Walking The Journey

Driving north bound on I-75, destination dinner at an Irish pub; I approached a tow truck on the right hand side of the highway. As I came upon the tow truck, I realized that the truck was broke down, dead on the side of the highway. That occurred to me to be rather ironic, the vehicle of rescue needing some rescue of its own. And off I continued to my dinner of fish and chips and whiskey soaked raisin bread pudding and vanilla bean ice-cream. In reflection, irony seems to occur around us more frequently than we might imagine. In my line of work, this occurs on a daily basis. I have walked with people who have discovered life through their own terminal illness. I have seen marriages burst open in renewed love and commitment through facebook affairs and office romances. I have seen life grow abundantly through forgiveness that was never thought to be given. The people who have found God through running from Him into addiction, pornography, power and control, and corrup

I often use Google maps when I need directions, times of travel, and/or miles between destinations. In fact, I use Google maps to find locations between 2 places of travel. Google maps are also on my phone and I access directions wherever I might be. I use to use Rand McNally, and even though I like that site better, Google is more accessible. But as you probably know, Google maps are not always accurate and can leave out steps. It doesn’t always account for roadblocks and obstacles. We were traveling through Savannah, Georgia over the summer and I relied on Google maps on my phone to show me the way. I also relied on Google maps to guide me to our friends’ home in North Carolina. As you might guess, Google maps was a nice tool but it wasn’t accurate and often “led me astray”. This reminds me of our travels through life. I have found that the only true road map in life is God’s word and His map for my life. In my earlier days, I would attempt to discover God’s will for my

The clouds looked liked long jagged white and grey streaks, with touches of darker black, which stretched across the skies.   They represented left over’s from the storms of yesterday, and announced the coming storms that will arrive this afternoon.    The sun shone with warmth and life, breaching through the clouds, declaring a new and glorious day.   All creation of nature seemed to be bright with greens and yellows and occasional color of flowers and flowering weeds, which held their own sense of beauty on a cool and welcoming morning.   I don’t know if all was truly brighter than normal or my senses and awareness were in tuned with the Creators creation this morning. “God of wonders beyond our galaxy, You are Holy, Holy. The universe declares your Majesty, And you are holy, holy”, echoes through my mind, the lyrics of a Third Day song.   The word that rings in my head is not holy as much as wonder.   I look around with wonder, of how can all this be, all this beauty, all this wo

While attending a conference last year, I met a dark skinned woman who told a story that so many in the ballroom had little to no struggle identifying with, I being one of those people.   She told a tale of growing up always feeling she was different from others around her, including those in her own house.   She would look into her father’s face; closely observe the contrast of color as she held her mother and fathers hands, the different features of her siblings.   She’d ask when reaching 7 years of age, only to be told that she was no different than they.   It wasn’t until her parents divorced, and in a both evil and misguided attempt by one of her parents to hurt the other, did the truth come forward.   She learned that she was adopted. She soon discovered she was Native, that her deeper complexion was   due to the genetic pigmentation of her Native parents, who’d she’d never be able to find, somewhere in Canada.   She spent much of the next 10 years discovering her People, her

“I have to do everything, it’s not fair”, echoes from down the hallway, as small feet stomp off in utter despair and anguish, bearing the weight of the world.   “You can’t tell me what to do”, softly follows in a whispering cry as a tired soul brushes her teeth, wanting only to go to bed, escaping late night exhaustion.   Oh, how being tired can transform a princess into a pain stricken creature of the night.   We all have our moments, our triggers, that if we are wise, we learn and embrace, to guide us away from negative emotional impulses that result in even worse decisions and regretful consequences.   Triggers are those little switches insides our brains, our bodies, and our souls that when flipped, invite the demons of another world to take over our beings and turn us into schizophrenic psychopaths. Learning and feeling our triggers can rapidly disarm the imps that sneak into our selves and drive behaviors down a road of colliding destruction.   Common triggers can be identified

The night is still and my home is quiet. My angelic children are in bed and the big dog is asleep on his back, his long legs reaching for the ceiling. The washing machine downstairs keeps time in rhythmic electronic tones which I cannot describe in words, but I’m sure I could mimic vocally. I think my mechanic of 20 years is the most talented in mimicking noises I’ve ever met. My bride sits quietly on the couch writing and reading, of what I’m not sure. My bed is quietly whispering my name and calling me to sleep. I made the mistake of saying out loud, “I don’t really feel like blogging”, to which my focused wife utters, “Maybe you should blog about that”. I laugh, and then think, “You know, you’re right”. It’s not that blogging is a chore, as it most certainly is not; being much more of a release and a pleasure for me, but then, how often do our pleasures become somewhat burdensome at times. It’s ironic how pleasures in life can convert themselves into burdens within our minds, rob

