Twisting, turning.
Emotions churning.
My heart is heavy.
My losses burning.
Oh, God,
When will you come
And save me?
My friends have left me,
And I feel abandoned.
The rejection stings.
Spare me from torture.
Please, Lord,
Let us reconcile once more.
What I’ve said in anger
Cannot be taken back.
People I’ve blamed for others’
Misfortunes
May have taken it personally.
Pressure I feel on my neck—
The bait from enemies waiting
For me to fall.
And so I wonder:
Is having my silly say
In politics or religion
Worth alienating my
Brothers and sisters?
Maybe a little temperance
Could go a long way.
Maybe if I hold my tongue
When I’m tempted to
Jump into the fray
Might win me
A different kind of victory.
One that lasts.
One that builds up,
Instead of tearing down.
One that reconciles.
One for the kingdom.
Don’t remember much about you,
From growing up.
Don’t know if we didn’t have many
Meaningful conversations,
Or if we didn’t emotionally connect,
Or if you just weren’t around.
I see you in the few pictures
We still have left.
That’s proof! I shout,
To nobody in particular.
You were there.
You came to my games,
To my concerts,
To my awards ceremonies.
But did you say anything to me?
Anything memorable?
Anything impressionable?
Anything teachable?
Why don’t I remember you?
I know you were proud of me.
I felt your support when I knew
You were there.
But what did it mean?
What was our relationship like?
Did we ever talk about things?
And why didn’t I ever go to you
For help, when I got into the many
Conflicts, arguments and problems
With family or friends?
If you were there, if you were around,
Why didn’t I take advantage of it?
Maybe you weren’t the problem.
Maybe I just didn’t know
What to say, how to ask,
How to express myself.
Maybe I didn’t quite understand
What families and friends are
All about?
I didn’t know how to safely
Navigate those potentially perilous
Waters, without asking questions
From someone more experienced,
Someone wise, someone loving,
Someone who cares.
And maybe that’s why I have
Such a hard time believing in God,
Believing he’s there for me,
Offering grace, tenderness, mercy,
Forgiveness, wisdom and guidance.
I don’t have a relationship that
Means something because
I don’t know how to connect,
How to ask for help,
How to express my thankfulness.
I don’t even sense his quiet support,
His delight in his child.
Crying out
Does not happen
Without pain,
Without struggle.
Creativity
Is birthed
From suffering.
To attain
Resolution,
One must encounter
Conflict.
To reach the summit,
One must be faced
With challenge.
Something
Must be wrestled with,
To win.
And so I find myself
In times of difficulty,
Trying
To give birth
To a new creation.
So be it.
What does it mean to be spiritual? It’s hard to pin down, really. Is it abstract? That would include ideas and emotions. Is it religious? So many people have gone to a lot of trouble to distance themselves from that term, fearing legalism and hypocrisy. Is it the heavenly realm? That would leave out humans, or wouldn’t it? Is it supernatural? Same. Can animals participate in the spiritual? I would guess that would depend on what version of spirituality one subscribes to. Are some spiritual things more real or more true than others? Is there some overlap? There certainly is some overlap in subjects, and, therefore, content. The same terms are used in more than one creed. Are creeds spiritual, or religious? And what about music? Some believe that all music is spiritual. Does it depend on the lyrics? That seems superficial. Does it depend on the subject matter? Or whether it quotes from a holy book? Are all holy books equal? Aren’t religious institutions the keepers of the holy books? That sort of complicates things a bit. More questions than answers, unfortunately. But that is better than assuming one knows all the answers.
…
I was about twelve years old when my parents divorced. I was an angry teenager, and my mom, whom I lived with, was quite depressed. I used to send her into a rage on a regular basis. Although she was never tested or diagnosed, I think she has bipolar disorder, like me.
…
One night, I said something that enraged her. I ran to the front door, unlocked it, and ran outside. I was in socks with no shoes, and it was raining. I kept running down the sidewalk for several blocks, crossing streets and running through intersections. Finally, I arrived at my friend Curt’s house.
…
Curt was a police officer who lived next door to a close friend of mine, Brian, and his family. Curt was a severe alcoholic, who liked to listen to rock music well into the evening, blasting away on his stereo, and smoking his Marlboro menthol lights. He also had pornographic magazines underneath his sink in the guest bathroom.
…
Curt never locked his front door. So, when I came running up to his house, soak and wet, I just went right in. Curt was sitting naked on his couch, drinking beer. He only wore clothes at home occasionally. It was Miami, Florida, so the weather was hot. Curt had his sliding glass back door open, so his dog, Noel, could come back and forth to his backyard.
…
I told Curt what happened, crying. He hugged me and held me, and told me “You’re okay, you’re right here.” Curt always kept Pepsi in his fridge, ice cream and chocolate in his freezer, and barbecue Fritos on the kitchen counter. I helped myself, and soon I was feeling better.
