the Power of a few words

 I was lost in my busyness...too busy to look up from my work.  A shadow was growing larger and someone had invaded my office space.  Their body blocked the light coming in from the hallway and I couldn't focus in at first.

"I came to ask how your daughter is doing?" said the man. It was Rob, a man with a very interesting story and journey of his own...from working in our warehouse to now working in customer service.  He's someone who is always cool and always friendly and we've been friends since I was first introduced to him.  He has a very positive outlook on life and it pervades outwardly to others.

I looked around, stopped pounding the computer keyboard and started to tell him how we've had some challenges and issues with my daughter with anxiety and depression and then I had to stop.  You see, Rob found out a few months back his beautiful 16 tear old daughter has brain cancer.

He has had to find the strength to be a rock from first shocking diagnosis to treatments of chemo at a hospital center in Memphis.  He would log his work shift, turn around and drive the 3-4 hrs run to be with her...his little girl and his wife, only to run back as daybreak approached to be back for work and do it all again. He has had to manage the details of caring for his other children.

Recently his family found out that the chemo had shrunk the cancer to half it's original size and so they operated and got about 80% of the tumor.  They are continuing chemo and praying for her daily. This has been an astounding turn around from the bleak original diagnosis and yet--still there is far more of a difficult journey to endeavor.

In light of Rob's challenges and struggles my own situation looked like nothing.  Here was a man putting aside his own fears and struggles and coming halfway around the building just to ask me how my daughter was doing.

I was floored that someone could do that--and set their own struggles aside.  I have faith...and I say that I trust God for the outcome...and here was someone showing me how that's done.

It was a short interaction with a big lesson on faith.  I think rather than beating myself up on this one I'll take this lesson and try to pass it on. Because I know Rob's story and everything he's been going through--it makes this an inspiring act of selflessness and empathy I won't soon forget.

From Uncertainty to Lifeguard

Uncertainty...I hate it.  I want to control my plans, my family's future...I want to make a difference in my children's lives and direction. When something prevents that--it is a deep source of stress for me.

The unspoken thief of those plans are anxiety and depression.  You see that is one of my daughter's diagnosis...anxiety and depression.  Medication can keep you from dropping off an emotional cliff, but it can't force you to enter into the mainstream and exist with dreams like other children. It can't help you to see your strengths, gifts and opportunities ahead of you.

There are times I ache so desperately inside.  I grew up with a mom that faced deep battles with depression-disappearing for long stretches of time--hills and long valley of deep depression.  Instead of making me more compassionate, it makes me want to yell "snap out of it--pick yourself up and get back in the game--your whole future lies ahead." It makes me feel responsible for bringing this genetic mishap into the mix...it makes me ashamed of my own family history and what it has spawned. Perhaps other family members or my brother's or sister's children have also suffered--maybe in silent agony, I just don't know...no one has spoken it--and so I agonize with Michelle and also alone in part--praying for a healing, praying for relief for her...hoping for a better life for her--real life, just a normal life--whatever normal is or could be.

I think part of me will never truly know the depths of what deep depression can do.  I do know that one of the visible consequences is that instead of seeing the opportunities---like her beautiful singing, musical talent and love for performing and sharing that musicality, she will dwell on the immediate drama or doom of whatever is going on in any friend's life.  It is admirable to feel empathy for a friend, but is is unbearable to feel a responsibility to help or fix the situation at all costs and be able to do anything else other than dwell constantly on that issue.

I long for so many things like any dad would...for my daughter to have dreams...for her to have a good and caring network of real friends--even one--who could lovingly speak truth into her life where she would listen and accept it.  I want her to graduate high school and go on to college...to own a coffee shop is one of her dreams and to perform there as an artist.  So many dreams...but the lack of being able to see through today's pain to the dream that is in reality so close if she works hard and can begin to focus in on some of the dreams.  What is the key to getting her to see the dreams more than today's self caused drama...what causes today's immediate issue to loom larger than any good that is seen by her mom & I so plainly?

I have prayed so often over her room...where so much pain and loneliness has grown larger instead of the friends presence or God's own presence.  I have asked for healing or understanding but I feel inadequate of gaining either as we travel this journey.

