the first time in all of this--even all 11 days of her being in a coma I found myself looking at reality and soaking in "even if he doesn't..."  I went through work--had short conversations with others--some not even knowing what was going on--they flashed strange looks and had no idea of the weight on my shoulders as the family leader, the one who sets the trajectory for the rest of the family...

Saturday we celebrated our other daughter's sweet 16 by leaving the hospital--all of us--and traveling into Nashville and eating out at a restaurant and even taking a horse and carriage ride downtown.  The guilt I felt knowing my other daughter was lying in a coma alone--while I also needed to be happy for my other daughter--this would always be in her mind--I couldn't lose her by scarring her memories to be treasured for the future...

As I rushed back from dinner alone as it was my turn to be on duty overnight (we were taking turns) it was right back into the fire--but the break had eased a little of the effects of the sleepless nights.  My daughter was anything but at peace as every 10 to 15 minutes would bring spasms similar to a seizure although we were told they were not seizures.

At about 430 AM I went home to get showered and back before morning rounds,  Because it was Sunday morning we would be coming back together.  I left the room...it was a retreat from the shambles of a torn apart bed and broken daughter's body fighting everything -fighting peace.

While showering I was playing some soaking praise music to try to soak in some new hope for the day that lay ahead of us.

When we arrived back at the room--it was as if I had come to the wrong room.  This girl in the room was at peace. She was calm and sleeping beautifully.  The nurse (a hero to us for everything she did) had her hair showered and clean--all combed out.  She even put her own hair band to make a pony tail. I felt the peace at that moment...

I prayed as I sat on the couch next to her...and as I prayed I heard the words "great joy."
Michelle--I'm telling you this so that someone believes me if it is to come true--I heard the words "great joy." I thought in my head--did I really hear this or did I place those words in my own mind?  Do we ever really know?  I hoped it would be true.

A little hope can do a lot... bring energy, patience, the paradigm shifts and even the sun shining becomes a little brighter.

The doctor came in for her rounds.  We want to try to excavate the breathing tube she said.  They all tried valiantly but my daughters body just would not cooperate...
The nurse had an idea...her body is fighting the total removal-but if we can get her vitals, breathing and pressure lower we might have a better chance.

All day long-each hour that nurse dialed back the pressure...she worked on her all day long--and my daughter stayed calm and slept still...that peace gave me some peace.  At about 1:30 we asked what she thought..."I think in two hours when they make last rounds that we have a chance to be ready" she said.

In the back of my mind--I also knew that that was only the first step and we would need her to open her eyes and follow a few voice commands or there would be no further attempts to remove the breathing and feeding tubes.

As the late afternoon shadows creeped onto the windows of the room--I clung to my growing hope that something was different about today...even the words I had received--which were different from the usual day so far...something was just different...and different at this point was welcome.

As the doctor entered the room our nurse had dialed back the last click to where all of the machines and readings needed to be.

The doctor tried to awaken her to get her eyes open and to obey a command. "Haileigh.....I want you to wake up--open your eyes...open your eyes and look at me."  No response.  She tried 3x...no response.  The long line of students that accompanied the doctor began an unceremonious procession out of our room.

"Wait" I found myself saying.  "I am the only voice she responded to and that was 8 days ago--but she did listen to me...please let me try."

Not waiting for the agreement I started..."Haileigh....squeeze my hand" now I had been holding her hand through spasm after spasm...I know what a clenched fist is versus squeezing just one side.  I felt the squeeze and everyone saw it...but they dismissed it quickly.  I said "Haileigh...now squeeze this hand and gave her other side a squeeze..come one squeeze this side."  Suddenly I felt the other side squeeze back.  The procession stopped dead--the line reversed direction...something was happening and we all knew it.

"Haileigh--now I need a thumbs up--come on --a thumbs up"....a
her right hand raised about an inch or two and a trembling thumb began a slow, shaking turning upwards."  The doctor and students let out a simultaneous ROAR of joy.

Last thing Haileigh--I need you to open your eyes.  Now this girl had more flashlights checking her eyes the past twelve days and none of it looked good--eyes unable to focus, darting back and forth, completely dilated...but now...one eye began to open small at first--the most beautiful blue eyes looking back at me.

Once that happened the doctor and staff jumped in and pulled those tubes out...they worked diligently to get her breathing on her own.  So much to the story--so many interactions that I couldn't share in a small blog.

Suddenly there was "GREAT JOY" as promised--it was delivered.

From the joy of that moment--I have travelled to a place of guilt as I realized my desperate prayers were answered and I never had to answer the full realization of "even if he doesn't..."

From Anne Voskamp's blog I read a few sentences that resonate within my soul--and complete what I need to say..."no one enters into the real joy of the Lord in spite of the hard times---but squarely through the door of the hard times."

paraphrased: And so even if the next time it doesn't go my way---and what I beg for doesn't happen....I am still His beloved son...

Even if He doesn't--He still is ...
His will is right and His heart is still good...

Even if He doesn't--He does give enough--himself...

Even if He doesn't --He does still love us...
Even if He doesn't I will still believe--there is no where else to go and take these prayers.

