At a loss for words…

People Die

Dogs Die

Living things Die

I saw my Father for the last time in October, 1990, I believe.  I shared some of my growing up pains and sufferings.  I spoke to him in a small way about his.  It was the first conversation of that kind I can recall.. I was 40, He was 70.  Three months later he fell, hit his head, and died within 48 hours, thousands of miles away.  At his memorial service I saw members of his family, including his mother–my grandmother, who I did not even know was still alive.  Along with his siblings who I had not seen in decades.  Uncle John.  Aunt Betty.

And when they die, I will no longer stare at the dead person and say anything to them, and get a response.  Whatever it is you want to say or do or express… do it before they die.  I had no idea that when I walked out of the house in 2009, I would return to find my wife dead, drowned in the bathtub.  I never spoke to Michelle again.  But I did speak with her family and friend.

I knew my Mother was about to die when I saw her last in 2013.  I said what I said.  I was clumsy and loving.   And when she passed I joined with family members in a celebration of her unbelievable life.

I love my life.  I am a believer that I am involved in an eternal process.  It is my hope that you might also understand your eternal options.  But for now this is about me and my life in the flesh, and what I do on “this side of eternity” as my Mom might say.  “We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.”  But now, for this time, it is a moment for the living.  And I believe that there are important things to do… maybe not for you.  But I want to do something that I deem to be important.

But I am going to die… don’t know when.  Pretty sure I will finish writing this…..but I do have a couple of projects and errands to run first.

I write often about grief.  For years I had NO idea what that meant.  I did not grieve when someone died… I mean I might get sad.  But grief.  I had no idea.  And I guess I thought it was a sign of weakness, or unnecessary, or—hell I don’t know.  I just know I thought it was probably a more serious sad.  And I would get sad about stuff, but rarely did I get my “third degree black belt” in emotionally challenged and prolonged sadness.  Not when my Dad died, or wife, or Mom.  And certainly not when a friend or someone else’s family member passed.

Death would come…I would at some point have to say something to some family member and I would comment “sorry for your loss.”  I do not judge that statement by the way.  But for me it was a band-aid.  A covering for my absence of feeling,  I could move on.  Sorry…for your loss.

I don’t know when this happened exactly.  I am good at remembering details.  I rarely am able to connect them to a timeline.  It happened sometime in the last couple of years… it happened after I moved to Tulsa and Casa Canine.

As many of you know, I am a believer.  I read the Bible.  I am not much of a preacher.  But I hope I a much of an exampler… (spell check does not like that word–sorry for your loss spell check, I am using it).

I believe I am created in the image of God… I believe we all are.  I believe if you want a picture of God I should get about 10,000 of us in a room and use a long selfie-stick to snap a picture.

So one day I see that God was grieved… What??   “How often they rebelled against him in the wilderness and grieved him in the wasteland! 41Again and again they put God to the test; they vexed the Holy One of Israel.”  God was not saddened… He was grieved.  And I am in His image.  And so I began a journey.  A journey in search of my lost grief.  If grief is good enough for God… well you get the drift..

I continue to search.  Grief is a life force.  I have written of this before.  It is Holy Ground.  I am just beginning to understand.  I am so grateful for this element.  And I will share more through the days.  And omg, I have experienced grief in my life now.

And sharing in grief is so important.  For me, and for those grieving.  So during my time of reflection and meditation, I asked for wisdom and words.  Words that mean something to the delivered as well at to that person I deliver to.  “Sorry for you loss” would cut it no more. But I did NOT want to be at a loss for words……

I wanted to do something important.  I want to say something I believe.  So many of my friends will see this phrase I share after I hear of a loss.

“I sorrow in your sorrow, I grieve with your grief, and when appropriate, I will smile with your remembrance.”

I am thankful I am a man of constant sorrow… I rejoice in this life.  May your grief ultimately bring you richness and peace.