Walking through life discovering our wants and needs and how to get and obtain them can be a tricky road indeed. In the words of the great philosopher Mick Jagger, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need.” We probably get those two things mixed up quite frequently, the wants and the needs and the differences between them. In reality, I suppose they often appear to be the same thing. A want is a desire for something or someone, like a new car, a certain lifestyle, children, a loving spouse, a nice house, or the family best friend of a dog. A need is more a necessity in order to live life, to function, to survive, such as oxygen, food, shelter, clothing, and income. The fine line between these wants and needs seem to occur on deeper levels, such as spiritual, emotional, and relational needs and wants. The line becomes even more gray and foggy when one takes into account ones culture, norms, expectations, experience

Growing up, my mother read me the story of, “The Little Engine That Could”, probably dozens if not a hundred or more times, or at least, if not read it to me, told me of the little engine that could. In fact, I can remember my mother telling me about this little engine throughout my childhood, into my high school years, and even into my adulthood. One evening years ago, in sharing my hectic and crazy “scheduled” life of working multiple jobs, internships, completing my masters program, and taking care of my family, all at the same time, my mother reminded me of that little train that could, assuring me I can do anything I tell myself I can. Funny how stories linger in our minds from our childhood and continue to strengthen and drive us into our adulthoods. That story of a little train that was originally told back in 1906 continues to echo in my psyche, helping to convince me that yes, I can do anything I put my soul into doing. As we humans continue to grow in our beings and discov

Max Lucado, in his children’s book, “You are Special”, tells a story about a people called the Wemmicks who spend their days placing stars and dots on each other, to determine the worth and value of each person in the village. Gold stars are granted to the pretty and talented ones, and gray dots are stuck on those who can do little, are flawed, or perceived as less in value than the others. In the story, a Wemmick named Punchinello is the target of ridicule and scorn, his wooden body covered in gray dots. Punchinello strives to get a gold star, yearning for acceptance and unconditional love. It’s not until he meets Eli, the woodcarver who created him, that he understands how special he is, even with the flaws covered by dots. I can appreciate and completely agree with W.C. Fields comment, “It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to”. For so many of us, we have allowed our spirits to be conditioned by what others have called us, just as Punchinello allowed his worth

Acceptance necessitates enduring those things that you cannot change. It is not becoming a doormat, but rather understanding what you can change, what is outside your locus of control, and focusing your efforts on change and influence that is within your power, letting others be themselves while you allow yourself to be yourself. Once we realized that much is outside our realm of power, change, and control, we can stop allowing it to overpower us, surrendering our will to a God greater than ourselves. Many emotions and belief systems get in our way of surrendering our will and focusing on what is within our power to change and influence, understanding our limitations. Anger can be a healthy emotion and it can also be a destructive emotion if we allow it to overpower our own power or if we use it in an attempt to get others to become what we desire them to be. Anger can stand in the face of acceptance, capturing our soul, life direction, and relationships, convincing us we need to “fi

An old friend of my life in the eighties wrote me a little note today. How nice is it to hear from people you knew in the “good old days”, especially from those whom you shared a good friendship bond. There are many people in my life I just don’t get to see or talk with often, whether they are only a 3 hour drive away or on the other side of the planet. Those unexpected “hellos” bring back fond memories of a younger me. I suppose we all enjoy memories of the younger us, in a day when risk was worth taking and chances were the call of the day, when cares were few and happiness was the goal. The forgetfulness of my mind and the aches of my body tell me that yes, those are memories, and if I attempted what I did back then today, I probably “wouldn’t make it out alive”. Thank you God for the memories of yesterday and for the wisdom not to go back there again. And at the same time, older age does bring with it wisdom. The memories of my youth stir old time happiness and the wisdom of my

It amazes me sometimes how many different organizers I have that are used to simplify my life and plan all the functions and responsibilities that exist in my life.   Millions of people use organizers like me, such as iphones, blackberry’s, date books, sticky notes, etc, to get their lives in order.     We do our best to structure our busy days, minute by minute.   And just how many email addresses, calendars, organizers, can one person use.   I have 3 different on line calendars, a printed calendar, a phone organizer, and 4 different email addresses.   A friend told me one, “me thinks you have too many email addresses”.   As we make attempts to micromanage our lives, I have to wonder what we would discover if we were to analyze our entries.   How much time has been allotted for meetings, work duties, picking up the kids, taking them to sports and after school activities, social events, and duties and responsibilities? Moreover, I wonder just how much time you’d discover in your organi