The unspoken thief of depression and anxiety is that it is rarely mentioned for adults...let alone a younger age group.  There is no real understanding within the church or christians that would welcome sharing this burden...or come along side for the journey--something that would be so welcomed.  When a hospitalization happens once, everyone in our lives is concerned...twice, "that's a shame", but by the multi-time visit the story is old and too much weight for the average connection in life to really ask and be willing to listen. We know it and others that are aware--just can't take it on.

In the rare case that someone in our lives really asks and seems to want to listen we are more than willing to share like my wife did with a kind soul at work the other day.  It seems like a gift straight from heaven to share some weight and lighten her burdened soul.  I feel the aging of the whole situation as a heavy weight on my soul --feel it in my chest, my shoulders, feel it across my burdened forehead.

I know we are invited to live transparently and it is something I believe in deeply and attempt to do with those who walk this path with me.  It is not something I take lightly.  I have watched Michelle grow so much and share in the same way...it is powerful growth, and gold that she gives to others by doing it as well.

God-- if this is the path you intend for Kelly Hope--I am with you in the heartache to the end and I know you will walk along my side and even carry me with your strength if needed.  If there is a lesson for me to learn or Kelly I pray we learn it--in your timing--and we gain the gold from the scars. If you truly ache when we ache and you cry the tears with our burdened souls--then I pray for compassion and that a corner is not only turned but that you turn it upside down to where she can help others with crossing these deep waters.  Lord every fiber in me groans..I pen these words from the tears of a dad who aches for their sick child.  I don't understand and I want her healing.  I do trust you--I trust in your plans--this is put to the test.  I have seen your plans in my own life --plans that are better than anything I could have hoped for or dreamed--and I have seen your true favor poured out on me.  I ask for this favor portion be given to her in my place.  I lay this out before everyone Lord...my pride, our privacy, our fears, our aching, the imperfect brokenness of imperfect people trying so hard to just live a quiet and kind existence--just normal--just PEACE.  Yes the desperate goal of peace.  We want so badly for you to show up--you are the hero of the story and I believe you will show--you will show when you are ready for the next chapter to be written.  How I pray for strength to accept that chapter you are about to write.  I know you promise you see every tear--and they are falling so often and deeply from the heart...I quiver like a child with deep sobbing.

I know there is so much heartache in the world...this should be barely a blip on the radar of the world.  The school has written her off...society is writing her off...these are the perfect odds for you--this is when no one else can take credit--only you.  Save this drowning girl and allow her to become a lifeguard in turn to help a future drowning soul.

the miracle on 52nd street, no just my street

Although I was working and the trials were behind me...we were behind by 5+ months on the mortgage and knew we were going to lose the house very soon.  I remember crying and offering it up to God..."take it God--if you want it--it's yours."

  I don't know exactly what that moment did in my heart but I know I wasn't clawing to hold onto it.  I wanted whatever God wanted...and by all accounts we were going to be homeless in short order. If he wanted something different for us then I wanted to be moving in the same direction--in tune with his plans.

We put the house up for sale to sell it before it foreclosed.

Each day we would have realtors calling and my wife would load the kids and dog in the car after school and drive around while it was shown...sometimes over and over multiple times daily...the cleaning and not being able to live in it fully--and knowing it was no longer going to be ours. Some showings would be so teasing-lasting for hours as each light switch, electrical outlet was tested--and then the jacuzzi tub turned on only to spew water around and flood our bathroom, but after all of that 4 hours later--we had no offer.

I can't over emphasize the difficulty that period was in our lives...for me I had to survive the two jobs and then have my wits about me for my wife's fears and concerns. It was physically draining but I can't overstate the mental aspect of dealing with life's consequences and curves while physically drained.  I felt like my body had been beat up and beat up some more--and then squeezed through a wringer to make certain no hidden pockets of energy had survived.

For Michelle, it meant so much more--her home was ripped out of her hands and she had no say in any of it.  She hadn't asked for any of this.  It meant not only swallowing her pride but having it shredded daily.  There was losing health care and those fears of providing care for her children.  There was losing our beautiful SUV and having to be appreciative of the 20 yr old loaner car we were provided by loving friends with no air conditioning. What could we say-but thank you?! God was showing me how to be thankful in all things.  I wasn't the model cooperative student but I did understand the lessons provided and hoped to understand more of his plans...see a bigger picture in all of this.

