Insidious Adaptation

Like a sentencing from the judge, the pain inside when the inevitable truth is revealed has me torn. The benefit here is that the Judge grants me a life of eternal freedom from all woes and allowed to live in His glory for eternity. No more sorrow, no more pain. That's it, it is finished, as His son that he gave to the courts in payment of all the wrongs I have been accused of. I stand, in rags of clothes draped off my pathetic body, I am sick and weary, and yet, I am being treated like a King. I have been redeemed in this court room where I am definitely guilty. One thing is asked and it is that I give to the judge, my shoes. An easy thing to give for all eternity in my future. Take everything, these rags, I will stand here naked, unashamed for I know that I am now redeemed, given a gift I could not repay. Oh glorious judge how much you must love me, not in charitable compassion, but as one of your own. He watches knowing what I will do, however waiting for me to take the shoe...

With a new book in the works (for there is always a new book in the works) editing has taken over my free time. What this leaves is scraps of time, like pieces of bread, unworthy of your time, your clicks, your thumbs up. So I will make this brief. “Instead, be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ also forgave you.”   Ephesians 4:32 NET This the premise, turn around now if you took a wrong turn.  Where this road goes is nowhere but within, you get to indulge a little self-idolatry here. Not the kind you want, but even an anti-hero gets to have a movie every now  and  then.   This  one is obvious, or at least should be. Yet, somehow what gets lost in translation is our part in the matter. What have we done, or not done, to allow ourselves to get stuck in  such   debacle ?  Why  are we forever caught in this limbo of things being good to not good enough, satisfied to  disc...

"You don't know what 69 means?" This said to me by a few classmates on a walk back from the mini mart at lunch. "Yea I know what it means." I lied. "What does it mean then?" The fateful challenge, an inevitable elevation of argument. "It's drugs." I went with what I thought was most relevant at the time. (laughter erupts) I have outed myself. I in fact, do not know what 69 means. The rest of that day in 7th grade was abysmal, for I was reminded again that I was different. I was on the outside of something all the other kids knew about. How did I miss this. I couldn't help but wonder, sitting in math after lunch, consumed with the social exclusion I was feeling. After all, nobody will like me now, for not only did I not know something so obvious to everyone else, but they caught me pretending. What if they figure out other things about me? As my adolescent armpits start to erupt with moisture, I now start to fear sweating...

She has always been such a formal display of cruelty. For me, I have known her more as a Halloween prop than anything else. Through a few history lessons, I understood lynching. Now, I see her differently. I see the craft and variety of ways she is made. Rarely is she actually made the way I saw growing up. We visualize a rope, in reality she can be a tie, a t-shirt, a blanket even, for the rope can be too obvious a giveaway. When you say rope I think of water skiing, I think of a ladder up to a tree house, rarely do I consider the same rope used for someone to exit stage left, early. Yanked out while the audience looked away, never to return. There is no bow after this performance. The play keeps going without skipping a beat, reminding the audience that character, you, were background at best. The play wasn’t about you. Even a lead actor, taken off stage, the one we were meant to look at, he is a shock, he grabs your attention. Luckily there are many others and things to satiate...

When I first graduated with my bachelor's degree after seven years of in and out of school, many degree switches, and goal-interfering behaviors, I finally got my first job in my field. Little did I know that first job was going to be working at a group home with adolescent boys whom had a criminal rap sheet larger than grown men I would later work with. The funniest part of the job was that the first time I went in for the interview I had to take a basic math exam, which I failed. My pride interfered with my ability to conduct basic, elementary-level mathematics and budget a grocery ledger. "I'm sorry Mr. Meier, you failed the math test, you are not eligible for hire at this time." The words shook through my body, crumbled my foundation, made me reflect on every other inadequacy that was now exposed. Pain searing through my temples, a throbbing that made me want to lash out at him, the HR guy (whom later became a Facebook friend). I wanted to hurt someone, I wa...

Mental health treatment typically focuses on behaviors. Therapy centers around what “behaviors” interfere with a person’s contentment. However, as humans tend to do, our behaviors change from week to week, therefore, what is worked on or processed in one session changes to the next. One week, there is a crisis, something that we cannot possibly make it through, and the next, we are relatively OK. "OK," for the moment that is. A therapist’s office, should be comfortable, neat enough, for too neat can be intimidating, and comfortable. There should be a desk somewhere, a cozy place to sit, maybe even something to look at. A picture can take the focus from an intense conversation, or as in my own sessions I stare at trees which are so beautiful this time of year. I am comfortable here, it is not home, because home can be stressful. The office is of a comfortable temperature and the smell either of nothing, or something lightly pleasant. Despite the conditions of an office bein...

