I Used to Think I had it Bad Because I had No Shoes; Then I Met a Man With No Feet.

Let's be honest, my life is no "walk in the park" currently... or ever, for that matter.

My best friends are taking their leave in my life--slowly, but surely. Sometimes I wish it would all just happen in a flash so I wouldn't have to patiently sit through the agony of watching transcripts and visas getting processed and placed in my friends' hands. Sadly, with each day that passes, I know I'm one minute closer to saying goodbye--to what could be forever--to the ones I respect the most.

College. I'm on the first semester of my third year. My final year? Not if I can help it. My last semester at Abilene Christian University? Quite possibly. Having say in my probable departing? No. Owning actions that will lead to disappointing consequences? Yes. Selling myself short of my best? Without a doubt. I've been consumed by my past. I'm living only in the present. I have come to terms with my denial of the future; it frightens me.

I can't stand my family. Who can? I love them, sure. I think everyone loves their family, no matter how much they deny it. I can't live with them. I can't control my attitude for longer than an hour when I'm around them. This isn't true in all cases but they usually bring out my worst--ha--at least in public. What is it about our past childhoods that haunt us through the rest of our lives? The thoughts that provoke us to do something, or not, because of what we were taught by our parents. The way we feel joy or shame because we did it "just like our sister or brother." Black sheep. You know, I bet Rosa Parks was the black sheep of her family (and I'm not trying to be racist here). She's bold. Downcasted upon. Forget skin color. I feel like Ms. Parks sometimes. I've lost count of the times my kin's told me to "sit in the back of the bus".

Healthy as a horse. Well, I used to be. As a matter of fact, 17 out of my 20 years my health has been that of a horse's. Why did illness just hit me like a bully searching for milk money? Can't explain it. "Get well soon" and I usually do, thank you. It's no later than two weeks before I'm back in bed or the doc's office. Go down the list of medical terms and I've reached the point of "T's." Tendinitis--in the left foot that is. Optimistic outlook? I'm more than half way through the alphabet. After "Z's" I'll either be immune to every sickness on the face of the planet or dead. Only time will tell.

My passion is writing. I mention this with every word I type. Unfortunately, I haven't typed in quite awhile. It could be that I'm losing my touch--no pun intended.

And God? Well, we have our ups and downs. Lately, of course, it's been numerous downs. I'll have to admit that it's hard being on my knees all of the time. Miracles. Oh, I know I've witnessed them. As a matter of fact, a couple weekends ago He turned my life around. I still doubt. I'm human though. I sin. He answers, though I still doubt for a successful outcome the next time. He reveals His awesome glory and I praise Him, but I still question whether He can defy all odds again and again. I question. I doubt. I believe. I fathom.

I'm looking up from the bottom of a deep, dark pit right now. But I hear voices coming from the opening at the top. I will soon see a rope drop down to my reach. And I will grab the rope, and I will climb. I will eventually be helped out of my pit. And when I reach the top of the pit and glance down, I will see those who are still stuck at the bottom. The cold, muddy bottom. The ones who might not hear the voices from above searching to help the helpless. The ones whose pit opening is clouded with dismay and no glimpse of hope. The ones who can't see or grasp a rope.

Even though I can't see myself taking a "stroll through the park" anytime soon, at least I can grasp my own rope of hope.

My City of Ruins

There's a blood red circle
On the cold dark ground
And the rain is falling down
The church doors blown open
I can hear the organ's song
But the congregation's gone

My city of ruins
My city of ruins

Now the sweet veils of mercy
Drift through the evening trees
Young men on the corner
Like scattered leaves
The boarded up windows
The empty streets
While my brother's down on his knees

My city of ruins
My city of ruins
Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!

Now there's tears on the pillow
Darling where we slept
And you took my heart when you left
Without your sweet kiss
My soul is lost, my friend
Now tell me how do I begin again?

My city's in ruins
My city's in ruins

Now with these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands

Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!
Rise up

--Bruce Springsteen

In The Beginning...

My writing has entered its next stage. The stage of passion. I'm turning the page and starting a new chapter. Beginning to write was beginning to accept my calling. I've acknowledged my Father's will and have chosen to lead the narrow, less-traveled path. With that decision alone, I've already begun to recognize the tribulations I'll face.

But I've come to terms with the truth. Jesus perservered and faced trials like I am constantly facing and have yet to come across. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." HEBREWS 11:1 I am constantly practicing faith. It's tested by Satan too many times. One of the greatest answers God has given me is the answer to my purpose in life. Some people go through life questioning their purpose daily. I'm blessed to have listened to God's call for me. You know anyone that doesn't know the Lord? Well, give me their e-mail address and I'll write them. This is how I share Christ with others.

I mean, after all, God chose one way to communicate to His children throughout the rest of time... the Word... the written Word. You might like reading J. K. Rowling, Stephen King, J. R. R. Tolkien or Nicholas Sparks, but when I want to read real literature, I opt for authors like Job, Paul and John. Oh, and you might get caught up reading Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson or even Shakespeare over a cup of Starbucks, but have you attempted to turn to the sweet melody of King David's psalms? How about Solomon's proverbs? Or is it easier to purchase one of those "Idiot Guides" or "For Dummies" books to find your words of wisdom?

Oh, how I would give my right leg to hold a conversation with one of the Bible's authors. They have and continue to inspire my writing every time I read and reread their sentences, word by word. And to try and comprehend God working through their "pen." You know how I know that my calling is writing? When I sit down to write, so does my Father. When I sit down to write, Paul sits down right next to me. John is on the other side. I feel God working through my fingers.

He is in every word.