Imperfection

When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon’s partners. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men.” So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him. Luke 5:8-11

Ignoring what they said, Jesus told the synagogue ruler, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” Mark 5:36

my soul has tasted madness,

my soul lies dying in the dust,

choking on the excess,

drowning in the lust,

caught up in the illusion,

dried up,

empty,

no where left to turn,

no where left to run,

guilty as charged;

once again You

raise me from the depths,

once again You

wrap me in Your love,

Your righteousness and glory

more than my filth ridden flesh

can bear,

Your perfection

overwhelming the imperfection

of all that I am;

Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!

once again You quietly whisper;

Don’t be afraid; just believe.

my God,

my King,

my Everything.

.

.

dreams

who is right and

who is wrong?

I am like a beached whale;

struggling,

turning,

pulsing,

heaving,

fighting,

rolling,

rising,

falling;

and who is right

and who is wrong?

the silence remains,

undisguised,

unspoken,

forgotten,

hiding behind

darkened windows,

shadows within the

night,

silky smooth,

hot and bothered,

passionately pure,

blends of this,

shades of that,

pieces of the

unfinished puzzle,

none of it real,

none of it genuine,

none of it true;

who is right and

who is wrong?

within these walls

are many tales,

much laughter,

rivers of sorrow,

oceans of tears,

pools of sadness,

victims drowning

within their own blood;

we are all right,

we are all wrong;

winners and losers,

fighters and failures,

lovers and haters,

innocent and guilty,

doomed and redeemed;

together;

this is all there is,

this is all we have;

I cannot dream

what I do not know,

I cannot know

what I do not dream.

.

.

Close

I awake at 3 in

the morning,

the dream still lingering,

the voices softly whispering;

I feel the disappointment,

I feel the sadness,

I feel the emptiness,

I feel the sorrow,

I always wanted to be someone

who made you proud;

but I never was;

now I run backhoes

and drive tractors,

pretending to be

something I am not,

accepting the pain,

ignoring the truth,

doing ‘manly’ things,

but still it’s not enough,

it will never be enough as

the voice inside screams:

“more,”

“more;”

eventually I will fail,

eventually I will quit,

eventually I will give up;

I always do,

I always have;

freedom is about

being free;

free from desires,

free from possessions,

free from fear;

freedom is about

being good enough

to walk away;

pretending it doesn’t matter,

doing without by choice;

not necessity;

freedom is about

being free from

everyone and

everything;

free from yourself;

the energy fades,

slipping away like air,

forever gone,

never to return,

the time is close now,

the day no longer rules,

things are different in

the darkness of this night,

light disappears,

feelings fade,

words have no place,

secrets of the heart

spill out;

the time is close.

.

.

Indignity

around 4 am it finally comes,

it seems to take longer now,

slower,

deliberate,

more mindful,

this is how it is

when you get older,

the way it was meant

to be;

recovery is never quite

the same;

I remember many things,

things no one knows,

things about which

no one cares,

hot summer nights,

stars shining in the sky

like newly discovered jewels,

fresh and clean,

your skin,

soft and warm,

your touch;

like a long lost friend;

the end draws closer,

not much longer now,

I am ready,

all the bags are packed,

I have been waiting

for such a very long time,

soon the indignity will stop,

the suffering fade;

soon enough,

soon enough;

a quiet, peaceful sanctuary

amidst the storm,

a final sleep

before the breaking dawn.

.

.

Next

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”   Matthew 14:28-33

one more lesson,

one more obstacle,

one more weakness,

one more time, I begin

to sink below the surface;

once again, You grasp

my hand,

once again, You pull

me from the depths,

once again, You teach me

to overcome,

once again, Your power sets

me free;

the world continues on,

wars and rumors of wars,

death and destruction,

joy and laughter,

greed and self-satisfaction,

vanity and pride;

none of that matters now,

the flesh slowly dies,

only a fading mist,

a disappearing shadow,

I am finished with it all,

there is nothing more

I need,

there is nothing more

I want,

all that matters now is

what comes next,

all that matters now,

is You.