A toe in the pool, a paw on the grass, and tears of a clown

It is so fricken hard for me to write.  When I write I have to share my feelings.  I can’t write fiction.  I can’t tell made up stories easily.  So when I write it is going to come from the heart, it will not be planned.  It will be “worn on my sleeve worthy.”  Writing will be cathartic, and painful, and glorious, and revealing, and confusing, and sometimes just flat out a pain in the ass… because it so often comes from a pain in the heart.  I hate to write….. no I love to write.

Have you ever been surprised by what you have become..  I certainly am surprised by both my changes AND my stay the sames over the past few years…

My biggest “change”.  It’s raining Dogs and Cats.  Came to Tulsa 2 1/2 years ago with Tank.  Tank was going to be it… the “remnant” from the passing of my wife.  One day I would be dogless, or so I thought.



But now there are three, Fred and Shelly have stories to tell, and someday I will give them voice.. oh yeah and the 16 foster dogs… 14 are gone now, all to new forever homes, but 2 new ones came here about a week ago… Morey and Annie.   You are no longer at the mercy of a Dog Hoarder and just 2 of 50.   Welcome to Casa Canine.


Oh and the 3 feral cats, Survivor, Thor, and Jimbo.  All waiting for daily meals.  All captured and neutered.  And really not Feral any longer.  Yet another topic for later days

Hey, I just thought of something.  It’s almost summer.  I use to love to go to the swimming pool as I was growing up in Kansas City.  Ward Parkway Country Club.  It was really just a big pool,  very big, with diving boards, and platforms, and Olympic sized swim lanes, and high school girls in bikinis, and lifeguards, and snack shop and high school girls in bikinis.  I grew of in the time of “she wore and itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini”  It was a time when NO one had a heated pool, so the water would warm to the sun during the day. But in the morning, when the pool first opened for the day, it was toe in the water time.   Brrrrr.  And then you would back away from the edge… and 3-4 quick steps (don’t run at the pool) forward and splash, woosh, submerged and surround for the chilly moment, eyes open under water, looking to the sky, breaking above the water line, gasping for some air… and relax.  The water was great.  The day had begun.  It would last for hours.  Toe in the water, regardless of the temperature, there was always a splash entry.  Oh, and the girls in bikinis.

Did I mention that it rained all day and into the night in Tulsa last evening.  Well it did.  And I learned something.  Don’t feed your dogs on a rainy day.  I might have been able to avoid the houseful of presents left my by overfed dogs had I not had two in the house breaking stages, but Morey and Annie do NOT like to get their paws wet.   So last night I did “push” my dogs to the sheltered back porch, walked them out to the back yard where they walked like they were fire walking on a bed of hot coals. Then I left them unattended and spent some time on the computer.   When I opened the porch door they were all quite ready to come in. I really did not notice that none of their backs was very wet.   And apparently there was a “who’s poo is bigger contest” last night when I wasn’t looking.  4 piles, 2 new dogs, 2 smirking dogs, and one who was apparently constipated or did not know the contest rules.  So this morning when I let them out… out I went too.  I was going to get my paws wet along with them until they made a commitment to the wet lawn.  Mission accomplished, splashdown.

So why all this prelude to what I wanted truly right about.  Well I needed to slip the pen slowly into the inkwell.  Today is a day of grief.  No I have known all week that this in the two year anniversary of my mother’s passing.  Thought I would make it through without much consequence.  I have now one in Tulsa to share my heart with… I have great friends, but just a simple post on facebook would trigger the appropriate greetings and salutations.  I would move on.  No splash needed.  I took a picture of a rose in my backyard and “moved on”


And then it happened.  It always happens when it does.  My beloved friend Jennine called from New Mexico.  Happens 2-3 times a year.  Just a loving hello.  I thought she probably saw the flower post and she was calling to be supportive.  She indeed saw the post, but that was not the purpose of her call.  She called to let me know she was taking her beloved 14 year old Giselle, a Dalmation/Pit mix, to the Rainbow Bridge.  I love Jennine.  I love the beautiful and sweet Giselle.  And after a moment of strength and encouragement we hung up.  And I posted this picture of her dog with mine… I mentioned Tank earlier.   Well this was taken on my last visit to New Mexico… little Maggie watching Tank and Giselle wrestling.  I did not know this would be my farewell.



