I will make you fisher of men…

I love fishing. Well, I use to love fishing. I loved watching fishing shows, competitions, whatever I could. I use to love being on the water, early in the morning, sun just coming up over the crest of the earth bringing to live all the rays touch. The gentle lap of the water against the hull of the boat. Positioning everything for that first cast..
   I have left fishing and I have become “a fisher of men.” Now, as I fish for those that are cast aside in society, I use words for bait. My sentences are the line that I cast my thoughts upon the water with. My mind is the turbulent waters and stormy sea that I pray Jesus walks on, and calms the storms that batter my boat. I feel I have been fishing all night and haven’t caught anything..
A Great movie all should see, A River Runs Through It. In it Norman McLean says, “in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise”.
Sometimes writing is like fishing, you have to leave your line in the water long enough to catch something. Also, the more you do it, the better you get. For me, I have not had my line in the water in a long time. I have forgotten how to cast. I have lost my positioning and technique. So, this is me rising early once again, feeling the morning gradually awaking from the night. My boat is now my chair, my pole is the computer that sits in my lap, I will now attempt once again my passion for words. Not just any words, but words so strung together that thought and poetry give way to meaning and cohesiveness. May my words form character and body, constructing the emotion and feelings of the time.
The water is calm this morning; the wind is yet somewhat turbulent. The clouds loom, not allowing the morning rays to cast it’s light. Yet, the fish, or words, are stirring. Maybe something will bite.
I don’t fish, (write) for a living. (A dream it would be for sure.) I do it because it makes me feel alive. I do it for the peace it gives. The click of the keys, the flow of the words like the current of the lake, each click lapping the hull of the boat. A rhythm sets in. A pattern.. I’m not looking to catch a lot, just one good one. One story. One thought.. To not only wrestle with it; to feel the fight, but to bring it in so others can see it.
Many casts, and with many stokes of the keys, I am getting fewer and fewer nibbles. All it takes is that one. It’s not like I am going to keep it. I will just let it go. But, in catching that thought, bringing it in, and releasing it, I feel a sense of accomplishment. Conquering? Maybe.. Understanding? More likely. Of myself and hopefully to those around me. I write because I feel the words. I cast my words out and draw them back in a rhythmic pattern, slowly at times and then fast at others.. At times I just let them free fall, “in hope that a fish will rise,” a thought will be captured, a truth be told, and understanding gained.
The Scriptures tell us to “Cast your bread upon the water, and it will return upon every wave.” So this is me.. I am pulling away from the shore once more. I am going to my favorite spot. I am hoping for the best, or better yet, what is deemed best for the moment.
 It has been a long time since I have fished. It has been a while since I have written.. I hope you find your place on board this boat. I hope you feel the rhythm of the waves, some may be turbulent, but they are real. The feelings, emotions, and the spirit behind the words I catch. I will release them for others in hope that they too may catch what I have found. That they may reel-in what I have and in doing so we may share some similarities and stories.
I am pushing away from the shore. I am typing. My fingers are tying the line with each stroke of the keys and with the “half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories,” my thoughts, and “a four count rhythm and a hope a fish will rise.”
“I will make you fisher of men.”


It’s Fall, and It’s changing

22555124_10204243457524806_8023830980367532793_nIt’s that time of the year again. No shocker really. Happens every year. The sky is darkening earlier, 4:30 to be precise. It’s fall and fall is falling, quickly, with each leaf that changes color it slowly loses grip on that which it was so attached to for so long. It’s not enough that it changes color, but eventually it falls to the ground and dies. But for a brief time something that was so bright and green has changed into a kaleidoscope of color. It’s beauty more breathtaking than before, but it’s beauty quickly fades. The cold dark clouds that are rolling in will soon impose it’s will and what was, changes into what will be.
   It’s fall.. The leaves are yellowish-green with some turning red. (The red is my favorite.)
   Today it’s been cold and rainy. Fall has fallen, and with it .. the temp. It’s colder. We are dressing warmer. Long-sleeves instead of short. We have put away our shorts. Once we needed no sheets and now we have blankets. It’s colder. Memories of the heat of summer will start fading fast.
   The floor we walk on is tile, our apartment concrete, and each day they get colder letting us know winter is knocking at the front door. More change is coming..
With each day brings a different color. As each leaf and plant gives way to the cold, we are reminded of what is to come, as well as what was.. Memories serve as a reminder and a teacher if we but listen…