…
Curt let me calm down and listen to music for a while, then he gently suggested I call my mom to let her know where I was. My mom would usually scream and yell over the phone at us, demanding for me to come home immediately. Curt would then put on some clothes and drive me home.
…
Curt was raised in the Catholic Church, and served as an alter boy when he was little. His father was violently abusive, and when he was a teenager, one night, after watching his father beat up his mom, Curt threw him out of the house. Curt looked after his two younger brothers and his mom until he and his brothers moved out, one of his brothers, Mike, serving in Vietnam.
…
Curt married his wife, Linda, but one day Curt came home from work to an empty house. Linda had left him and took everything. My friend Brian’s family helped him with a mattress to sleep on until he could get some furniture. Curt used to pay me to mow his lawn when I was in middle school. I spent many hours sitting in his living room, listening to rock music on his stereo.
…
I eventually went to Florida State University in Tallahassee for college. Curt’s brother Mike had moved to Tallahassee for work, so Curt came up to visit. Curt decided that when he retired, he would have a house built in Wakulla, just south of Tallahassee. Curt moved up here, and settled in. Curt and Mike attended an art and poetry exhibit that I had in the student union.
…
When Curt was a police officer, he fell off a roof, and he fell down a flight of stairs. He hurt his back and his knees. Curt didn’t believe in doctors much, and he couldn’t afford surgery, so he took Advil all day long, every day. When he got older, his back or knees would occasionally go out, and he’d be bedridden. I’d take him food, go grocery shopping for him, and nurse him back to health. It was very meaningful for me to get to care for Curt, after he had helped me so much.
…
Curt didn’t have much to say about God. He didn’t like churches or pastors, and he believed the Bible was just a book written by people, like any other book. He knew I always went to church, as did my friend Brian and his family, so he didn’t say much about it. One time the Vienna Boys Choir came to a Tallahassee church to perform, and Curt went with me and my wife, Jackie, to see them. He really liked it. He had always wanted to have children. It just didn’t work out for him.
…
One day I hadn’t heard from Curt and he wasn’t answering his phone. I asked Jackie to ride down to his house with me, and sure enough, Curt had passed away. I had no regrets about Curt. He was always supportive of me and hospitable to me and my family. I saw him as a good person who had a rough life and just didn’t fit in.
…
I don’t know if Curt went to heaven, but he was more loving than most church people I know. I think his heart was in the right place, and he is in some type of everlasting peace. He may have lived as mostly an agnostic, but I like to think he went to be with Jesus.
…
Later that same week, on Sunday, Amy and her family headed to church, like they always did. When Amy’s Dad drove their car into the parking lot, there weren’t a lot of cars there, so Amy could see most people as they walked into the church. Amy was shocked to see one particular person getting out of his car. It was the man she saw in her neighborhood on Tuesday morning. He said, “Good morning,” to Amy’s Dad, with a smile. “I’m afraid I gave a scare to your daughter the other day,” he said to Amy’s Dad. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize.”
“My name’s Bradley Coulder,” he said, with an outstretched hand. Amy’s Dad put out his hand and offered a smile. “I’m Darren Green,” he said. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding,” Mr. Green said, smiling at Bradley, then at Amy. Amy was mortified. How could her Dad so easily accept this guy? She looked down and walked into the church, not looking back. Amy wasn’t going to reject her instincts on this man, even if her Dsd liked him. Amy’s family usually sat towards the front of the sanctuary, in the second or third pew on the right. Amy sat there, refusing to give in to her curiosity about Bradley, who seemed to have taken a seat towards the back of the church.
Life flowing from my heart
Is cut down by rivers of doubt.
The rushing water wears down
My early oaths and affirmations,
Slowing my faith to a halt.
My simple plan to ditch the man of the gospels,
Runs into blockades along the way.
Nests of love, peace and grace
Call me away from my solitary journey.
I sometimes fight the current,
Or allow myself to rest,
But naturally I am carried away
By the fantasies and delusions
Of my silly imagination.
With a battering ram strapped to my forehead,
I push through the glistening walls of the great cathedral.
But for what?
Has this victory won me anything of value?
After all, the war has already been won by my adversary,
And this stub in the toe is no big loss to him.
My screams in the darkness win me no favors,
Gain me no pity, although he may shed a tear.
Shall I continue to throw stones through stained glass windows,
Knowing I am only hurting those I love and who love me?
Whom am I fighting, anyway, if not myself?
Reaching out.
Waves crashing,
At my feet.
Love crushing
The air
Out of my lungs.
What is to be
Expected
From my great God
Next?
Joy is pulling out
My fingernails.
Peace is knocking me
Unconscious.
What can I give
To board the train
Going up the hill?
What can I say
To bring mercy
To my body
And soul?
Grace
Is beating me
To a pulp.
Jesus,
Save me
From your church!
Save me
From society!
The powerful
And the rich
Hover above
My bleeding body,
Like vultures.
How can I escape?
Stumbling along the sidewalk 