The letters from the mortgage company continued to mount and they were so threatening.  The continued barrage of phone calls which always began with "this is an attempt to collect a debt..."

 I had filled out home assistance forms from the government more than four times with no success or replies.  Each day multiple threatening letters yet the only payment they would accept was the full 6 months of payments combined plus fees, penalties and interest...no problem!

When you call and you are on your last thread of sanity you can hear the compassion on the other end...just kidding, life is just what it is for those people collecting, there is no room for compassion to be expressed.  It's just business.

After months of the yo-yo realty games we apparently had a buyer. Then there was the realization that this was a low ball offer and they were offering barely over what we owed on our mortgage...they also had a list of demands: new roof, radon system and removal and many other things.  I put down the offer and cried...it was so cruel as the house was worth so much more. The value had dropped over 100,000 in just 8 months.  I was over a barrel and they knew it. My hope was trampled flat and left dead with no heartbeat.

I struggled to chew some peanut butter crackers sitting on the front steps and pondered the deep hurt this was causing.  I knew I had to eat to keep up my strength, but I didn't want to eat anything. I thought this was the bottom --Then the bottom dropped out as I received a phone call from the place we wanted to rent from (if we sold) and we failed our credit check with them.  Now if we signed the low ball offer...they would want us out in just 7 days and pay for a list of items on their wish list and we would be homeless with no where to go. I didn't question or blame God--but I sure wasn't feeling solid about him either--and I wanted to help him with his plans to help me feel better and I thrashed about to regain some semblance of control of my life.

With my heart heavy with fear and afraid of the hopelessness and despair of a mother trying to protect her children...I trudged out to the mailbox to get what I figured to be the final foreclosure letter.  The foreclosure was scheduled for 48 hrs. from then. The delivery of doom was complete as the mailman pulled away not realizing the terrible delivery of news he was carrying.

I read the first letter...same story--less than 2 days and it would be sold out from under us and we would be homeless. I didn't even know exactly where our courthouse was--but on those steps my home would be sold in less than two days.

The second letter was something of a mystery-from a government agency for assistance...it looked like a form letter.  It wasn't.  It was a letter of hope.  It was the golden ticket in Willy Wonka and the chocolate factory---We received one of those Obama assistance packages and it saved us less than two days from complete loss.  I remember reading it with Michelle and thinking God can truly do anything he wants at this point. We looked at the letter together in disbelief--reading it over again..I fell to my knees with the tears streaming down.

I had given it back to him and he threw me a boomerang.  He wanted us to stay there--at least for now, and the payment rate provided was manageable for the next 5 months...simply amazing.

I was told later that most people that had applied were rejected because they didn't have a second job--so it was reasoned they were not doing everything they could do.  Once again...God's providence through the second job-physically draining but a piece of his providence.

I called the realtor and turned down the offer...he reminded me "Mr. Taylor this is no time for pride--you need to act now--the impending foreclosure is smack in your life's plans"...I told him not to worry, God had a different plan.

lessons from Rocky Balboa

Yeah--I'm from Philly...and I'm proud of that.  As I was growing up and entering my teen years out came the movie Rocky. I immediately identified with it...the indomitable spirit, the never say die, never quitting...having a dream and laboring anonymously striving to move towards it despite the naysayers, despite the odds, lack of support...fill in the blank...that never quit attitude and being ready to fight for it was a badge of honor.

I watched and listened to his words as if they were coming from someone close that I wished were mentoring me.

A man of the people, rising up from his neighborhood...He is the poster child for the spirit that will not quit.  There has always been something deep within me that loves that spirit.

I have always felt like something of an underdog...a middle class kid from a family that really didn't belong in true middle class where we were.  My parents ended up in a great place at a great time..it's called timing and it was good enough to propel most of us kids forward to opportunities we wouldn't have had otherwise...for me, I would have been lost had we stayed in the big city, Lost...