.

.

No Other

I am the LORD, and there is no other; apart from me there is no God. I will strengthen you, though you have not acknowledged me, so that from the rising of the sun to the place of its setting people may know there is none besides me. I am the LORD, and there is no other. I form the light and create darkness, I bring prosperity and create disaster; I, the LORD, do all these things.   Isaiah 45:5-7

For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power.   I Corinthians 4:20

the empty highway looms ahead,

stretching on forever, no end in sight,

destinations unknown, distant and unexplored,

staring mindlessly ahead, missing the thrill of the open road,

missing the isolation of the high mountain trails,

missing the taste of a young girl’s lips,

the breathless excitement in her eyes,

the feel of her quivering anticipation;

understanding things that no longer are;

it does not matter, the past is gone,

the only truth left, shining brightly ahead,

the small, still voice, speaking deeply within,

opening your eyes, revealing things

you could never have imagined,

incomprehensible things, things of beauty, things of truth,

knowledge for which words have no expression,

leaving you humbled and in awe;

God is power,

forming the light, creating darkness,

bringing prosperity, allowing disaster,

not bold, foolish talk, not man-made traditions,

not a better way of living, not a philosophy,

far beyond anything our limited minds can comprehend,

healing the sick, giving sight to the blind,

raising the dead to life;

God is power.

.

.

My Baby Does the Hanky Panky

we were eating breakfast at the Pink Cadillac,

one of our routine, Sunday morning breakfast places,

‘Crimson and Clover’ came on the overhead speaker,

I looked at her,

she looked at me with a subdued grin on her face because

she knew what was coming next,

it is a little game we have been playing for 37 years,

she acts like it annoys her, but deep down inside I know she

loves it,

it always starts out with;

“who did this song?”

then it goes;

“did I ever tell you he was from my hometown?”

she always rolls her eyes and replies;

“yes, about 2,000 times!”

once the preliminaries were over,

I decided to take it a little farther,

something I do occasionally to keep it fresh;

“okay, what was his real name?” I ask;

I’ve probably told her the answer 500 out of the 2,000 times

we’ve played this game, and she always replies:

“I don’t know, what is it?” in a completely 'hurry up and get this over' tone,

but this time she decided to take the game to a new level;

“Tom Jackson”, she replies, with a wry smile on her face,

whoa, I was impressed;

“come on” she says, “bring it”;

game on;

“okay” I say, “who was the original bass player in the group? the

one who made the original recording of ‘My Baby Does the Hanky Panky';”

I’ve told her the story several times, how Mr. Jackson took the demo

to Cleveland, where it became a hit on the Cleveland radio stations, and how

it got him a recording contract, and how the record company rerecorded it using

studio musicians, leaving the original members without a dime;

“how would you know, and how would I know if it’s true?” she asks,

“you could make up anything;”

“I used to date his sister” I reply;

she chokes on her coffee, then begins laughing,

“you are just full of surprises” she says,

“even after 37 years,”

“so you and Mr. Jackson have something in common," she adds;

you both screwed somebody from the same family;”

“NO, NO!” I reply, “it wasn’t like that, she was a good girl,

from a Irish Catholic family, there were over 20 kids in her family,

there was never anything romantic between us,”

she gives me the eye,

the one that says, yeah right,

“it’s true” I say, “she dated me after breaking up with her

high school sweetheart, we were just really good friends,

we both knew she was just trying to make her boyfriend jealous,

I was okay with it, eventually she and her old boyfriend got married

and had kids, I’d like to think I played a small part in that,

but I have no idea if it would be the truth, I’d moved on to other things

by then;”

I go on to say “I really liked going to her house, there was always kids around,

younger ones, older ones, twins, always people laughing, a very happy place;”

even if there was no hank panky.

.

.