And so the things that we fear the most produce the deepest faith within us and change us forever.

It might have looked different.

It was supposed to, it could have, and it may next time---
yet even if he doesn't....

dodging Joy

                                               
   From my own junior high and high school experience...I remember playing the infamous game of dodge ball.  I was really good at staying in the back and ducking, jumping and using fast reflexes to avoid the bigger kids throws.  After getting to be the last player a couple games in a row I remember how a disgusted player from my own team told me I wasn't a real player.  Well I was a real player--but not 100% "all in" might be a better description.

--Although dodge ball isn't my life--I draw a parallel to how I played it....

I have discovered a truth about how I live and how I engage JOY.  I have watched many other people and I have noticed some similarities in talking with others about how they handle "the good times" or periods of joy in their lives.

Almost every time without fail I don't live out--feeling the full 100% of Joy that's been given and is standing face to face with me.

At first when I realized this I thought about how and why--and what's this about? I think I handle it like dodge ball, jumping away from the full effects, ducking, and shielding it away with other balls to stay alive in the game of life--never taking that head on shot.

Well it's been going on for a while and here's the deal...I believe that if I don't fully go all in with the joy--then somehow the difficult times when they come again (--and they come again for all of us) I will also not get both barrels of that blast straight on--avoid a direct head on shot. Somehow I will get a diminished or reduced life changing event.

"It's a deal with the devil" as Brene Brown writes in her book "Rising Strong"--"and the devil never pays...when we deny our stories and disengage from the emotion--it means choosing to live our lives in the dark. "

 The imagery of darkness is something I know all too well...Sometimes I feel like Bane in the movie--The Dark Knight Rises--comparing my level of darkness by quoting "you merely befriended the darkness---....I was born in it."

However--When we decide to own our own stories and live our truth, we bring light to the darkness.

That doesn't mean it's easy street--even long after naming it aloud--but it does mean we get to live transparent warts and all.  It does mean putting myself out there--and fully living in the joy of the moment...with no waiting for the other shoe to drop mentality...just living in the now--breathing and taking it all in.  Whatever this holiday season brings and moving forward I want to be courageous enough to really live "all in."

I don't want to dodge real joy a minute longer when it presents itself...I want to take in every ounce as a gift knowing it is a great gift that can't protect me from future pain--it's just today's gift.

When I think about living this way, I think about Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting---a young man with an extended smart answer for everything except not being able to commit "all in" with his emotions...

In the final scene Ben Afleck shows up to pick up his friend for work---but he's not there....he is embracing joy in all of it's uncertainty for tomorrow as he drives across the country to chase after a woman he loves..."ALL IN"

the last conversation

  This week is a difficult week for me.  You see it is the anniversary of the day my day passed away--Dec. 5th.

My dad and I had a rocky relationship...most of the time I craved his approval but I felt I didn't like the things he liked--and wasn't interested in the things he was--especially chores or fixing things around the house.  His length of focus in hanging in with hopelessly lengthy projects long exceeded my puny attempts at hanging in with him.  Mostly I wanted to be beyond his arm length in case he lost patience--which was far more of a concern.

Oh there were many issues and I could write about it from so many angles but they really won't change the story or where it intersects my own story.

My dad went in for an operation in June and all of my siblings went to see him...it was a serious operation.  I couldn't afford to go...I lost the opportunity to speak with him for the last time.

I did see my dad in November as all of my brothers and sisters gathered around him on a ventilator breathing machine to celebrate his and mom's anniversary.  He had been on the machine for months with many setbacks and infections and his lungs were just too weak from years of smoking.

I had him alone with everyone temporarily leaving the room.

These are the kind of moments that are made of courage--even if it doesn't end up with the result I want--I thought. If I don't speak up I'll be one of those men forever stuck by my own paralysis of action.

Dad, things didn't always go how I wanted, or how you wanted...some things have come out wrong...some actions came out wrong...but I want you to hear me that--I forgive you.

Forgiveness is a strange thing.  I didn't really feel it when I spoke the words to him, but I had to speak it while I had time.  Having believed this would release him from his mistakes in parenting me, or use of discipline that scared the life out of me and unplugged me emotionally as I attempted to build walls to keep me safe from everyone....something different happened.

Over time I realized forgiveness actually frees the forgiver much more than the forgiven. I guess had I read some books on forgiveness I could have come to this conclusion quicker...but our own stories always sear the lessons into our minds forever much more effectively.

I also realized that forgiveness is a decision that needs to be made daily.  You see, I could relapse into an unforgiving angry spirit--even after pledging my forgiveness--and many days I did.  It's not a perfect trail, it has many peaks and valleys.

I remember my dad once sharing that he was the baby of the family (many years younger than his 3 siblings) and I realized for the first time my dad was probably a "surprise" baby late in life. He had a father (my grandfather) who had been told by his dad (my great grandfather) "this farm isn't big enough for the two of us" and so he left South Denisville, NJ for the city of Philadelphia.  He never received his father's blessing as he embarked out on his journey of life and he had never passed one on to my father either.  No surprise that the story of generations of broken dads continued to my own story.