That look, a reminder of a former self, a self that was better than this version now. That man I used to be, he was so much better than me now. He was muscular and cool, though he didn't see it at the time. This man gets brought back up whenever he is reminded of the superficial presentation of others he used to be, "in the mix" with. 5 years ago! That man, that front of a person, for he lacked anything real, he is exactly as I remember him, anything anyone else liked. He was a ghost, a mirage, giving everybody everything they ever wanted, at the cost of him. This was not noble, or, "nice" it was for selfish gain, for you to like him and gather admiration. Even a cloud or fog finds resistance to an airplane to vehicle passing through. He wasn't valuable, but was merely Santa's bag, giving the kids whatever they asked for. His own wealth put off, converted to a currency of here and now, that same "now," that is over, with no lasting benef...

"Well, he needs to do what is asked of him." "He needs to start talking about these things." "He needs to see his situation for what it is." "He cannot just sit there doing nothing." What is it that HE is trying to do? See, as humans we have this ability to communicate with one another, an ability that we take a little too far from time to time. Yes, we have lived a life of experience altering what we see as right and wrong, efficient or not, but it is not the life someone else lived, therefore doing what they need to do for them. I presented on people understanding context recently, for there I refer to the back story being a significant indicator of why or how people did whatever they did. Now however, I want to look at how people interact and try to alter, interfere, change for the better even, the lives of other. Whether you are a parent, a friend, a spouse, a family member, a complete stranger that simply notices the same poor be...

The topic was open for discussion, I figured I would weigh in. I felt safe enough to present my case, what I had seen and what had rolled around in my head justifying my need to say something. W.-Why  A.-Am I.-I T.-Talking?  An acronym I had seen once on a business meeting room where "serious" meetings were held. I am a counselor, we have no need to, W.A.I.T. for we are in the business of talking, making inferences, spewing our selves and perceptions out to filter the chunks of verbal vomit. Here, in this lesser-sophisticated office setting there is currently a debate going on between a boss and her employee. Luckily, she does not see this difference in rank, she sees a person with a differing opinion, one that she doesn't agree with, yet one she will oblige. For that last part I am grateful, for we all want a stage some of the time. "Damnit Becky, why are you so stupid when things don't go your way..." "Look, I am just saying that wh...

The allotment given at the end of a two week’s work cannot possibly sum up that which has already passed. After all, the time is done, passed, spent like a few dollars on something to drink, no matter if I spill the thing. There is this lingering promise that exists from an employer and my bank account, for maybe they are both in on some kind of conspiracy. Maybe the bank is also in cahoots with the gas, electric, and insurance companies as well. What if there is no money being traded, the electronic, “transfers” are nothing more than to appease me, when between the large conglomerates they exchange my time. The insurance company for my vehicle alone gets most of my Monday, Tuesday goes towards the cable bill and the grocery store. Wednesday, well that one is dedicated to day care, along with a little bit of Thursday. Then the glorious Friday where the value of hours past 3PM should be double, well, that one I reserve for a personal purchase or two, some kind of incentive to keep me m...

As my hands hold the stack of papers, making sure not to squeeze too hard, not to put creases into the otherwise perfect stack of story, I cannot help but judge my work as, "lacking." Obviously, there is always more one can do when they are in the submission process, there is always another way to do something, another article to find, something else that can be done, for the act of submission is not admission of perfection, but actually that there is need for more.  Acknowledging the overpowering force at times is difficult to a prideful man.  Submission of another kind, the kind where we bow our heads, admit we are powerless to a person, place, thing, God himself, now this is the admittance that we are not in control, that we are imperfect to the utmost meaning of the word, that we recognize the need. Submission has this tendency to be depicted as such a discounting thing as though submitting makes you a lesser version, like an action going backwards. Instead of gr...

Looking from the outside, a father whose perspective is altered, for no longer is the world simply, “the world,” but, "a problem." In childhood, the development is selfish, egocentric, for the idea of altruism is not yet firm. The concept is within us all, after all, we are human, connected at our most basic principles, however the environment promotes that which we will not see in ourselves until old enough to resent it. I was raised to be productive, now I cannot stop. I was raised to love my brothers, when is all I learned was how to present and resent them. I was raised to believe in Christ, yet that man I thought I knew then, not even a tip of the iceberg.  Patience, understanding, empathy, all virtues that have an expiration date inside an agenda.  I now know Him better, long to be close to Him, be like Him, work for Him, for the worship and education about Him is fundamental, nothing new there. What shines through me the most is from what I learned in childhood,...