10378151_10204225672059631_6426576244259152229_nIt’s fall, and I am changing. The seasons of my heart, friends, and family are changing.. Some are distant now. Some like the leaves on the trees are wilting. Some are changing color and looking beautiful, but I know they too may fall off.. It’s cold. The cold brings with it a loneliness. As things go dormant, there is less to see. Things become bare. What was beautiful and flourishing is now bare and naked. I hope these vines, these plants, our friends and family, flourish back in Spring, but for now winter must come. It’s Fall..
There is a beauty in winter we must recognize, it is the Evergreen, the Fur, those plants whose foliage adds such a stark contrast to that which is dead, or dormant. They provide hope. They offer shelter to the animals around, to the birds a safe place in the harsh weather. These…. These Evergreens.. They are the same in season and out of season. In winter as in summer. Their leaves don’t change. These friends, these family members, they are constant. They add a stark contrast to those who only blossom for a short time. Though the blossom is beautiful and it adds color during their season, they are there for a moment. And these moments help make up our lives. These moments are just that.. Moments. To enjoy, reflect, and listen to the beauty of each soul around us. They will teach us if we will listen.
  They have their place in our lives.. They offer color, fruit, flowers, smell, beauty.. but all that 1385536_4913694738390_6930289569160502100_npasses by with the changing of the seasons. Some will return. Some will have to be replanted. We will miss them all during the winter. But hopefully will carry the memories forever..
It’s fall, life is changing.. I am changing. I pray for the better. Things I reflect upon, Am I an Evergreen? Am I there long-term? Will I survive the seasons of change? Will I offer the shelter during the winter for those souls who are struggling? Will I quickly bloom and fade??


22549945_10204247000013366_7090502611245237214_nI hope the fragrance will be smelled. I hope people will see the new growth and welcome the fruit. I pray as new faces, family and friends, new plants and trees come they will plant their roots with mine and they will find shade during the summer, and shelter during the storms of life.
I miss every plant, person. I miss the color they bring into my life.. I miss the spring when everything was alive and fresh.. It’s fall. The leaves are changing. My life is changing, and so is yours..

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.”


Shadows. A dis-formed semblance cast by an object interfering with the rays of the sun, or light. The shadow isn’t the object, and at times a poor representation of that object, yet there must be some type of object for sure, or there would be no shadow.
  Shadows provide shade, like for me at this moment on my balcony. It gives relief from the direct sun and heat, allowing me some comfort and keeping my face from melting off. As I am sitting here I can see the shadow of the clouds on the mountains, slither and move, as if a song is playing and they are gracefully dancing with the mountains. Sliding from one side to the other, the silhouettes cover the slopes. The sun, ever trying to pierce the clouds, make shapes and shadows along the green slopes.
Some days are not as bright, and those days we call overcast, or cloudy.. This is when there is more shade than sun, and we rejoice in the coolness of the change. I love the cloudy weather..
Even so, as I walk along to the “area” to where we work, I can not help but to notice my shadow. It goes before me. It is not me, but a shadow of me. At times it is longer, thinner, and maybe even cooler than myself. We all have shadows.. maybe they are distorted figures of what we think of ourself and how we think others see us. Maybe the shadows cast doubt, despair, or we just don’t notice.
Shadows are funny, they change. They are never the same. The angle of the sun, the brightness of the day.. The curvature of the ground.. object around.. all play with the shape of the shadow, almost like a fun house filled with different mirrors that twist and distort what we are really like. Sometimes it’s funny, and at times frightening. Maybe because of our minds and how we perceive things, or how others have perceived us in the past.
It’s important to know they are only shadows.. They are not our true self. The shadows we cast let us know that there is light, a sun, for with out that there would be nothing to make it. And as I walk, I know that my life is but a shadow. A faint part in a larger play. Here today, gone tomorrow. Some look at my life and admire it. Some look at it and think, “what a waste.” But they don’t really know me… They are only seeing the shadow of the person doing something, and from their angle they may see something twisted by the ground or by objects in the way, and not get a clear picture of the figure casting the shadow. That is ok. What is important is not that they see me or my shadow, but the one who has created it. The Son…The Light of Life… My life is but a shadow, a representation of something greater than myself. The shadow I cast is one not of fame and fortune, but of devotion. The shadow that goes out is not of myself but of One who is greater than myself and has chosen to shine His life on me.
The shadow I cast maybe twisted and blurred at times, but I hope it gives a representation of Christ and that life He lives thru me. Maybe my shadow will mimic His Actions. Maybe my shadow, with let people see “the Light of the Glorious gospel.” Maybe those whom “the god of this world, who has blinded the minds,” might shade their eyes so that they can see an image of the Son, before looking directly into it.
The shadow is not the object. I am not the object.. I am only a type and cast of that which the light has shone. And like all shadows they fade into the night, but what remains each day will be the light.

