Walk in the Woods
Journal: #277 Open Thy Hand
The more grip I use on a dream or life situation, the more the outcome controls my life. When my hand is open, I find the healthy space I need from any scenario. If a dream, a job, or relationship fails, I’m ok. The outcome isn’t a judgement on my heart or self-worth. More than all that, my open hand creates space for the Lord to do His work in me. My closed hand forces Him out. An open hand see possibilities and all the paths forward.
From mid-February until last week, my life was a fight. I fought to write, to walk, and to pray. I even fought how I treated myself and others. The battle was evident in the little moments when my brain didn’t think as quickly as my mouth acted. For example, I was shocked at my decayed patience, and I quit drawing. Part of this detour was due to self-pity. I gave up being a powerful person, and began to wait for life to happen. It’s a terrible trap whereby I begin to resent those who do not recognize and value me. It’s a sign I need help.
Then, toward the end of this swamp mess, I felt disconnected from the Lord. I felt stuck. And, I felt defeated. But…that’s not true. Today, as I type, I super proud of me. I’m proud I walked through a lonely season without a meltdown. Sure, I was not the healthiest version of me, but I mustered every tool and skill at my disposal to hang onto the Lord. And…I did. I never let go of His hand.
From a higher level, I’m fighting what I always fight- my need to be validated by others. And the truth is I am validated everyday by people who love me. I don’t go a single day without a text, messages, or call from someone I love. It’s awesome, and I’m grateful for it. I’ve got a few others areas of my life I’m proud of:
I kept fighting. I didn’t concede one day to the enemy, which is great.
I never stopped praying or trying to connect to the Lord. This is key. In previous similar situations, I walked away from the Holy Spirit. Into my cave of shame I went.
I didn’t stop writing or walking. Sure. Some of my writing (most of it) is lackluster, but that’s not the point. My goal for my first year of writing was to write everyday. I’ve done that, even in the low moments. Correspondingly, my daily walks became a chore, but they happened.
I learned what commitment is. Commitment is faith without reason. It’s the determination to believe the sun will rise when all is dark, and preparing for it.
Finally, I stayed on top of my dreams and goals. Despite my feelings of rejection and associated sorrow, I did not surrender my dreams to pain or outside influence. I moved closer to them. I defined and refined my path with the Lord, and it opened my (metaphorical) hand.
My open hand is important. The more grip I use on a dream or life situation, the more the outcome controls my life. When my hand is open, I find the healthy space I need from any scenario. If a dream, a job, or relationship fails, I’m ok. The outcome isn’t a judgement on my heart or self-worth. More than all that, my open hand creates space for the Lord to do His work in me. My closed hand forces Him out. An open hand see possibilities and all the paths forward.
God is Good. The more I walk with Him, the more evidence I see. Five years ago, I would fallen into a shame spiral, gained 25 lbs, and locked myself into a porn hole. That’s no longer my reality. Today, I can spot the bullshit from a mile away. I know that food represents shame and rejection. Porn is a lack of connection. I’d rather be frustrated by my “lack of progress” than my pile of sins. And, daily walks with Jesus are a must.
The next step is to find peace and joy on a constant basis, through the ups and downs. Lord, come. Your will be done.
Journal: #276 Mom’s Day
When I think about who I am and the kind of mother I needed, the Lord made the right call. My mom is not a know-it-all loudmouth. She has opinions but usually keeps them close to her chest. When it comes to big life decisions, she rarely lets her view be known. She’s been in my corner through every move, job change, heart break, and self-destructive moment. I’m thankful she got to see me rise from the ashes too. The only distance between us is physical, and I’m blessed to have a good relationship with her.
It’s Mother’s Day, the day we celebrate motherhood. In an era of choice, each of us should be thankful our mothers said yes to the challenge. Millions of our fellow humans were denied the opportunity to live, to create or experience life. The abortion debate highlights how powerful and unique a mother is. It is the arrogance of humanity to live in opposition to our genetics- the DNA breathed into us from the start. And, I weep at the choices made in the name of freedom and individuality. Motherhood is under attack.