And so it is with waves of grief…  The special moments with something so visceral.  I know a wrenching and retching of my body, my heart and mind.  I know I am alive.  And I stand, and I sit, and I rock, and I weep.  I cry out to God.  I look to the corners of my room to see if anyone has entered to put their hand on my shoulder, to touch the tears.  And then it is over.

And I have a story to tell.  And I write.  It has been too long.


Did I mention girls in bikinis?

Grief and the empty spot

I arise early and walk to the beach

I am at peace
For this moment
So much peace.

and I look East to the Sun
to the West to the point the Horizon disappears
Up to the cloudy Blue and forever
and down to the sand.

I am at peace

And there, half exposed, a shell
Beautiful, spiral, smooth inside
narrow tip at one end
a conical spiral to an opening at the other
The exterior pitted with scars
This shell was the ship of a traveler
and I pause
Consider the journey
It is an empty home

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And I am filled with grief
Grief fills the empty spot
that was once filled with life.
If I hold the shell to my ear
I can hear the ocean
But I can’t hear the stories that were a part
of those travels.
Your shell is here, but you are gone

What caused your disappearance?
And grief fills the empty spot
I did not even know you
I just found your house empty.

Rising up within me,
Like a wave crashing
Like the wave that brought your shell to me
Grief pounds ashore
And fills the empty spot

I brought you to my home.

I arose early this morning

There is no one in your room.

And grief fills the empty spot.

Why it has NEVER been magic!!!


Magic–the art of creating illusions


But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.…  Galatians 5:22-23

At the core of the Human Spirit, is the Holy Spirit.  An Image of God, His Image in which we were created, our Image.  It is NOT magic, it is our essence.  Believe or not… I believe this is the essence of the human spirit.  It is NOT supernatural, it is all that is good and natural.  It is just unusual, so it often requires an event to find it’s power.  To be given an identity.

Nothing it seems is as resilient as the human spirit.  Nothing it seems is as committed to recovery after a disaster than is the human spirit.  Living in Oklahoma, the land of tornado alley, I am always amazed by the throngs of people that run to the scene of tragic tornado touchdown event.  So many travel to lend aid and support, both physical and emotional.  It is not magic.  It is not an illusion.

I watch in awe as the video of a young girl with autism goes viral because her performance of the National Anthem before a televised sporting event brings the crowd to its feet.  The performance leaves me speechless.  It is a triumph of the human spirit.  It is not magic.  It is not an illusion.

We at BedFarms are a group blessed.  We are surrounded daily by the movement of the human spirit.  It is not illusion or magic.  Poems, pictures, paintings, photos, prose, presented by people of passion.  We live together with Nancy and her dogs at Tails you Win, or alongside Heavy D, we become space people.   We are Dingled and Poppered.  We know the King.  The Human Spirit finds its wings and takes flight.   It is not magic.  It is not illusion.

But it is the result of vision.  And if there is a supernatural characteristic to Life on the Farm.. it is the vision.  And the vision is NOW an EVENT.  And so it is that we come to celebrate the founders of the vision feast.  Jon and Maria.  People I have never met.  I am grateful to be a participant.  A sojourner.  A celebrant.  Because of the vision, I have become more like the person I was meant to be.

It is NOT magic.  It is NOT illusion.  IT is the human spirit finding its proper residence.  I do so love the farm.  I “heart” the human spirit… rising like the Phoenix.

Oh, by the way… Disney World is a magical place…  Jon and Maria, give that mouse a hug for us all.


Through Laughter and through tears, forever grateful for both..

It was the quinquennial gathering.  In the reunion infancy it would occur every 10 years, but since anniversary 25, it now is an every 5 year event.  Baby boomer Yellowjackets from around the country begin to energize and swarm, and for two hot August nights they swarm to Kansas City to experience a rebirth.  It is the return to the hive.  Like spawning salmon, we swim upstream, and return to remember, to laugh, to cry, to share, to relive moments of glory.  Who could ever have know when we sang these words together for the last time as a group, graduation night, June 5, 1969, that they would be so prophetic.   At least for me.