The Gift and the Giver; The Wounded and the Healer

Greek Lexicon Dictionary describes, Poor:  Lowly, Afflicted, Helpless, Powerless to accomplish an end. Needy, Destitute of Learning, and intellectual culture which schools afford..

10410346_10203188301371697_2009518573677219694_n  This is the status Jesus says, “are Blessed for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”  I am learning. I do not believe I have arrived at any great level of spirituality, or mastery of humility. I am a beggar.. At best I am one beggar searching, reaching out, telling other beggars where I have found my bread.
I am in Romania, and have been for a month. I am blessed to have a friend, (yes, I have a few) back in the States who sends me gifts of love, wither it be  calendars from our Wise County  Special Needs 10665673_4865517013977_1804372794240547433_nBaseball group, books, or money to get a coffee machine, (Which I am enjoying every day. With each cup brewed, a pray goes out, a song of thanksgiving is sung, and a praise is given with each sip..) And recently I received such a gift, A book, “Hope Rising”…  There is something more, more than just a book or a gift, this is a piece of the giver’s heart. A portion of the soul that has been silenced. Maybe a dream that has laid dormant, thought dead..at least in a coma.. yet life is still pulsating; for the giver has awakened! That which has been long forgotten, like the spring colors in harsh winters, now is being revived, and in doing so stirs my heart from the other side of the world.
The book is a collection of stories by Kim Meeder, who ran a ranch that rescued horses, and also the dreams of bruised and broken children. The stories consist of the rescuing of abused horses, some near death.. Nourished and loved back to life, she uses these horses, with all their flaws, scars, and hurts to touch the lives of children who have experienced the same. (Truly gut wrenching!  I fight back the tears from each story, yet some seep out anyways.)  How one woman, thru her tragedy, experienced a healing that she had never known was possible, in turn uses that to heal those even less fortunate than herself.. The Poor, Afflicted, Needy, Powerless.. 10603295_10203188313171992_8620116942370717594_nThose whom “belong the kingdom of God.” From the ashes of her childhood, came a strength, a love and a passion to heal others. (Wounded people wound people. Hurting people Hurt People, yet, thru healing, forgiveness, and love, one can become the wounded healer.)  It is thru our brokenness, our wounds, that we are able to heal others thru our comfort, our touch, and our words.
Sometimes it is in the small gifts that great things are given.  The small touches that healing begins.. Through the words, though few, breathe life on those who hear them.. feel them. When words are spoken breath is given, air flows, and from it springs life. Like the fresh ran on the hard ground, our word fall, bouncing off, running off, flowing down the streets and gutters, in what seems to be a waste of water. A Waste of Words.. A waste of touch, or  Action… But gradually the ground softens. The heart gives way to the life-giving flood.  Soon that which was hard, cracked and broken becomes soft. Becomes moldable.. Seeds take root. The words sink in deeper. The touch no long calloused, crushing the clods of dirt, but smoothing over the cracks and filling in where there is lack. The soil is now receptive. The soul is now available.
Healing begins..  I don’t rescue horses.. I am for the most part, afraid of them. I do not have a ranch to take in kids. 10629610_10203188303251744_7860442585774683149_n(Though this would be awesome.)  But like the horses, others, I do have my own wounds, hurts, scars, and the ground of my soil, soul, is pretty broken.  I Am Poor.  I am not looking to escape the reality of my poverty, only trying to find a way to allow my brokenness to be the healing for other dried and parched soils, souls….
I am in Romania.. I am in the land of Gypsies.. Not unlike other countries who have refugees, immigrants, the poor and destitute, those whom society looks down on.  I have been blessed, not that I am rich in any means.. But as Paul writes, I am “Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing,  yet possessing everything.” To them, I am rich.. To them I am always rejoicing.. Having 10389478_10203188315132041_2286161059834442065_nnothing only that which is given to me, I give in hopes of making their lives richer, fuller, giving hope and life.
If I want to identify with Jesus, I must be willing to give.  I must become less, that they may become more. It’s ok for me to experience sorrow for now that they may know joy and rejoicing. I do not need to hide my wounds, for they are the doorway the souls of those around me can come in and find rest for their soul.  It is thru my poverty that I get to see the Kingdom of Heaven.  To see children the world considers unclean. Parched, dried, clay that can be brought to life, to 1385536_4913694738390_6930289569160502100_nform and purpose thru watering.. What others discard, abuse, wound, and curse, God takes and writes His story of Grace..
I am a beggar, like these kids.. I am no better.  If you give to me, to us, your gift of love is not taken lightly. If you cannot give more, or as often, we know the littlest gifts sometime have the biggest blessings.
I am a beggar, trying to work with other beggars, sharing my bread. I Am a Wounded Healer..  Sharing my heart I have received a blessing. I have received the gift of love, and gotten to see glimpse of a wounded soul who is using it to heal those less fortunate.

