Friday, July 29, 2005
“Hope, Faith, Love, Strength, and Brotherhood. Don’t forget boys, that is what we own!"
- Will Zschau, Pastor of the Brotherhood of Fools.
- Will Zschau, Pastor of the Brotherhood of Fools.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Who hears the cries of the lonely and broken hearted?
Who hears the pleas for mercy from the weak?
Who hears the stomach growls of the hungry?
Who sees the burden of the depressed?
Who sees the tears of the hurting?
Who sees the anxiety of the stressed?
Who feels the weight of grieving?
Who feels aches of the ill?
Who feels the fear of the scared?
Not me.....and I am sorry for that.
Who hears the pleas for mercy from the weak?
Who hears the stomach growls of the hungry?
Who sees the burden of the depressed?
Who sees the tears of the hurting?
Who sees the anxiety of the stressed?
Who feels the weight of grieving?
Who feels aches of the ill?
Who feels the fear of the scared?
Not me.....and I am sorry for that.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Hello
I've waited here for you
Everlong
Tonight
I throw myself into
And out of the red, out of her head she sang
Come down
And waste away with me
Down with me
Slow how
You wanted it to be
I'm over my head, out of her head she sang
And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang
Breathe out
So I can breathe you in
Hold you in
And now
I know you've always been
Out of your head, out of my head I sang
And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang
And I wonder
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang
- Foo Fighters, Everlong
It was October of 1997 and Jason and I were driving to San Francisco in my white Trans-am Fire Bird to see Jane’s Addiction in concert. It still amazes me that that piece of crap car was able to get us there and back without over-heating or breaking down.
Jason had just bought the Foo Fighters CD and we were playing Everlong over and over as we drove up and over the hills of the Pacheco’s pass. I will forever relate this song to the adventure Jason and I took that day, on a cool autumn afternoon, as we were driving through a forests of windmills, on the hills of the Pacheco’s pass.
I've waited here for you
Everlong
Tonight
I throw myself into
And out of the red, out of her head she sang
Come down
And waste away with me
Down with me
Slow how
You wanted it to be
I'm over my head, out of her head she sang
And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang
Breathe out
So I can breathe you in
Hold you in
And now
I know you've always been
Out of your head, out of my head I sang
And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang
And I wonder
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang
- Foo Fighters, Everlong
It was October of 1997 and Jason and I were driving to San Francisco in my white Trans-am Fire Bird to see Jane’s Addiction in concert. It still amazes me that that piece of crap car was able to get us there and back without over-heating or breaking down.
Jason had just bought the Foo Fighters CD and we were playing Everlong over and over as we drove up and over the hills of the Pacheco’s pass. I will forever relate this song to the adventure Jason and I took that day, on a cool autumn afternoon, as we were driving through a forests of windmills, on the hills of the Pacheco’s pass.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Lighting candles for my friends.
I have been longing for some sort of spiritual ritual within my life. I have been looking for ways to physically express my spirituality in prayer and mediation.
My friend Russ and I have talked about lighting a candle during a prayer and mediation. It nice to think that as the smoke rises in the air, so does the prayer.
I was lighting candles the other night and I lit a candle that was next to a picture of my friend Willie. At that moment I prayed for him. I went to the next candle and after lighting it prayed for Jason, then to the next candle, my wife, then Russ and ect…
I am now in the process of placing pictures of close friends next to these candles, so that every time I light them, I will see their faces and will be reminded to pray for them. And at the end of the night, as I blow out the candle I will pray for them again.
I was telling Audrey that I want to buy a large three-wick candle for our kitchen table to represent our family and every time we sit at the table, we light the candle and pray for our family.
I have found great comfort in doing this. I kinda feel like a prayer warrior. So, what I guess I am telling you guys, if my house ends up burning down, just know it was in good cause and I will offer more prayers up along with the smoke.
I have been longing for some sort of spiritual ritual within my life. I have been looking for ways to physically express my spirituality in prayer and mediation.
My friend Russ and I have talked about lighting a candle during a prayer and mediation. It nice to think that as the smoke rises in the air, so does the prayer.