For the better part of high school and college and my early adult life, I was still fighting.  I'm not even sure what I was fighting anymore...after a while it was about the fight more than the reality of the situation.  I was fighting for my place at the table, whether that was work or in my family...I fought on---feeling unworthy of my place at the table and not believing I had one.  In fact, the very mention of the words still hurts deep within today as they have played out and the music has stopped and there was no chair.

Fast forward many years and while I was at my lowest points and starting to fight on and climb the mountain again for respect, credibility and reputation in my personal and vocational life...it was my son Grant who asked the big question..."Dad, how do you get up after working 18 hours and then sleeping for 2 or 3 hours and do it all over and over."

I thought about it shortly and said "I don't know how to quit...I cannot fail."

It wasn't anything brilliant or brave...simply the same-never say die--only instead of it being a battle half imagined it was the battle for my family and the battle of my life.  Judging by my remaining strength I was into the late rounds and Creed was amazed I was still there.  Something deep inside was keeping me fighting on but instead of taking credit it was strictly survival--call it what it was--survival.

A few months passed after that discussion with my son and my gas tank was on "E".  It was difficult to find the motivation to not get angry and go to self pity...enter a friend.  That friend gave me what I needed--called out things he saw in me--and I listened.  I shut up and listened.  I wanted to refute the things he said but instead I chose to grab hold of that life preserver of encouragement tightly and paddle with all I had left. 

That gold I was given that day was enough to propel me to the next stop..it was like running in a marathon and having a brother run along side with a bottle of water--just at the right time.  He spoke to me concerning finding the "good in perseverance."  It was a good that meant not celebrating my strength or not quitting but in finding the blessing from others that were actually getting me through.  This was a change in paradigm.  I didn't really believe in what he spoke that he was seeing that day, but I was willing to entertain the thought that he could see the start of something I could not see.

A few weeks after that talk came father's day and my son Grant gave me something close to my heart.

He gave a quote on his handwritten card to me.  Since the hard times of January 2010--we have only given each other handwritten cards...it makes memorable moments this way. It's one of those blessings that come from the hard times that you wouldn't change for anything.

He gave me this quote from the final Rocky movie.  A Rocky quote from my son?  Now we've come full circle!

Grant told me it's how much you can take and still keep moving forward.  He said he was proud of me that I keep engaging the fight and moving forward.

Man--what else does a dad need to hear in life?

A wife's encouragement, a son's belief in his dad...it doesn't get any better than these two things...

I read that card over and over...basking in the warmth and soaring in my spirit.  

Sometimes I still feel like such an underdog in life and I still don't ever like to quit or give up...although I have learned a few things...

God births the beautiful out of the ugly struggle...

The memories and stories in the struggle are always reused and reframed to help someone else at the right time and place if I stay alert to his direction...

We were never created to fight alone...God gives us others to train with and he himself never abandons our side...

and so I fight on...but now to encourage others to persevere through the difficult and toughest of times...

It's a fight I gladly accept as this ring was made with me in mind...

the wonder of Christmas

I can still remember the feeling.  The anticipation...the excitement bubbling up from within.  It was Christmas Eve day.  It was by far the most exciting day at the Taylor house growing up.

It was the anticipation of something known and yet unpredictable...unknown, endless possibilities but all positive outcomes.

In those first 7 years I knew how this day would play out.  We would decorate for Christmas...a live tree (each of those early years...and later they would be planted in our yard).  My older brother would be called on to help my Dad put up lights along the top of the house.  My Mom would have us sewing strings of red and green glitter colored popcorn.  Sometimes it would be me making a chain of interlocking paper loop chains out of green construction paper to hang in the room near the tree or in my bedroom. There was cookie baking going on with Russian Tea Cakes, Toll house Chocolate Chips, Chocolate Walnut Cookies and many more...

My Dad would be off from work or coming home early this day.  We would be going to my Grandmom & Grandpop's home in Philadelphia.  I listened to the radio with my cousins--as the announcer tracked Santa around the globe...live access to tell us his current position.  There were lots of gifts big and small and it was the suspense of what might be coming for each of us. The wonderful butterflies inside waiting and taking it all in from the windows of the eyes.

Christmas morning there was a stocking jingling with wrapped treats on my bed...and a tree with gifts under it---something to ooh and ahhh over.