The Illusion, or Adventure

20140929_151320Wikipedia states, “An illusion is a distortion of the senses, revealing how the brain normally organizes and interprets sensory stimulation. Though illusions distort reality, they are generally shared by most people.[1] Illusions may occur with any of the human senses,”

 “Life is about courage and going into the unknown.” Secret Life of Walter Mitty

To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.”  The Motto of Life Magazine – Walter Mitty

I am in Romania, I have left the comforts of everything I know, everything I have saved up for and acquired. I have given away, walked away, and let go of everything that has made up my life to come to a place I know not.. To live an adventure I can’t control. What brought me here? God, or an Illusion? A Dream.. AVision? Or a 20140929_150730misconception?

The gamble is, I have put everything on the poker table of life, and bet it all. Security. Worth. Self-esteem. Career. Home. Children. Loved ones.. I have put my cards on the table and pushed in my chips.

In my mind questions rage, was this wise? Is this safe? What is the purpose? Is this really you God??

The other night I watched a movie, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.”  It is a story about a guy who works for “Life Magazine,” yet lives a very shallow life, whose only adventure is those he makes up in his mind.. Which happens regularly. He would just zone out while talking with someone, or just waiting on something like the bus. His mind would give him the Illusion that he is doing something heroic, or adventurous, and it would be so vivid that he could not distinguish it from reality, often ignoring everything else that is going on around him.

20140929_150007  This “Zoning Out,” was causing him shame and ridicule at work, as well as interfering with real life interaction. But through some desperate circumstances at work he is thrust into a real life drama of dangerous places, adventurous trails, and life threatening circumstances. And in this process of living this adventure, with it’s ever evolving direction, he finds “Life is about courage and going into the unknown.”  His “zoning out” and day dreaming falls away.  He has traveled to some of the most dangerous places, escaped deaths blows, and is living the motto of his Company, “Life – To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel.”

I am I living an illusion?  Have I let my senses distort, or allowed my mind to mis-interpret, things around me to give me the sense of living an adventure? And isn’t this what everyone is really after? An Adventure!?  We may not all zone out, but we do day dream. We do visualize something different. We do have goals, dreams, aspirations.. Our “zoning out” may be watching a movie, finding ourselves wrapped up in the adventures of those on the screen more than those around us. We look for action, adventure, romance from an external 20141010_173709source for the lack of life we are living in the now. Love on the screen is nice, but in real life it’s brutal, hard, and uncomfortable.

We turn on our game boxes, our computers, or other devises to give us the stimulation that is required to keep us going. We aren’t living an adventure,  so we are creating an illusion of one. We have to get the latest updates, newest games with the better plots, more drama or action. We are masters of illusion. We have been lulled to sleep, and had our life stolen from us dating back to the Garden with Adam and Eve.. Satan lied, promising an illusion, “to be Like God.”  And since that time we have been searching for that illusion ever since. That sense of worth, of love, of destiny, ADVENTURE..

I am in Romania. I am wearing a robe, typing on a computer. I have nothing here to give me an illusion of greatness. I am working on bathrooms, not feeling accomplishment, and trying to just make sense of each day. I am living among people I do not know. In a place I have never been before. I am meeting people, and being drawn closer to a true knowledge of God, feeling deeper what it means to lay down your pride and will.. I am under no illusion of greatness. I feel no sense of awe and wonder. I walk in the shadows of people, moving behind the light of others. I am to find others who, like me, are over shadowed.  I 1621903_4813753599924_1078205850207150352_ndon’t want to portray an illusion. I want it to be real.. Real “Life”. I want  the motto to be more than words. “To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel.” 

  For this is the purpose of Christ, “the Hope of glory.” He came “that we might have Life and have it more Abundantly.” He was “moved with compassion,” “Touched with the feelings of our infirmities,” so that we could draw closer, to know Him deeply, and find each other. “To bear one another’s burdens.” This is our great adventure. This is my story which is being written out.