I was lighting candles the other night and I lit a candle that was next to a picture of my friend Willie. At that moment I prayed for him. I went to the next candle and after lighting it prayed for Jason, then to the next candle, my wife, then Russ and ect…
I am now in the process of placing pictures of close friends next to these candles, so that every time I light them, I will see their faces and will be reminded to pray for them. And at the end of the night, as I blow out the candle I will pray for them again.
I was telling Audrey that I want to buy a large three-wick candle for our kitchen table to represent our family and every time we sit at the table, we light the candle and pray for our family.
I have found great comfort in doing this. I kinda feel like a prayer warrior. So, what I guess I am telling you guys, if my house ends up burning down, just know it was in good cause and I will offer more prayers up along with the smoke.
Monday, July 11, 2005
At an age that one should feel immortal, with so much more to give and
experience, he is backed in a corner with fear piercing his heart.
We stand with this brave one. We want to carry his fear, pain, and anxiety.
We long to speak encouraging words, but what can be said?
The brave one needs to know he does not stand-alone.
This is his fight, but he has us in his corner.
Round one has started and the beast has landed several hard blows.
We cry out with our heart, Stay Strong! Be courageous! Fight back!
I think the brave one can hear us.
And the tides are about to turn.
And victory will be his.
And we shall celebrate with him.
experience, he is backed in a corner with fear piercing his heart.
We stand with this brave one. We want to carry his fear, pain, and anxiety.
We long to speak encouraging words, but what can be said?
The brave one needs to know he does not stand-alone.
This is his fight, but he has us in his corner.
Round one has started and the beast has landed several hard blows.
We cry out with our heart, Stay Strong! Be courageous! Fight back!
I think the brave one can hear us.
And the tides are about to turn.
And victory will be his.
And we shall celebrate with him.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
I got a compliment on one of my reports the other day. I was told that I am very descriptive and detailed and that after reading my report, you are able to get a good feel and understanding as to where the minor is in the rehabilitation process.
Unfortunately, with all of the reports I have been writing, I think it has sucked all of the creative juice out of my brain, leaving me with nothing to blog with.
Maybe there is a magnetic force that comes from my monitor; pulling all insight, reflection, analytical thought process, and desire to think from me, leaving my head as a waste basket that holds a gooey substance of mush that was once my brain.
Unfortunately, with all of the reports I have been writing, I think it has sucked all of the creative juice out of my brain, leaving me with nothing to blog with.
Maybe there is a magnetic force that comes from my monitor; pulling all insight, reflection, analytical thought process, and desire to think from me, leaving my head as a waste basket that holds a gooey substance of mush that was once my brain.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
I roll the window down
And then begin to breathe in
The darkest country road
And the strong scent of evergreen
From the passenger seat as you are driving me home.
Then looking upwardsI strain my eyes and try
To tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites
From the passenger seat as you are driving me home.
"do they collide?" I ask and you smile.
With my feet on the dash
The world doesn't matter.
When you feel embarrassed then i'll be your pride
When you need directions then i'll be the guide
For all time.
For all time.
Death Cab for Cutie- Passenger Seat.
And then begin to breathe in
The darkest country road
And the strong scent of evergreen
From the passenger seat as you are driving me home.
Then looking upwardsI strain my eyes and try
To tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites
From the passenger seat as you are driving me home.
"do they collide?" I ask and you smile.
With my feet on the dash
The world doesn't matter.
When you feel embarrassed then i'll be your pride
When you need directions then i'll be the guide
For all time.
For all time.
Death Cab for Cutie- Passenger Seat.
Who is my father you ask?
I Don't think I can really answer that for myself, let alone, for another person.
Do we even know who we really are? We are so many things to so many people. We are also different people at different times. It's hard to sum up or figure out who anyone is. It's a question best explored for the individual seeking to understand one's self.
My earliest memory of my father? Your just full of difficult questions tonight.
I have a couple of different memories, but I can’t put them in any sort of
order, but I will share a few of them with you.