Mom would section a half orange for each of us--fancy...and cook bacon and pancakes or waffles.  We ate together those early Christmas mornings.

Soon there were too many children in our family and we began to have an open house on Christmas Eve at our own house.  We would all go to church together and come back and feed everyone with all kinds of great food, meatballs or roast beef sandwiches, baked goods, assorted cookies...and a happy birthday Jesus bakery cake.

As I grew I lost the wonder of Christmas.  I still remember when the neighborhood kids told me my parents were Santa.  My older brother Carl was very helpful putting the gifts together with and for my Dad during these years.  I remember getting that yellow Hugger Big Wheels type vehicle made out of metal...simply the greatest gift I had ever received...even greater that I hadn't asked for it.  My brother Mark and I rode those everywhere for hour after hour across yards, down stairs--we beat those things--and it was great!

Fast forward a few years and my Mom wasn't getting out of bed...she was sick.  My brother Carl was married and I was the oldest at home.  I went with my Dad to visit Bethana children's home.  My Dad made a donation, in fact I came to realize he had faithfully given to this mission every year on Christmas Eve.  My Dad was so faithful in that example of giving despite the fact that we were never rich, and usually lower middle class from what I could tell.  He was happy giving too.

We started using an artificial tree that year as my older sister Linda came home and helped me decorate that tree and we ordered pizza and picked it up and had a quiet Christmas Eve.  No longer as magical to me in nature but I wanted it to still be magical to my younger siblings.

Mark and I would watch the North-South game on TV as my parents would go back to bed.  Christmas day itself was not the main focus. There was nothing magical in those days--the wonder had left.

When I got married to Michelle, holidays were so important to her--in fact any opportunity to celebrate was always at the forefront of her mind.  Family and holidays were always where she would focus her time and energy.  At first I found this to be a very annoying trait...but I have come to love this about her...she has taught me how to celebrate others-- demonstrated giving as a central theme, and laid the groundwork for future lessons on Christmas.  Tradition was important again...

When my children Grant, Haileigh and Kelly Hope came along we had so many Christmas's in Churchville, Newtown and Dublin...cutting down our tree and a wagon ride back, decorating together, making cookies...and of course--the debate each year for colored or white lights on the tree.  The look of wonder on the kids faces was something I could live vicariously and appreciate...

Back four years ago I discovered something wonderful in the midst of the most difficult year of my life.

I believed that Christmas was not coming that year to our home...in fact I wasn't sure we would have a home by Christmas day.  A funny thing happened on the way to Christmas Day...I began a job at Costco in November and wonderful people stepped forward and became the hands and feet of Jesus in our lives in tangible ways.

On December 23rd I received a turkey from another worker...let's face it...if you don't have food in the cupboards...not much else matters...it was a gift from the heart.

A neighbor put our name in for a Christmas pantry food basket and so we were given food that went straight into our pantry and suddenly everyone was a little brighter--even me...eyes of wonder had returned...wonder at people's giving and grace, stepping up and giving to provide for us.

Some of my son Grant's friends--parents purchased some gas cards and grocery cards for us...wow I thought--God really cares about us and is using all kinds of actions and different people to give his message. I could feel my heart in my chest growing in size and appreciation as I needed others...I could no longer pick and choose if I needed others--I just did.  Brokenness will get your heart in the right place every time faster than any sermon.

I was so grateful in my heart for these gifts...as I struggled back out the door for my work shift on Christmas Eve day--my PB & J sandwich tasted like steak to me.  I had food, my family had food and we would be ok.  I no longer felt like the grinch had stolen our Christmas...when we woke up Christmas morning, the tall and the small might even join hands and sing, or in the very least be merry in our hearts for the warmth and caring shown to us.

About 2PM Michelle called me--she was loud and talking fast... "a gift card tree came for us...a neighbor brought it over", but I've always suspected that one of my Costco coworkers was the inspiration and catalyst who orchestrated this tremendous gift that provided the greatest Taylor Christmas ever.  I was stopped in my tracks that Christmas Eve, and I cried the largest tears I had cried in many years...those were tears of wonder and excitement...tears of joy.