“To seek and to save,” “to love the least of these.” I don’t want to live an illusion. I want to leave a legacy, not of wasted time and untaken chances… I choose real life. I choose to love despite rejection. I choose people, despite reward. I choose the path less taken that others may live.

  Donald  Miller in his book  A Million Miles in a Thousand Years,  he says, “once you live a story, 1385583_10154708505165525_2960086503423531656_nyou want to live a better story… “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.”

Our lives tell a story, the blank page on which God writes our story is in the everyday life, wither we choose adventure, drama, love, or just the illusion. “Once you live a story, you will want to live a better story.. And soon you become the character your living..”

“I have come that you might have Life!”

A Field of Dreams, Hopes and Joy

“The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America1794783_483685691732328_7960979906600399539_n has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh… people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”  Field of Dreams

Have you ever seen the Movie, Field of Dreams?  It’s about a guy who hears a voice telling him to build a baseball field in his cornfield.. Something no one else hears, but he is haunted by the voice..  So, obsessed with this voice that 10251926_493395567428007_1896017346158470537_nkeeps speaking to him, he plows down his crop in hopes to find the answers to the questions that keep raging in his mind with this voice.  The story is not really about baseball, or the crops, as much as it is about a man’s journey to find what is missing in side of him.
Despite the shame and humiliation of facing losing everything he has, and the ridicule of those around him, he follows his heart. A Road that is paved with good intentions but built on struggles and disappointments. But, thru the pain and suffering he endures, and he finds that this game brings him to his true desire. A healing place for his soul. A place of making the wounds of his past fade away.. And so it is with WC Special Needs Baseball..
10250066_493395397428024_9018683422012975983_n  I am not some superstar.  I don’t have a job.  No degree.  I am a person, a man, struggling to find my place in this world.  I don’t posses wealth. My home is nothing to brag about.  My ability to support those around me fall on shoulders of those who support me. I have a memory that serves me ok, but most of those thoughts are not of the great things I have accomplished..
I am humbled.  Nothing to brag about. I do not posses things or prestige.10486218_511148702319360_3014943927855556855_n   No, I am not the owner of land or cattle.  I have nothing this world esteems as valuable.  But I posses one gift, A Spiritual Gift if you would.  I possess a heart of flesh and not of stone. A heart that is sensitive to the feelings and hurts of those around me.  I am captivated by “the least of these,” those whom the world will not give a voice to.  It is these that capture my heart and enrapture my attention.  I am moved with compassion. Something in me stirs and I weep..
I don’t know if it is because I am so broken, and in my brokenness I am stretching forth that which is bent and withered,  not to be healed, but to heal others. In this stretching forth, maybe I will find healing myself.. Or relief.
1922413_483680311732866_3779529078745732778_n  I see a single mom. 3 kids. Beat up car. Working. Trying. Struggling.. She’s different. She doesn’t have the jewelry. She can’t afford the costumes and make up. Her kids… Well, they are social outcasts. Needy. Hungry for attention. Lost.. Confused. Plagued by thoughts of doubt, fear and rejection..”Where’s dad?”  “What did we do wrong?”  “Why don’t the other kids like us? Is it because we don’t dress like them?”  I WEEP…
I see a family, they have special needs kid. They do their best every day. They get tired. They work hard.  But to do something simple, easy, like going to the store, it’s a struggle. It’s hard.
I see the kids.. They are different. They are not like other kids.  Their minds10177437_685076684882242_203611876584998574_n work differently. Their bodies don’t move to their command. Their coordination is not accurate. They aren’t trying to be someone their not.  They are looking for acceptance.. They are looking for a place to fit in. To belong. And Jesus says, “Hinder not these kids from coming to me… Do it unto the least of these, and you have done it unto me.”  The words are haunting.  The faces of these kids, expressive.  My heart?  Crushed by the weight of each need.
I can’t change the circumstances. I cannot enter into their world every 10014652_483670741733823_3274355168831512563_nday.  I am a visitor.  To some, I am only passing thru.  To others, I hope I can be more. Yet, I am on the outside forever looking in. I cannot write out a check. ( I wished I could.)  I can’t wave a magic wand and make things get better for them, nor their family.. But I can come, step into their world on a given Saturday and take a ball in my hand, my place on the mound, with music thumping in the background, and like a Star Trek Movie, teleport them from their everyday life to a world that is beautiful.  Like a hypnotist, we erase or block out, all that is wrong, and for a morning, we make all things new.
13957_4437518986559_1463515936_n   This is Alice in Wonderland. This is a journey into the rabbit hole of their lives. For a Saturday I am able to make them  feel as equal as others. I am able to make, I hope, a small deposits of hope, the gift of joy, some laughter for the soul.. For a morning..“This is my most special place in all the world, Ray. Once a place touches you like this, the wind never blows so cold again. You feel for it, like it was your child.”  Field of Dreams
   For a morning we create A Field of Dreams, Of Friendships, of things all 1544422_483676568399907_2698325379592700468_ngood.. For this brief time, this field becomes the “most special place in all the world.”  A place with Magic.. Smiles appear. Joy erupts. Laughter ensues. Dancing becomes contagious. It’s not about the game, its about community. Sharing life with one another. And “once a place touches you like this.. the wind never blows so cold again.”  “This field, this game.. It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again,” next season. And the Next Season..
1150358_10152149991454387_2353336875298312794_n   My heart has grown. The tears I shed at the thought of not pitching this season, my soul quakes at the sound of goodbyes.  I know in Heaven there is no more tears, but for now they are the reminder of a heart that was changed. A life that was touched.. A story that needs to be shared.   I am a changed person. I am different.