I have memories of my father coming home late from work. He worked long hours at a car dealership. His days off for all of my childhood were days like
Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. He was never around on weekends and always seemed to get home right before we had to go to bed if not later.
I have memories of lying in bed when I was about five or six, waiting and hoping my father would get home before I fell asleep. If he got home before I fell asleep, I always jumped out of bed to greet him at the door. I remember this one time, where my brother and I raced to the front door to meet our father. We were always excited when he got home and we followed him from room to room, as if to make sure he was not planning to leave again. This one night we followed him in to the bathroom, where he ended up snapping at us saying "Jesus, cant I take a piss without you two being under my feet?!"
Its funny, it seems that my father was gone half the time and he only seemed to do half the stuff dads are supposed to do. He bought us baseball mitts and
bikes but didn't teach us how to catch, throw or ride.
To his defense, I need to tell you he worked long hours so my mother did not have to work. My mother has never worked a day in my life. So, it’s not like he ditched his family. We did do things as a family, like go to dinner, the circus, movies, fishing and amusement parks. Not very often, but still, we had our family moments.
My father’s absence didn’t change throughout my childhood, but I know he loved us. I remember when I was a freshman in high school; my family came upon some real hard finical times. I had a paper route during that time, but I didn’t get to spend my money on baseball cards, clothes and tape cassettes; instead the money was used to buy milk, bread and lunch meat.
Anyhow, I was in my room one night and I over heard a phone conversation my father was having with his friend. From my end it sounded like my father’s friend was asking him why he just didn’t leave us. I remember my father saying, while almost crying, “I can’t leave them, Iris can’t support them and I love my kids too much.” I was scared because I knew and felt the family financial burden at age when my only concern should have been getting Ken Griffey Jr’s Rookie Card, and getting my first kiss at the Ice Breaker Dance. Even though I was scared, I felt secure, knowing my father was in it for the fight and was not going abandon us.
Like I knew he would, he got us through the tuff times, as there were a few.
I wonder if life has left him beat down. I see him sometimes, and I wonder how he was able to carry the burdens he did. You know, there are a lot of things that I could hold against my father or feel angry, embarrassed or disappointed about, but I feel nothing but pride for him. I am glad that he is my father.
Whats my father like today?
Hmm. Today, he is still mystery to me. I know very little of him, which is odd considering I have known him for 28 years. Today, he is a man who because of his absence has little to connect with his kids about, other than a cold beer and small talk about work, baseball and cars. He is a man who has great pride in his own children and grandchildren, as he watches them all through a window. He only sees us through a window because he does not know how or is too scared to open up the door and come in.
I think he is a lonely man.
I Don't think I can really answer that for myself, let alone, for another person.
Do we even know who we really are? We are so many things to so many people. We are also different people at different times. It's hard to sum up or figure out who anyone is. It's a question best explored for the individual seeking to understand one's self.
My earliest memory of my father? Your just full of difficult questions tonight.
I have a couple of different memories, but I can’t put them in any sort of
order, but I will share a few of them with you.
I have memories of my father coming home late from work. He worked long hours at a car dealership. His days off for all of my childhood were days like
Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. He was never around on weekends and always seemed to get home right before we had to go to bed if not later.
I have memories of lying in bed when I was about five or six, waiting and hoping my father would get home before I fell asleep. If he got home before I fell asleep, I always jumped out of bed to greet him at the door. I remember this one time, where my brother and I raced to the front door to meet our father. We were always excited when he got home and we followed him from room to room, as if to make sure he was not planning to leave again. This one night we followed him in to the bathroom, where he ended up snapping at us saying "Jesus, cant I take a piss without you two being under my feet?!"
Its funny, it seems that my father was gone half the time and he only seemed to do half the stuff dads are supposed to do. He bought us baseball mitts and
bikes but didn't teach us how to catch, throw or ride.
To his defense, I need to tell you he worked long hours so my mother did not have to work. My mother has never worked a day in my life. So, it’s not like he ditched his family. We did do things as a family, like go to dinner, the circus, movies, fishing and amusement parks. Not very often, but still, we had our family moments.