“Hail oh Center High School, We will all be true, to the colors high above us, Gold and Blue,  Memories everlasting through the coming years, we will always treasure them                Through Laughter and through tears”

And so it was this past weekend, the swarm of Yellowjackets, Center High, Kansas City, Mo. class of ’69


1969, We are the class of ’69.  We loved being able to say that.  Or at least I loved saying it. After all, those from the class of 1869, have long passed.  And the graduates of 2069, well they are not even a twinkle.  So we are the only living class of ’69.  The world should cherish us… I certainly do.  We were special, we remain special, just slightly older than we were, but we are constant in age as the class of 69..  I must confess I did look around the reunion room and wonder where all the “old folks” came from.  But boy did I love being with them for 2 days.

1969, the end of the 60’s.  That was who we were.  It is who we are.  So much I could remember… “Abraham, Martin, and John.”  Vietnam.   Man on the Moon.  The Beatles at Municipal Stadium.  The Chiefs.  The A’s.  So many memories… so many things forgotten.  And then it is reunion time and the stories revive and come alive.  Some stories grow as legends, some are just a reason to smile, and seemingly with each notch in the 5-year reunion belt there are more stories that might include tears or trigger grief.

One of my memories was of Saturday afternoons.. particularly as the weather would become more inviting for indoor activity.  I still hear the voice of Jim McKay, “Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport, the thrill of victory….the agony of defeat…the human drama of athletic competition.”   The thrill… the agony… it is a part of my lexicon.  And so it is magnified, or more correctly given renewed life and realized mortality with the passing of each reunion event.


chs1 chs2


Though many choose to join the event, there are so many who choose not to come.  They are actually missed.  I know because even the most “obscure” fellow graduates are included and welcomed and enjoyed.  People choose not to come for many reasons… I pray that feeling awkward in the group would not be one of those reasons to choose not to come.  This is one loving and inclusive group of “friends.”  Even if only for 2 days, every 5 years.

Through Laughter and through tears.

I must say, it seems that laughter does abound when we gather.  I am so joyful as I join to share moments with friends now, that have been friends for life. Friends that include though not exclusive too… Ric, Curtis, Joanna, Don, Sydna, Paula, Clay, Pat… folks and friends who have endured and supported my nonsense, my quirkiness,  and my love and my life for decades.

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Through Laughter and through tears.   The thrill, the agony…….

And to see friends that I graduated with who were only acquaintances in 1969.  And now because of social media like Facebook, there has grown a special “love connection” It was beyond special to see some friends who have invaded my heart in only the last year or two.  Ann, Pam, Lynn, Gary… thanks for becoming a part of my present day joy.  (And Scarecrow, I love you most of all…. you know who you are!)

What a glorious time for me.  I am not much of a social butterfly, except in this moment.  “remind me who you are”  let us share our history.  As vaguely remembered as it might be, it IS remembered.


Because even if we had nothing else in common.  We had shared hallways and carhops.


Through Laughter and through tears,   The thrill and the agony…

So I have shared my laughter, and my thrill.   My laughter and the thrill…   What of tears and agony?

For the first time in my life I faced my sense of mortality.  Don’t get me wrong..  I have experienced the grief of my Mother’s passing in the last year.  I came home in 2009, to find my wife dead, drowned in our bathtub.  I know terrible and sad events.  I have just begun to  understand the grieving process..  But for whatever the reason… mortality never affected me… until this weekend.

On Saturday morning, between reunion events,  I visited the VA hospital in Kansas City.  I went to visit one of my classmates who had become a Facebook friend but had disappeared from my sight about 2 years ago.  I had know idea why.  Garrett is very ill.  I looked in his eyes.  We spoke for an hour.  He “was” me.  A seemingly healthy middle aged guy.  Now he clings to life in a 105 pound body.  Garrett is the first “me” I have ever looked in the eyes to reveal my mortality.  And I agonized for him.  Even if he did not ask me to agonize.   Because there but by the grace of God, go I.