On days such as this, millions of people including celebrities and journalist will take to social media today, to extol the virtues of motherhood. They will feature pictures of their mothers and write emotional captions. And, they will be honest. It’s what we call situational irony. Because tomorrow, the same people will take up their pitchforks and signs. They’ll tweet and post about the sanctity of a woman’s body, and woman’s right to choose motherhood. I could write a book about life and its meaning. The subject close to my heart.
My mother is someone who made tough choices. She chose to be a mother when advised otherwise, and she continues to mother her children. (Additionally, my oldest nephew is adopted. I’m thankful his birth mother believed his life was worth birthing. He’s a wonderful young man, and I can’t imagine life without him.) I wish I had the money to give her, so she could quit her job. I’d love for her to be able to visit waterfalls and volunteer at the hospital. Perhaps, in the future, I can give her that gift.
When I think about who I am and the kind of mother I needed, the Lord made the right call. My mom is not a know-it-all loudmouth. She has opinions but usually keeps them close to her chest. When it comes to big life decisions, she rarely lets her view be known. She’s been in my corner through every move, job change, heart break, and self-destructive moment. I’m thankful she got to see me rise from the ashes too. The only distance between us is physical, and I’m blessed to have a good relationship with her.
So to you momma: thanks for choosing life. Thank you for choosing to be supportive over demanding. You’re the momma I needed, and the momma I love.
Journal: #275 Ugly Wins
Some victories mean more than others. Some victories are easy and natural, while others are ugly and laborious. Today is an ugly win. I didn’t want to write this blog entry or pray or walk today. But…I’m writing. Soon, I’ll cross the 10k step marks, and the Lord shall hear my voice. I’m not gonna stop pursuing the Lord. I’m not gonna stop loving Him, or stop allowing Him to love me.
Today is a day of going through the motions. Sure, I’m typing, but I feel disconnected. My heart’s not in it, not in writing. All of life seems like a dull ache. It’s ok. I refuse to submit to judgement or cynicism. Just because I feel distant now, doesn’t mean I’ll feel that way tomorrow. Tomorrow brings all the unused potential of today, all the hope, and all the joy. I know it.
Some victories mean more than others. Some victories are easy and natural, while others are ugly and laborious. Today is an ugly win. I didn’t want to write this blog entry or pray or walk today. But…I’m writing. Soon, I’ll cross the 10k step marks, and the Lord shall hear my voice. I’m not gonna stop pursuing the Lord. I’m not gonna stop loving Him, or stop allowing Him to love me.
Abstract: From My Couch
Today must be good on it’s own,
I can’t live a lifetime in my mind,
from my couch.
From my couch I stare out the back window,
to oak trees and late morning sky.
The sun is bright and without companion in her orbit.
A slight breeze breaks the calm,
as the it bumps past the oak leaves,
on its way down the hill.
It’s a scene of peace,
even on the darkest days,
an extension of the Original,
a constant miracle.
From this couch, I can also stare into my future,
Unlike the glory of a new day- the sun and wind, the strength of the trees,
I can’t see peace or satisfaction.
At the end of all my ambition is the question,
the unsettling, demotivating,
and life-zapping question:
What’s it all for?
What is wealth,
What is accomplishment,
or achievement,
Without love?
My heart turns sick at being old and empty,
My life cannot be measured as I’ve been taught.
It will never be satisfied with numbers and tasks.
Back to staring out the window,
I cannot see where the wind begins,
where it ends.
A soft reminder.
My experience is not gospel,
cannot account for the life and struggle of marriage,
a family, and the challenges to come.
Today must be good on it’s own,
I can’t live a lifetime in my mind,
from my couch.
Today is a day to do what’s in my heart to do,
to walk the paths at my feet,
and choose love.
Journal: #274 Self-Pity Trap
I hate to admit that. I’m no victim, and no one asked me to be. It’s embarrassing, but doesn’t need to be. I combat self-pity with faith and grace. What’s the big deal? I felt sorry for myself. It would be another act of self-pity to indulge in self-punishment. Poor me. I have “issues.” Yes, I have issues. Sometimes I take life personally.
I was early to an in-person meeting yesterday. Instead of go home, I decided to wait in my car. After a few minutes, my put my phone down and picked up my journal. My thoughts were scattered, so my words were mostly non-sense. On page three, and without effort, I wrote: With all that is happening- cancer and death- I feel like an asshole for needing anything. Why did I believe this? Because. I was trying to be a hero. How lame.