That is the day the wonder of Christmas returned to me...It is a gift I'll never give up.

It was a hopeful night that evening as Michelle and I prayed out loud and gave thanks at the wonder of everything that had happened in the span of 48 hours. Not a Christmas can pass since without giving thanks and recalling the events of that year. It is always out of the burden of brokenness that we receive gifts of gold in our lives.

Our Christmas's since are much smaller than they once were..but our time together is what holds more meaning..it is far more intentional.

When I think about God's plan to save the world...sending his one and only Son to us as a baby..."God with us"--simply amazing...He is always with us--through those lonely dark valleys of despair...I realized that the wonder of Christmas was all about the giving spirit of Hope.  The baby coming to earth two thousand years ago was our only Hope just as the gifts we were given in 2010 that sustained us and blessed us were our only Hope. We did nothing to deserve either gift--but without them where would I be today?

Thank you one and all...thank you Jesus.

The Wonder of it all. The Wonder of Christmas....

all tangled up....

I can't believe we own a cat...we went to the shelter and I was talked into bringing that critter home.  I'm a dog guy...I don't like cats at all.  I'm allergic to cats.  Oh and did I mention I don't really like them?

So the cat comes home and he lives outside and spends nights in our garage.  His time actually in our home is limited to meal times and little else.

The cat has begun to grow on me I must admit.  We've had issues with chipmunks digging under our home and crawl space area and tearing up our air ducts to make their home.  This cat has caught three chipmunks that we know of.  Chalk that up in the plus column for the critter.

The cat comes in during watching football on Saturday or Sunday evenings and jumps up in my lap purring.  Now he could choose anyone but he seems to want to choose me for some unknown reason.

So--here is this independent cat with a mind of his own, that I don't really care for--but he's in our lives and I never would think the cat would teach me an important lesson.

Last Saturday I had to mow the lawn, nothing new there.  I had cleaned out some of the garage and placed a department store shopping bag and filled it with some smaller boxes and placed it near the trash can on the side of the house.  As I was mowing I noticed small boxes strewn about the yard on the opposite side of the house.  I thought-that is strange--now who was into those boxes and started throwing them around?  I went inside after cleaning them up again and asked my wife and both of my daughters...but no--they had no idea what I was talking about.  So I chalked it up to the neighbor kids exploring and playing around and finished the lawn.

That night the cat did not return home for dinner...or to hang out.  I went on a walk...continued our normal evening...and then started shutting the lights out for the night and locking up...only 1 thing left to do, put the cat into the garage for the evening.

I put my sneakers back on and started searching and calling.  He wasn't perched on top of my car...wasn't laying in the flower beds....wasn't up in the trees...all his usual spots.  I went back inside and found a flashlight to help me in the search.

As I surveyed the culdesac and the light pierced into the darkness I stumbled around searching and flashing the light. I called out searching and searching...just about ready to give up I resigned myself he was out of luck for the night.  The temperatures were dropping and it was in the high 30's....cold for Tennessee for an early fall evening--and I was concerned for that critter.

I slowly turned back towards the home and silently turned the light off and proceeded into the darkness when I heard a tiny meowish call...faint and in the distance.  I quickly turned the light back on--where are you Tommy?  I quieted myself and listened for that tiny voice...so faint.  Where is he?  It was almost like he was behind me back toward the house.  I wheeled and took a short step and then another...another faint call but sounding ever closer.

I stopped and suddenly I realized...the cat was down in the sewer calling up faintly.  How did he get there?  How will I get him out?  I flashed the light down and couldn't see him, there was debris and leaves all over him. It was just a pile of trash with a voice calling out.

I ran back through the back yard to the end of the drain tunnel and surveyed my options.  I called up the tunnel to him but he wasn't moving and I couldn't fit to climb in and go 100 ft to reach him.

I went back and in desperation tugged at the two grates covering the sewer drain.  Amazing that one side was not welded closed so I pulled and managed to get some separation and eventually got my fingers under it enough to pull it up.