And Saturday night, I wept openly and without shame at the reunion while I visited “the board”.  I grieved for my friends who could not choose to attend the reunion.  And so, “the board”,  the memorial board… I grieve for the passing of friends I will not see again on this side of the curtain.  I was a man of sorrow.  And I realize that in five years we will need a bigger board.


I am sorry I missed seeing you at this reunion Angie…

Memories everlasting, Through Laughter and through tears

The song lives on..

May you live on also.





Creative interruptus


I really don’t know what happened.  I mean I’d started with all good intentions. Check that, I started, with NO intentions but to try to write things I would enjoy.  Express  thoughts that I needed to put on paper.  I never thought I would have an audience.  So in November I began by opening the blog site and writing every day.   Funny stuff serious stuff mostly observations and experiences. And the words in sentences and paragraphs flowed easily from brain to publication day after day.

I was becoming a writer.  Why I am a writer.  Word after word into sentence into pattern.  I would post, and people would read, and I would get positive feedback and the world was spinning as it should.  I AM A WRITER, and then I was not.  Because a writer needs to write.  And I need to write and tell stories.  And I just can’t.

I am neither old nor young.. well when I was young I would have thought what I am now is old.  But since I am now what I am, I am neither old nor young.  And I have seen much, and every day I say, that should be written about.  It would make people laugh, or cry, or think, or cuss.  Whatever it is it will cause people to react… or it won’t.  But the fact is I will have written. I will have created.  I will have taken a blank sheet, and cluttered it with consecutive or associated thoughts and phrases.

At the culmination… a post on Facebook and Bedlam.  And then feedback.  And then if the trend continues as it once did, the reaction will trigger in me the hallelujah chorus… yes I AM a writer.  Hallelujah, I have written, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hal-le–lu-jah. (did you sing along?) I might be good, I might be bad, but I write therefore I am.  And with each succeeding and subsequent published piece the chorus quickens.  A building of blog upon blog… like Ravel’s Bolero, phrase building upon phrase a crescendo, a climax, a “smoke” and a search for the next topic.  I must feed this new passion.

And then one day not so long ago… the words stopped.  I was surrounded still by my dogs, and cats, and friends.  And the words stopped.  The stories did not disappear.  I am surrounded by stories.  But I realized I could not write and publish what was happening in my life.  It is very personal.  Not too personal that I would not share… if the stories were only about my animals or about me.  Or if I wrote for TMZ or People.  But I am not writing for those entities, and my subjects are not Kim and Kanye.  And I realized that to publish would be a “crime.”  The world is small.  People know people.  And all of my important stories would involve people who know people and I am called to be the keeper of secrets.  And so I had to withdraw.  Creative Interruptus!

Premature.  Creative Interuptus.  Stroke after Stroke I have wanted to write.  Passion building, my head lightens, my pulse quickens, I draw near to the keyboard and my mind went limp.  There was and is no medicine to stimulate the moment until now.

I cannot artificially write and birth a story.  It is a story or it is not.  And then I caught a glimpse of a lovely little companion out of the corner of my eye.  I was a beautiful story to me.  It was hard, and I was instantly hard pressed rush to the keyboard.  It was time to Write about not writing..  I had found my topic.  Head spinning, music pounding, key stroke, key stroke…. faster, faster, can I make it last just a moment longer.  Oh my God…. faster, faster….


And so the love affair can continue.  And hopefully will continue.  Part of the process is to refocus, to write, to publish.  I need to learn what to do when there are performance issues. When I was young it was not an issue, there were always dorm room and campfire stories to be told and shared with whomever would listen.  My moral compass had not been set.   And now that I am not old I realize that what I love involves a kinder, gentler presentation.

And so the many stories I cannot share smolder within.  Perhaps someday they can come out and play.  If not I hope that the next blog will not be about not writing.


Choosing the seeds..


Welcome to Spring.  Time to Plant.  My life it seems is in continual Spring.

“Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.”  Mark 4:4-8

I observe stuff.  I try to remember stuff.  Some stuff I observe, and use as a life tool.  It may eventually add value to my live or enrich the life of a friend or a stranger.  Some stuff remains stuff forever.  No real value.  I am no different I suppose from anyone who is an observer.  And truly I believe that “Jerry Mathers as the Beaver”, though not a necessary life fact will come in handy someday during a Trivia Bowl.