My father’s absence didn’t change throughout my childhood, but I know he loved us. I remember when I was a freshman in high school; my family came upon some real hard finical times. I had a paper route during that time, but I didn’t get to spend my money on baseball cards, clothes and tape cassettes; instead the money was used to buy milk, bread and lunch meat.
Anyhow, I was in my room one night and I over heard a phone conversation my father was having with his friend. From my end it sounded like my father’s friend was asking him why he just didn’t leave us. I remember my father saying, while almost crying, “I can’t leave them, Iris can’t support them and I love my kids too much.” I was scared because I knew and felt the family financial burden at age when my only concern should have been getting Ken Griffey Jr’s Rookie Card, and getting my first kiss at the Ice Breaker Dance. Even though I was scared, I felt secure, knowing my father was in it for the fight and was not going abandon us.
Like I knew he would, he got us through the tuff times, as there were a few.
I wonder if life has left him beat down. I see him sometimes, and I wonder how he was able to carry the burdens he did. You know, there are a lot of things that I could hold against my father or feel angry, embarrassed or disappointed about, but I feel nothing but pride for him. I am glad that he is my father.
Whats my father like today?
Hmm. Today, he is still mystery to me. I know very little of him, which is odd considering I have known him for 28 years. Today, he is a man who because of his absence has little to connect with his kids about, other than a cold beer and small talk about work, baseball and cars. He is a man who has great pride in his own children and grandchildren, as he watches them all through a window. He only sees us through a window because he does not know how or is too scared to open up the door and come in.
I think he is a lonely man.
Over the last eight weeks or so I have felt spiritually dead or at least spiritually dormant.
I have had no real desire to pray, meditate, or read and study my bible. Not that I have turned my back on God or lost my faith, but more along the lines of me just wanting be in the other room from Him. He stays in His place and I keep to my own. Which at the time seems like a reasonable living arraignment.
On my drive to work this morning, I realized that this is pretty much a routine cycle in my spiritual life. I have described it in the past as a hot/cold thing or an on/off thing. Some have even suggested spiritual burn out. What ever you call it, I have always felt guilty afterwards, thinking that have back slid or have grown lazy or worse yet, in the words of the famous warning in Revelations, become “Lukewarm”.
For some reason, while thinking about this cycle, an image of a flower came to mind. I was thinking that when a flower is at its full bloom it is very beautiful, much like my spiritual life when it is in bloom. Also, just like my spiritual life, flowers don’t stay in bloom forever. They eventually wither and die. Not to say that the roots dry up and the whole plant die, but rather only go dormant for a short season and then to birth a new bud.
When I think of my spiritual life along those lines it’s a beautiful thing and nothing to feel ashamed about. It’s a life cycle not a death cycle. The dormant seasons are essential for providing growth. Roots seem to go deeper into the soil and grow stronger.
Today I feel like there is a new bud.
I have had no real desire to pray, meditate, or read and study my bible. Not that I have turned my back on God or lost my faith, but more along the lines of me just wanting be in the other room from Him. He stays in His place and I keep to my own. Which at the time seems like a reasonable living arraignment.
On my drive to work this morning, I realized that this is pretty much a routine cycle in my spiritual life. I have described it in the past as a hot/cold thing or an on/off thing. Some have even suggested spiritual burn out. What ever you call it, I have always felt guilty afterwards, thinking that have back slid or have grown lazy or worse yet, in the words of the famous warning in Revelations, become “Lukewarm”.
For some reason, while thinking about this cycle, an image of a flower came to mind. I was thinking that when a flower is at its full bloom it is very beautiful, much like my spiritual life when it is in bloom. Also, just like my spiritual life, flowers don’t stay in bloom forever. They eventually wither and die. Not to say that the roots dry up and the whole plant die, but rather only go dormant for a short season and then to birth a new bud.
When I think of my spiritual life along those lines it’s a beautiful thing and nothing to feel ashamed about. It’s a life cycle not a death cycle. The dormant seasons are essential for providing growth. Roots seem to go deeper into the soil and grow stronger.
Today I feel like there is a new bud.