Now what?  He still wasn't jumping out...so I jumped down into the slop and mess and reached carefully under the other side and pulled out a pile of trash, leaves, boxes and a torn shopping bag.
I suddenly realized what had happened...the cat was exploring on the side of the house, had somehow put his head through the handle of the shopping bag and when realized he was stuck and trapped started darting about flinging boxes and running in circles before running up the one way drain pipe and hitting a dead end in the sewer in a pile of debris and leaves and muck.  Finally realizing he could no longer get himself out-but that he needed intervention he was powerless to do anything for himself.

I learned a powerful reminder of a lesson that night.  I have searched around and found trouble in my own life---then thrashing about looking for a way out but only getting wrapped up more in a mess.  Finally in desperation hitting the end of that tunnel and finding myself in a pile of muck, debris and feeling helpless---needing divine intervention and something more than I could do for myself.

I find that most of us want to believe we can handle anything and everything in our lives---and in fact our American culture celebrates those of us who can suck it up, strap it up a notch tighter and pull ourselves up from the bootstraps and make things happen--as a loner.

Sometimes the most beautiful thing is when we get to the end of ourselves, our own determination and power..we find a big God who reaches down and improbably removes the immovable object, jumps into the gutter and pulls us out of the debris and garbage and sets our feet back back on the solid ground. At that moment the guilt and the shame and our own foolishness can melt away--because we were not pulled out to lie around or jump back into the garbage.

We were saved for a purpose--and each of our lives tell a story.  Try as we might to invent a message that our lives tell--they naturally tell a story all on their own.  I was given a story--not all tangled up--but a story of HOPE.  No matter what I do now that theme shines through.  As you think about your own life in the quiet at the beginning or end of your day--think consciously about the theme your own story is telling.

 As Don Miller said
“And once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can't go back to being normal; you can't go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time.” 
― Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life

If you don't like the story your life is telling...make a change while there is time.  The ending has yet to be written---what an awesome thought!

fighting with and fighting for friends

From the time I was very young I had learned hard lessons regarding friends...they leave, they betray, they bring pain.

When I was in second grade my best friend--Scott St. John...we played little league-learned baseball together, hung out at his house after school (for a few years), watched TV, ate snacks...I thought we were best friends.  We had a disagreement and he chose to be someone else's best friend.  It hurt, but I moved on.

I began hanging out with Norman Hughes.  Norman was an odd kind of kid...in the cool circle yet didn't really care about that status.  We used to hang out fishing in the creek near his house.  It was a new development so it wasn't very built up.  We would catch fish and crayfish and put them in this gigantic tank under the back of his house near the basement.  The tank was the length of the basement...or so I remember it.  He never had a mother around, just him and his older sister.  Funny--I never thought that to be odd...after all, my own mother would disappear in depression a few days at a time...so it wasn't strange at all. He was soft spoken about things...had black eyes or bloody or bruised face many times.  I thought it was because he was a fighter...he was as it turned out, but only because his dad was beating him up. We had talked about running away, living in the woods and being free from the fear of beatings, living free---it sounded so good.

I went on vacation mid July camping with my family that summer between third and fourth grade.  When we finally returned I rode my bike to see him and hang out.  No one answered the door.  The house had a sold sign on it and they were gone.  I never saw or heard from my friend again.  I remember the awful sick feeling deep in my gut and the utter loneliness and deserted feeling I felt.

I had another friend named Scott Burton.  We hung out all through 4th grade through 8th grade...I mean every day.  I escaped the craziness of my own home by hanging at his place.  We camped out, built forts in his attic, built things in his basement, fished together and spent a lot of time hanging out.  One night on the way to rollerskating he and the other kids in the car were talking about their Catholic faith and I mentioned something about "why do we need a priest when I can pray right to God directly?" It was an honest question from not understanding his whole faith.  I found out how serious this was of a question as he lunged onto me and was choking me right there in the car.  Many things flashed through my mind--mostly how could we spend years as friends and then it was gone in a moment?  He never spoke to me again.

In High School I didn't have any friends to start with so I began hanging with this kid that wanted to be my friend Jim Williams.  The problem was he was always looking to cut class and stay at home watching the new ESPN channel, and drink from his parent's licquor cabinet.  I was about as far from all of these things as I could be--although I did like cutting class now and then.