Recently it has come to my attention that I choose to observe friends.  Not people watch, I am not a good watcher of strangers.  But I truly love to watch my friends.  Up close, from afar, I love to watch.  I am not a voyeur.  I am a student.  A student of choices.  As I age, I am moved by the choices my friends make.  I wonder why.

I am not referring to which shoes do I wear with this outfit kind of choice.  I am talking about “this is where I put my time, my effort, my resources kind of choices.”

My favorite “new” document/study.  “The Road Not Taken”  Robert Frost, 1920.

For your reading pleasure, I choose to share, should you choose to read…

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I would like to believe that I have many friends.  Not Facebook style friends.  Friends I just love.  Friends I choose to love.  Some are easy to love.  Some are just a flat out pain in the ass.  But I choose to love them.  And my life is richer because of it.  I really, really love a few of my friends who live on the road less traveled.

In fact I even ask, “Do you understand much of what you go through today is the result of choices?”  The fact is, I have friends who truly ignore that there are consequences associated with choices.  I have done the same.  But here is my observation.

Choices are the seeds of life.

Pondered choices, considered choices, Well those are often the producers of a great harvest.  A harvest of enrichment.  Reactionary choices…. not so much.

And that is where I choose to stop today…

And I choose to continue this discussion again soon..



See you in my…………….dreams?

“To sleep, perchance to dream, ay there is the rub”  Hamlet


I dream during the day, I sleep at night.

It is said that everyone dreams.  Everyone during the night has those REM moments.  Deep in the recesses of slumber the brain awakes to discover new places, new adventures, old friends, new friends.  Scary, sweet, sad, comforting, disturbing, helpful, hurtful, hopeful dreams.  And these dreams, it is said,  have meaning.

I have read the stories.. there are famous dreamers.

Alice, down the rabbit hole.  Dorothy in the land of Oz.  Biblical dreamers like John and the Book of Revelation.  Patriotic dreamers, creative dreamers, inventive dreamers.  All “see” things in their sleep, and awake to speak clearly of what was seen.

And there are folks who make their livelihoods interpreting this dreams for you.  Doctors, psychologists, charlatans.   And how do you argue with the interpreter?  “the shoe represents the fact that your Father stepped all over your future while you were still a child.”

“Thank you”  I feel much better, “How much do I owe you?”

And then there is me.  I know I do not stand alone.  I just awake to remember nothing of the prior night.

I sleep in the world of the dreamless.  Trust me when I say, I sleep well, I sleep “hard,” I awake refreshed nearly every day.

How do I interpret the land of never remembered dreams?  No visits from the past, no insight to the future.


So I have been asked to interpret my dreams, a dream.  And I got nuthin.  Nada, zip.  And what does that mean?

During the day I dream with purpose.  I see things that I wish, or hope, or pray to be.  My day dreams are rich and filled with the aforementioned hope.  My dreams of the day are directed, with purpose, filled with discovery.

I love dreaming.  It is a very Spiritual act for me.  It is the accompaniment to my earth experience.  “‘In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.”  Acts 2:17.

But during the night I find myself with nothing to interpret when I awake.  And how do I interpret that?

Well I don’t know.

Let me sleep on it.



Can I just stand quietly by your side?
You don’t need me to talk
I so want to fix.
Like you were a broken lamp
Or a flat tire
or a misspelled word
Fix me, they cry out
But you do not cry out,
you just cry

Can I just sit quietly by your side?
Can I listen and not respond?
Can I just listen?
and not respond
For your journey is a solo venture
And I want to lead you
And you just need to travel
undirected for this moment
And I wouldn’t know where I was leading
If you let me lead the way.

Can I just be strong in this silence?
Present and attached.
Long and strong at times
and nearly imperceptible at others
Can I know the strength of silence
And let time close the wound
healing from the inside out
It is not a wound that I can fix.