“This is the Most Special Place in all the World, Ray.”
And Such is the Kingdom of God!




I am Not an Artist

321544_283459298331271_2144643561_nto bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.”  Isaiah 61:3

I am not an artist.  I hope, maybe, for a short time the screen is my canvas, the words I write are strokes of the brush across the canvas. Maybe, my metaphors and analogies would be used to shade in the areas and highlight the changing of hues. However, I am not an artist. I am sojourner. A Wanderer if you will, a journeyman looking for the infamous “lost city of gold.”

Maybe, you too are on such a trek. You feel not lost, but not home, estranged. You may feel like nothing is 5272b6d8e34311e2bd6422000a9f12df_6familiar; your friends are not close, but at a distance. Your family, well, you’re just misunderstood. Life??  It’s not figured out, but one thing, for sure, you long for meaning.. It’s a journey.  Maybe like myself, you are a stranger, an alien where you are, looking for your place. Life is a journey.

All journeys have a starting point and often a goal, or end in mind. They begin with an idea of doing, going, or accomplishing something; the something is always the purpose and drive of the journey.  I think at times about my life, this journey I am on, this path I walk, it is toward a goal, it has a purpose. At times, I know that it seems to be void of purpose, unclear of direction, marked by failure and uncertainty.  I am not like Jesus who said, “I have been born and have come into the world for this reason”.  I don’t have the end written out before hand. I rarely know what is around the next corner, yet I do have a purpose, a reason, or at least an idea of what I would like to accomplish.

10440290_4384670593117_3432131131806411540_n  I am not an artist, but I feel like I struggle like one. Being expressive comes with being misunderstood, viewed with skepticism and uncertainty; being clothed with cynicism (doubt and mistrust).  I am not an artist, yet like one, I am marked by a loneliness even though surrounded by people. In a way, maybe I am like Jesus. Maybe He too felt the weight of the journey while traveling with others,( 12 disciples, among 72 others) but always knowing what it is to be misunderstood..  Knowing isolation even around close friends.  Peter, “followed at a distance.”

I am not an artist, per say, yet my life is my art. It is my poetry, written for all to read and feel. Maybe just in part, some a few verses.. while others in longer sonnets..  My ministry is my sculpture, that which I carve out what I see in others.  Where others see deadness, dull wood, or a lump of clay, I hope to pour freshness, to fashion that which it was meant to be. Like any sculptor,  I want to bring to life out of the deadness, to sculpt and cut away all that is not useful, and form something of beauty where others see nothing.  In all this, I pray that my walk leaves a melody for others to hum. A tune for some to sing. Maybe someone will see the beauty in the work.. a story from the art that is to be told in the hues of 10458352_4388181480887_7833496888818547034_nwords and the lives of those it touches.

I am a sojourner. I am here temporarily.  I am a stranger and an alien to most places. I am not home yet. I have not made it to the celestial city. The Painting isn’t finished. The strokes have not blended it’s colors to show the full picture, nor the clay been formed. There are words yet to be spoken.  Strokes of the keys to convey a sense, a feeling. The screen is my canvas. My life, poetry to be versed. My purpose?? To bring beauty instead of ashes…