I allowed Jim to be a friend in my life although he used things against me.  One morning I was at the airport waiting for the plane to take our band to a competition in Disney World Florida.  My girlfriend broke up with me--she told me she was with Jim now.  Wow--super kick right to the gut on that one.  Friendship is not worth this I thought--never again will I allow this to happen.  It stole some of my kindness and any innocence I had left in my heart.

Fast forward a few years and again I had a really good friend Ken Gray.  We were going to community college together and working multiple jobs to pay our way.  Ken was a hard working guy and understood a good work ethic.  He had been hanging more with some guys that weren't serious about their education.  I knew I had to be serious...it was my only way out in life. He started hanging with that forementioned Jim.

We stopped hanging out...

Later at the end of spring semester I saw him.  I was on my way to burger king to work on my motorcycle (honda 250 custom) and he was headed on a date.  He told me he was back on track with school and a little conversation convinced me he was serious.  He asked if I wanted to meet him the next morning to register for our second year classes.  I said sure--sounds like a plan.  We agreed to talk the next morning.

On my way home from work late that night around 2:30 AM there was an accident on the road I was headed down.  There were many police cars, sirens and equipment, ambulances working at the accident scene. It turns out my friend Ken was fighting for his life trapped in the wreckage of that car.

The next morning someone called me and told me he was gone.  My best friend was gone.  I have had dreams and nightmares since that time, but always have felt a loss of his presence in my life.

...my son's middle name is named after Ken.  He was so happy go lucky in a serious world and full of life.  He was a one of a kind...like my son Grant.

Fast forward many more years...I finally had allowed myself to trust and begin a friendship.  I think many times men hang with other guys...or do activities.  I'm not convinced that this means they are friends--friends in a kind of way that if your life was turned upside down you could call them in the middle of the night.

I had a friend John that has walked by my side the past few years.  There were times I didn't know if I could make it one more step or 5 more minutes in life.  He spoke truth to me, sometimes it hurt...sometimes he wasn't always right, but he did know me very well...the scary kind of being known...knew my flaws.  I say scary because in my history those flaws were pulled out at inopportune times that were used then as weapons against me.  They were hits that found their way below my defensive armor and wounded me in the heart.  It also taught me never to trust--men could not be trusted.  I set up a very defensive persona that worked for the first 45 years of my life.

John was a true brother...through my job working in Memphis, working in the inner city...he often slowed down my thinking and convinced me to "take the next step" whatever that was at the time.  Some of the best advice I ever received.

There is something about a man that has traveled some of the same shared road together.  There is something credible if someone shares my story with me, and also has been beaten or had to deal with the fear that brings.  I like to think we know from the look what we have in common.

Anyone that thinks that means I was at peace then...sorry-no fairy tales...working through the past is just that--work.  It is the bridge to stepping back into the present in a new way.  A refocussing on the future.  Now I had a glimpse of the future.

Last July I was on vacation--something rare to be off from my multiple jobs and I was in North Carolina with my wife's family. The caller was John.  He was telling me he was moving to Atlanta.  I knew this sick feeling in my gut well.  It was like I was kicked there and could feel all of the old bruises from the past as well.  This one wasn't betrayal...it wasn't death...but it hurt all the same.

I know it's frowned upon to admit friends and brothers in life mean that much.  We are supposed to be strong as men and never be emotional with these type of situations.

Cell phones...test messaging...and email keep us up to date.  There have been many late night calls both ways when we deal with life emergency situations with our children, our jobs and anything else that is a crucial part of life. Neither of us is perfect...dropping the ball at crucial times. I still know enough now to say difficult things--that is what a true friend does.

In my life I have tried to shy away from actually having a close friend and have tried to be self sufficient in all things. I thought I was doing good as a loner.  I have learned that even through the pain of failures and betrayals...that friendship is something core to us.

Now truth that may make you roll your eyes--but think about this...The trinity is a threesome--as close as it gets.  They are the ultimate model of brotherhood--each unique--and yet submitted and committed to one another as brothers for all time.  I believe it is modeled for us because they all know something about us they are sharing...we are relational to our core.

Anything that is worth anything in this life--will have to be fought for. Friendship is one of those things.

Friendship is a gift...one to be valued and never taken lightly.

It is a piece of light from above...