It's Not Ours

It not ours.

None of it.

As a man of Christian faith, I struggle with this – particularly when it comes to our own being. This body and soul that I possess is not my own.

Believing in this brings comfort to some and to others a sense of woe or anger.

You wake up one day only to find that your car has been vandalized, you got laid off, the house payment is overdue. September 11th 2001, the world as we know it changes at the hands of people that most of us have never met – and we find ourselves in the middle of a war that we did not start – as boxes with draped American flags arrive home filled with individuals who believed in their hearts that they were protecting us. Your child, bright eyed and filled with hopes and knowing that there is a loving God above watching over us… dies.

There is no reason for it. There is no explaining it. It happens.

“Why do bad things happen to good people? If God was just and loving He would not do this.”

At times, I wonder that while God sits at his throne with his only Son at his right side, who He sent off to Calvary to die on a twisted old stick – I wonder if He is apathetic, and then I remember all of the wonderful things and how I am the one who is not caring enough.

Am I?

We have taken possession of everything, or so we have been led to believe, perhaps this is the greatest lie we ever were told; that we own ourselves.

We are merely stewards over what we sense. Even the “we” is a vague description of ownership, as though it means something more than it is – a group of similars that is personally recognized.

Both believers and nonbelievers share this common thread that life is the great journey.

I will add one more thing as though it were my own: If life is a journey, then death is the destination.

Funny thing is - death to a believer can be celebrated.

But it is so hard. With tears in my eyes, it so damn hard.

The Realist and the Optimist

One day, the realist, driving his new car, fell into a patch of road that was unexpectedly wet and lost control of the vehicle.
At the very same time and travelling on the opposite side of the road, was the optimist, driving a respectably well-maintained, yet older vehicle, who fell into the same predicament.
With both cars careening dangerously out of control, they both collided into one another's automobile.
The sounds of stones and rubber lasted only a brief moment - giving way to the cacophony of metal to metal, breaking glass, and the explosive sounds of airbags being deployed and then...
...Nothing but the spinning of wheels, as both cars came to rest.
With the both vehicles in heaps, the realist and the optimist unlocked their seat belts and rolled out of their cars.
The realist immediately called for a tow truck and wept to the emergency dispatcher that he was injured, though not severely.
The optimist stood, brushed himself off noticing a few scrapes and then looked upwards. He smiled. He called for the same, letting the operator on the other end of the line know that he was fine save for a few minor scratches.
The realist and the optimist both sat on the soggy ground. They surveyed the damage to their automobiles, and they both looked to each other's injuries. Much to their surprise, the damage to their cars and their injuries appeared to be very similar.
"How 'bout that?"
They both, not faulting the other, commented on how ironic that little slippery patch of roadway sent them both to crash - into each other.
"It could have been so much worse."
"Ah well."
At that the optimist stood. He once more smiled and looked upward.
The realist, feeling relieved to be alive, commented, "Well, one day, we'll laugh about all this."
The optimist turned. Realizing that "one day" was today, and may not be tomorrow or any other day following, he put his hand on the fellow's shoulder replied, "Why wait?"

The Great American Cheese Debacle

One of our younger bakers had dropped a tub of grated American cheese onto the kitchen floor in the cafe. Though inconvenient, she went about the task of dutifully cleaning it up - albeit with a disgruntled face.
I responded by explaining, jokingly, "Hey. It's not New Orleans."
"The federal government really screwed that one up, huh?"
"No, they didn't. Look at Memphis. Different and overly loved president, and the looting, though not as publicized, has been even greater."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
"Heck, in the Trib, they interviewed a person living there who said that while people were screaming for help, within earshot were looters who were not only disinterested in them, but were probably stealing their crap in the meantime. And then you look at Northern Japan - who knows how many people killed and places destroyed, and you don't see them looting! It's not a federal government's fault... it's a people fault. I mean the hurricane happened nearly a decade ago, and people can't get their act together?"
People blame others when they can not get their lazy hind ends together. Not only that, but these same people who bitch and moan about their situations, and how that "George Bush" is responsible, not only cheer on the demise of others, but because misery loves company,are willing to aid in that destruction. If they don't get that handout on time or in continuation, again it is not their fault, but someone else's.
The common arguments:
1. I'm fat.
2. I'm addicted to _____.
3. I'm unemployed.
4. I'm unemployable.
5. I'm stupid.
6. I'm poor.
7. I've done everything that I could, but i just can't______.
8. My credit sucks.
9. I can't because I'm (pick a race, sex, persuasion, marital status, faith orientation...).
10. I suck.
The excuse:
1. Pick a politician (or party).
2. Pick a neighbor.
3. Pick a race, sex, persuasion, marital status, faith orientation...
4. Whatever you do - do not pick yourself.
When things are great, we typically find ourselves only to blame in our successes, and when they are bad, the unenlightened masses find others. There is no disputing that our situations are sometimes dictated to us by circumstances, and some circumstances are indeed very difficult to weather; however, we, in adverse conditions, must seek to define our compass and go forward - from a terrible situation to a better one.
And there are some who will argue that bad things happen to them all the time and that getting "out of the mud" is impossible (heck, I even felt that way); with that in mind one must remember again that misery loves company; this does not just include hangers-on - it includes the magnetic attraction that misery has on circumstances.
Remember the old adage: "Out of the frying pan, and into the fire."
Idea: Stay away from the stove!