But I can sit quietly
Difficult as that may be
I can
I can
Like a shadow
I will be here
I will
I will

But do not sit alone in the darkness
It is then that I disappear.

Scribbled Notes on my Heart

‘Bind them on your fingers, write them on the tablets of your heart’  Proverbs 7:3  God wants for us to remember.  So it is written.

And so that is where your name is written ‘M’.  You have been written on my heart.

And I write these words, for you, for me.  I Remember.

This story is so unique to me.  Your journey, your experiences as you have shared them.  Bringing you to this moment.  This place in time.  I will attempt not to make assumptions, about you or your future.  But i will make observations based on our many conversations.  Mostly this will be about me… but as it applies to us, you must be included.

Ultimately, my desire for you is a richer, fuller, peaceful life.  I pray I can help you decide to live that way.

I call upon remembered stories, shared moments, intense moments, smiling, laughing and tearful moments.  I struggle deeply.  And my struggle is not with you.  Not directly.  The struggle is with decisions.  I can make mine.  I want to be able to make yours.  I cannot.  And so I struggle.  Fixers love to fix..  Sometimes when I fix or assemble things too quickly, I leave spare parts on the table when the job is ‘done’  You are not a quick fix job.  You are a special person in my life…. for life, I would hope and pray.

I have said to you, “I must do what I must do, you do what you must do.”  That is a bad statement.   This is the new note written upon my heart.  “With God’s help, I will do what I decide I must do, and I will be here to love you when you make your decisions.  I will not make those decisions for you, but will be here to lift you up, attempt to soften your fall, and walk by your side as you suffer or enjoy the consequences of those decisions.”

As I have watched you now and listened to your stories, much of your life it seems has been a reaction to others’ bad decisions.  Forced to make decisions at a very young age that now shape your today.  Father, Mother, Sister, Boyfriends, Girlfriends, have all caused you to make decisions at a very young age which have set the framework for decisions you continue to make today.  Though I hardly agree with some of your most important decisions, I am here.  I will go NOWHERE.  That is my decision.

It is difficult for me to realize that our history is really just around 80 days in length..  A long time when you are in a balloon circling the globe.  So very short in the world of relationships.  But truly the depth and intensity of this 80 days is, as I have shared, like no other in my entire life.  You are on the Mount Rushmore of my best moments in life.  You are on the Mount Rushmore of the worst moments.  And you are perhaps the best “just friends” woman I have EVER known.

Last night as I wondered where you might be, and knowing that “he” was taking you out, God brought to my mind the moment.  The moment I knew.  When I actually caught a glimpse of just how smart and funny and conflicted and caring you were, you are.  We were sitting at my filthy dining room table, having a business building session.  And for some reason I shared this pyramid with you.  I’d used it in sales training before, but for some reason I knew you had to see it.

I have the notes from that meeting.


You were the first person I had ever shared this with that truly was at the ‘Safety’ level.  And it was like it popped in your brain.  A light, I saw the light come on.  Lots of business and sales people that I trained in the past are at the Belonging/Self-Esteem levels.  You were the first person with a business, a good, hard working business woman, who was just floating in the Food/Water/Shelter/Warmth mode.  And lots of folks do live at this level, and I have.  But you were the first for me.   The “he” in your life provided shelter in his mother’s house.  But with those physiological needs met, you were in an unsafe living situation.  And so after you left my home that day, sometime perhaps over the following 48 hours, God spoke to my heart.  I decided to provide a safe place for you.  I could not decide for you to accept.  I could only decide to offer.

So you need to know, and I know you do know.  My house is now your house.  The bedroom is yours.  The home is ours.  The bedroom is yours.  The dogs of Casa Canine and I are so pleased that you are a part of this place.  Because of you the house is richer and cleaner and happier and brighter.

Just know that you are free here.  You are safe here.  You can work on understanding “Love and Belonging” here.  You already a part of my love and belonging.  I am honored that as you struggle to work through all of your historical issues, you choose to do it at Casa Canine.

I have learned so much.  You have written on my heart.

“M” first appeared in my blog in Feral for Real posted 1/11/2014