What I really did was something I haven’t done in a long time. I feel into a self-pity trap. I hate to admit that. I’m no victim, and no one asked me to be. It’s embarrassing, but doesn’t need to be. I combat self-pity with faith and grace. What’s the big deal? I felt sorry for myself. It would be another act of self-pity to indulge in self-punishment. Poor me. I have “issues.” Yes, I have issues. Sometimes I take life personally.
It’s time to move on, to take life one day at a time. God is Good.
Journal: #273 Travel Day, Take 2
I’m not perfect, but I don’t expect to be. I have doubts, but they are signs I’m moving in the right way. Rough days and weeks happen. Some of my relationships are in shambles, and I rarely go through an entire day without anxiety. But, I’m still here. I’m still writing and walking, praying and believing. I am weathering the storms. And, when they are too tough to endure, I hunker down to try again the next day.
I knew the weather in Georgia was extreme before I left to go to the Columbia Metro Airport yesterday afternoon. I knew it, and yet I didn’t think it would cause me any delays to my return to Redding. Why didn’t I connect the dots (my Delta flight went through Atlanta)? I just didn’t. So, after a series of delays, a hurried boarding, and another delay, we deplaned. Then they cancelled the flight, straight up. It made me laugh, because what else could I do? It’s not as though Delta didn’t try, and tornadoes are not joke. They did their best. Time for plan B.
Plan B put me on a plane at 7:30 AM this morning. Once again, as all Delta flights to south are, I was routed through Atlanta. Everything in Columbia went as planned. Step one complete. In Atlanta, the storm clouds gathered to the west. As we did the day before, we boarded out flight bound for Sacramento with great haste. Unlike the day before we got off the ground. Our pilot was determined, and flew south to avoid the storms. The flight took an hour longer than normal, but I finally arrived in California 14 hours later than planned. I call it a success given the situation and my prayers go out the those suffering from the storms.
For no good reason, I feel a new season is upon me. The delay in my return to Redding reminded me of how I first arrived in Redding. On March 1st, 2014 my flight from Chicago to Redding was cancelled due to engine problems. I spent the night in a hotel, and finally made it to Redding late the next day. I arrived clueless, but clinging to an idea. I believed the Lord held something good for me in California. Today, I have that same sense. The difference is I know the Lord has good things for me this summer.
My first year in Redding the Lord asked me to trust Him, which I did in spurts. For three or four months stretches, I leaned into the Holy Spirit and lived the best life I could. Then the hype faded, and I wandered away from my pursuit of the kingdom. Jesus was my best friend, but I treated Him like an Emergency Room. When I read through my old journals, He message never changed. He remained the patient teacher despite my inability to listen. Last summer I made my full commitment to pursue the Him every single day. And now, I’m here.
Where is here, you probably wonder. Here is the other side of me, the life Jesus always held for me. Gone are the deeps shames and self-denial. They’re replaced with endurance, faith, and love. I’m not perfect, but I don’t expect to be. I have doubts, but they are signs I’m moving in the right way. Rough days and weeks happen. Some of my relationships are in shambles, and I rarely go through an entire day without anxiety. But, I’m still here. I’m still writing and walking, praying and believing. I am weathering the storms. And, when they are too tough to endure, I hunker down to try again the next day.
I’ve got a destiny in Jesus. My only path is forward.
Journal: #272 Travel Day Today
I don’t love airports, planes, or the drive from Sacramento to Redding. It’s the smell, a grizzly mix of jet fumes, sweat, and industrial cleaning solutions. After every flight I take a shower ASAP to wash it away. Man was not made to fly, and somehow we did it. And, as unpleasant a process as it can be, I can fly from one side of the United States to the other in six hours. What a gift.
I don’t love airports, planes, or the drive from Sacramento to Redding. It’s the smell, a grizzly mix of jet fumes, sweat, and industrial cleaning solutions. After every flight I take a shower ASAP to wash it away. Man was not made to fly, and somehow we did it. And, as unpleasant a process as it can be, I can fly from one side of the United States to the other in six hours. What a gift. I’m grateful to be able to live where I want to live and be back in South Carolina when needed. Since last August, I’ve made the trip back East five times.