Now, like a good ol' talking head, who knows nothing, I could blather on about this and complain about the ills of society, leaving my spotlessness to myself; however, I have gone through bouts of depression, misguidedness, misery, jobloss (which seems to have become a single word), heart issues, broken bones, trips to the hospital - all of this leading me to ask, "Why me?"
Which begs, "Why not me?"
The fact is that I am blessed. I am by no means rich and at times we struggle; however, we can pay our mortgage and feed ourselves. I am no Charles Atlas, yet I can walk, run, jump, and pick up my daughter. And in spite of a lot of bashing to my faith, I can worship the way I need to - for which I am immensely grateful.
I guess I am tired of people, including myself, complaining (period).
It rains. Get an umbrella. Don't wait for the rain to stop.
It shines. Wear sunglasses.
You hungry. Eat something, and remember that there are people in this world who may never ever read this crappy essay, and will never know how tasty that oily, orange-mustard colored government-issue American "cheese" really is.

So this is Spring?

And it rained.
From winter snow to spring showers.
And then to summer storms?
Warm enough to be comfortably moldy perhaps.
if it were not for the differing levels of perpetual gray, not a single inhabitant in this saturated Hell would ever believe that the sun and moon ever existed.
Drunken past-times formerly devoted to by fairweatherers, now bore the markings of deeply contrasting greens against brown and black muds of the north lands. And in increasing volumes apathetic to the duldrums of Pennsylvanian spring's unpalpable persistant dredging "play on." was meekly murmered by fat tulips and bluebells.

Curse Line

Boop-beep-beep-beep-boop-boop-beep-beep-boop-bop-boop.
Thank you for calling the Curse Line for English press "1". Para espanol presione el número "2".
Boop.
Thanks for calling the Curse Line. Your call is very important to us. Please hold for the next available operator.
(muzak - Girl from Ipanema)
Thanks for holding. How may I help you?
Yeah. I hit my thumb with a very large hammer. I'd like to order a curse, please.
Okay. One moment please. (fingering on a keyboard. Heavy breathing) Hit your thumb with a hammer, yes?
Yes.
You can say "Ah, S@#T!"
Mmm. No.
For an extra $1.95 plus tax, I can give you bigger one.
Okay.
Say "Son of B@#$%H!"
That might work.
Good luck. And thank you for calling the Curse Line. Is there anything else I can get for you.
No, that'll do.
Thank you. Good bye.

!MIERDA!

Daddy Used to Rock

Mostly, this is a letter to my two year old. One day you will be able to read this. One day you'll be able to understand.
Older. Everyday a little bit more. I am convinced though that it is all reversible - physically, mentally, and spiritually. For now though, I have become a cranky old man. Regrettably, mommy has seen it, and you have. You may not have noticed. Sure, you may have thought that daddy was a little off, but "why?" may never have crossed your mind.
You see...
Daddy used to rock.
Odd - one word to summarize the whole of a past self. I tried everything, and rarely considered the ramifications of my actions unless I knew that they were certainly perilous, and even then I weighed these with expediency.
A lot these were to impress girls, and I say girls because women seem to know better (that includes mommy, although she still likes to see me in a stage-element.)
I used to play in a variety of rock bands. Mostly, I dove into crowds as a progressive-metal rock singer, though I was a classic tenor. I was and still am very comfortable in front of people. Somehow, I get the feeling that you will be the same.
Daddy was on stage in New York and Japan. I co-produced and hosted radio and television programs. I even helped make a few good movies.
I used to ride my motorcycle everywhere fast. I reached the road with my knees.
I don't ride or do much with such veracity - growling anymore.
I never had much. Never needed much. Never talked politics. Never worried about having money. Never worried about you or mommy. Never questioned my being, because it never entered my mind. Never questioned the existence of God, because I never knew Him.
You must be thinking that I long for that past, wanting nothing more than rekindle that spirited youth, or perhaps that I would like to live it through you.
In short, my response is "No."
At length, I wish to regain that fearlessness that I held. I enjoy the light steps that everyday brought, and reminisce about infinite energy that was given to me. My shoulders broad – able to conquer, to invent, and to lead.
Know this - I would rather have a past fearless and free than a future of same without you and mommy. If daddy seems a little off, it’s probably because he is.
You will have a future and a past. The present is the only thing you can deal with. You will rejoice in your triumphs and regret your failures, and you will learn from them all. Give thanks. Don’t reminisce too much. Remember that God’s watching. Breathe. Pray. Go!
I don't know if daddy still rocks or that it even matters, but he used to.