I realized something long ago--that I do believe he was doing the best he can do--given his situation and the tools available to him.  That doesn't make it ok--everything that happened...it really doesn't change any of the other characters but myself--it makes my heart feel more whole.

 When I believe that he did the best he could--it grants grace...and I'm the one who looks through a different lens.

The conversation wasn't perfect or even all that articulate...but it would be our final conversation--and in the absence of my father's voice I found I had a voice.  How the discovery of my own voice making noises--made me want to growl at the injustice...instead I granted the grace as best as I could.

Dad--with every year that you have been gone I long to have meaningful conversations with you...ones where we share our stories more. I want you to know that I'm sorry you never received what you needed or your dad's blessing--I know you desired it. I want you to know that I have one major thing I am proud of in my life---with this generation the story is being rewritten in the Taylor family.  I am passing on grace ---and creating a relationship with my son that would make you proud. I have given him words of encouragement and life.

The chains are broken with this generation and the story's ending is yet to be determined....but the trajectory has promise.

One day we will share new stories and you are free to whistle as many tunes as you want--it makes you happy.

My Dad shared a dream with me...he wasn't a man with grandiose aspirations...he told me he would feel happy and complete if he could own and run a small soft serve ice cream stand.  This probably sounds sacrilegious to some of you---I shared that with a friend this week--my belief is that he (dad) is in heaven and running that soft serve shop and talking with others welcoming them all into the heavenly courtyard-and believing that I can't help but smile that dad is now living out a dream...

the value of intergrity

                                                 The value of Integrity

 It is my opinion that men don't understand the purpose or value of integrity today.
In fact, I believe most men avoid looking at it seriously at all costs--it's too uncomfortable to have to look at this.

 Let me clean that statement up--I didn't see the purpose or value in my own integrity.

 That all changed one Monday night in 2010 as I came face to face with the wake of my own integrity--or lack of it.

 I went to that Monday night...clearing round...and then the integrity round.

 There's nothing like a crisis in a man's life to bring him to looking at making changes--to throttle him into movement...and I was throttled.

 I tried to muster up the voice and courage to get to my feet.  I headed to the center of the circle to face everyone.  I had always heard "the circle is strong enough for that" but was it strong enough for the good, the bad, and the ugliness of this?

 I had no choice--I had already lost my job, lost my reputation, my family's respect and my credibility.

 I confessed it all to that circle of men...it all came out...it sounded ghastly...it sounded depraved and awful...when I was finished I stood there, head down and full of shame...I was looking into the hardest place--the mirror. My integrity was ugly rags that couldn't cover me.

 I remember looking out at some of the men and seeing some faces that were angry and disapproving, others in shock and I couldn't look at them in the face so I bowed my head.  This can't be happening I thought...this can't be where and how my story ends...this isn't who I'm supposed to be.

 Some men indeed were angry at me....some never spoke to me again after that night.  One man cleared with me months later. Many men to my surprise decided to walk this journey out with me...and that was more than I had expected.

 I still stood in the center of the circle..shirt soaked with sweat, my head burning up and yet I was chilled by the AC that had kicked on. I longed for tears to shower me and clean me from the dirtiness of my own story...but they failed to come.

 Out of the awkwardness of the silence... as I stood there came a voice saying "I forgive you Glenn"...then a second..."I forgive you Glenn" ...then a third...a fourth and fifth.  I knew a few of the voices but they came from different directions--and I was shocked.

 Have you ever heard something and wondered if anyone ever heard it too? But you were afraid to ask-or talk about it?

 That's when I heard a voice--it came from behind me--it emanated from the empty spot in the circle where I had been sitting before I moved to the center---it said "I love you Glenn."

 Now I had rarely been granted forgiveness in my life, but I definitely had never heard these words ever.  To this day I believe it was the voice of God the Father giving me strength and courage for the journey that lay ahead.

 I turned my head and opened my eyes but no one was there in that spot. I started to sob heavy tears. How is it I could always be ready to fight but not prepared to hear love?  It came at me like a right hook that I never saw coming--and--It knocked me out...I haven't been the same since. It ruined isolation for me.

 I don't remember when the last time I had allowed myself to cry--but it had been many years.  The salty warm sensation brought back memories of growing up--memories long since locked away and that had been walled up--never, ever to be reopened or touched--and never to be felt again.  That sadness was from a deep reservoir that I dare not acknowledge or examine lest I be swept into its swift currents and never be found again.

 As I look back on this past Monday evening and what transpired, I can't help but smile as I recall the voices of many men challenging each other. I no longer hear something
unimportant, nothing militant or procedural...I hear the calling to have words and actions in congruency in the way I was challenged from the voices within--and then challenged from the outside voices.  I could fight against them or fake them, even stay silent to them...but to quote a New Adam Friday night quote--"but then--that's not why I'm here."

 The value of being in integrity as a man--to me is equivalent to having my fractures pushed back into placement and bandaged--it was the ER help I needed to begin to heal. It hurt bad having them set...

...But it is these scars that have now become my gold.