I feel guilty for leaving my parents just as my dad ramps up his radiation treatments. My brother and sister seem poised to step up and help shoulder the load, so that’s nice. But, I feel for my momma. She’s the one who will battle the day-to-day ups and downs. (My dad is a fighter, which is great. It’s his instinct, but can be a bit of roadblock when anyone tries to help him.) One of my tasks will be to encourage her when she’s overwhelmed.
See y’all tomorrow, from the Golden State.
Journal: #271 Catch-Up
It was the most well-timed text in recent memory. A best friend Blake asked to catch-up, and I answered, "absolutely." The conversation is one I longed to have, but didn't have the fortitude to ask for. Thank God he reached out. I'm serious. Thank God.
It was the most well-timed text in recent memory. A best friend, Blake asked to catch-up, and I answered, "absolutely." The conversation is one I longed to have, but didn't have the fortitude to ask for. Thank God he reached out. I'm serious. Thank God.
As is normal between us, we both endured a tough week last week. Most of the difficulty being the self-inflicted variety. We experienced short tempers, self-destructive behavior, and a bit of pessimism. I told Blake about my snippy attitude toward my parents, and he detailed his blow up at a gas station. We laughed at ourselves and this tense moment of our lives.
Blake is dealing with the death of his younger brother Jordan. He passed away last month after two years of unsuccessful cancer treatments. His anger leaks out of him in little bits, over normal adult situations like car trouble. He hates coming undone, especially in front of his wife. Blake fancies himself as a "fix it" man. He is the one with answers and the charm to put others at ease. He feels like he's letting people down when he's weak. And, I get it.
I've dealt with a different kind of grief the last month. The last bit of hope I held for my former girlfriend died in April. I am untethered from hope, which means I have no external motivation. It's a naked time in my life. I am left to my thoughts, dream, and desires. And in this place, I ask "are my dream good enough." Truth is, I don't know, and that's not the point. My dreams need to be good enough for me.
Also, I'm not alone. The Lord is with me. Last night He told me to be and do. My trust isn't in perfection decisions, and my joy isn't in doing tasks. My life and joy is in Him. Lately, I am aware my life will always be empty without faith, because faith keeps me happy. I love trusting the Lord and believing I can't fail. Oh sure, I can fall, but I can't fail. Failure is resignation. It's giving up, and I refuse to give up.
When I look at my life through the looking glass of faith, it's roses. I'm gonna be fine. Blake is gonna be fine. This is a mere moment. And, as Blake noted toward the end of our call, it's part of the process. Faith grows stronger in the rage of the storm. Regardless of how frustrated or vulgar I am, it's always a win to turn to Jesus.
So, here I am. Winning. Despite five weeks of shame, tears, and fears, I move onward. I choose to trust the Holy Spirit exactly where I am. I will be honest about my pain, and let Him heal me. The Lord knows what I need, and when it's time to deliver the goods. Today it came in the form of an empathetic friend and his kind voice.
God is Good. He's got a plan, and I trust him. Amen.
Abstract: Prayer For A Stranger
Lord, keep him safe,
his heart and his head,
let ride again.
May he know,
You are the master of death.
White and red lights flashed in the road ahead,
and traffic slowed to watch.
A cop and an ambulance,
a bike without a pilot.
makes an awful scene.
Lord, keep him safe,
his heart and his head,
let ride again.
May he know,
You are the master of death.
Journal: #270 My Reset Button
The last five weeks of my life were a challenge. I batted loneliness, nicotine addition, and anger. I lacked grace for myself and my family. And, I forgot what faith is. But today, on a barrier island north of Charleston, South Carolina, none of it mattered. It's as though all the heart-ache and striving melted away. Nature is the Lord's constant miracle, and my reset button.
Away from the crowds near the board walk, I wandered to the quiet end of Isle of Palms. I loved the way my feet splashed through the surf and the cool wind at my back. For a few moments I sat in the sand to consider the waves and gulls, the life around me. Before my trek back to humanity, I stuck my feet in the Atlantic ocean. The water was cold, but the current was soft. I shut my eyes and let the sunshine bathe my soul. It was good. Somewhere between Columbia and that beach, the load I carried the last month broke off.
The last five weeks of my life were a challenge. I batted loneliness, nicotine addition, and anger. I lacked grace for myself and my family. And, I forgot what faith is. But today, on a barrier island north of Charleston, South Carolina, none of it mattered. It's as though all the heart-ache and striving melted away. Nature is the Lord's constant miracle, and my reset button.
More tomorrow. Love y'all.
Abstract: That Silly Game
By high school I knew my lights would burn out,
after the last snap on that grass.
No glory for me.
When I was three years-old,
my brother dressed me in pads and a helmet,
stuck a brown ball under my arm,
and took pictures.
I few years later,
he taught me about the game,
of the brown ball
why I needed the pads and a helmet.
It was simple yet nuanced,
controlled but fun.
Football, the American bastard son of football.
A few years yet and I beheld my first college game,
in a stadium built for chickens,
amid tiny liquor bottles at our feet,
and chants of “bullshit” to the referees.
I was hooked and dreaming,
of glory and trophies,
and my name in lights,
just like a million other boys more talented than I.
By high school I saw my lights turned out,
after the last snap on that grass.
No fame for me.
I tried to love the game,
but it did not love me back,
a present I did not comprehend until now.
The spectacle of modern football,
of sponsored tweets,
woke virtue signaling,
poor college players,
and millionaire coaches,
isn’t my destiny.
The players are mere kids,
used and abused to the glory of their college masters,
at least the League pays them…for a while.
Then they are tossed out, body broken,
forced to find a new lover.
I would’ve married football if she would have me,
but now I’m glad she let me be.
There’s more to life than that silly game.
Journal: #269 Without Blessing, Go I
I know what's ahead for me and what I want to do. I'm going to create an environment for people to come into. Once established, I'll sow into them until they're move on. Believe it or not, I love the idea. Love. It. It’s a dream I can no longer afford to put off. With or without the understanding of those around me, I’m going to start building that environment.
There’s a point a person reaches when they must jump from the secure, if they want to do the impossible. I am staring at that jumping-off point. A year ago, I left the comfort of a miserable yet steady job and leapt into the fog of the unknown. And now, I’m watching the fog lift. I know how I want to spend my life, and what dreams give me joy.
I don't want to market software or non-profits. I don't want to crunch data or pour over email copy. I don't care about lead funnels, landing pages, or cost-per-click averages. And, video chats exhaust me. I strain to pay attention, especially in group meetings.
What's in my to do it create, teach, and mentor. And damnit, I want to enjoy what I do. My current job limits my creativity. Most of the instruction is via YouTube link. And, I have no opportunities to mentor. I'm not ungrateful or dissatisfied with my current job. The men I work with are outstanding humans. They love me, and I love them. It's the work. I don't have intrinsic for it. God bless people who do.
There are a few notions rolling though my mind lately, and it's centered on my history. I don't work one job for very long, and that's a problem. Something is wrong with me. The fact in that statement is my tendency to float from company to company. If my memory is accurate, the longest I was continuously employed by a company is about two years. On it's face it looks bad for a forty year-old man to bounce from shop to shop. But, I don't care.
I wasn't born to market, run a restaurant, complete non- profit projects, or sell software over the phone. I was born to love people, and my persistent heart sabotaged every attempt to do anything else.
The only aspect I miss of any job I held is people I got to work with at each stop. I remember Ms Diane from my first restaurant gig. She was single mother of two teenage boys. She taught school during the day and waited tables at night to provide for her boys. Then there was Steve, who I met during my stint in a warehouse. He's the first person I knew to be HIV positive. While I do not miss my last job with Jason, I miss the crew and community we developed. All that is a huge data point, and I couldn't see it until last summer. I'm a people person hidden under the burden of "doing stuff." Newsflash to Nik: I'm not a stuff doer.
I know what's ahead for me and what I want to do. I'm going to create an environment for people to come into. Once established, I'll sow into them until they're move on. Believe it or not, I love the idea. Love. It. It’s a dream I can no longer afford to put off. With or without the understanding of those around me, I’m going to start building that environment.