Monthly Archives: March 2018

He Sets the Prisoner Free

From the archives. I’m taking a break.

My Only Comfort

For he hath looked down from the height of his sanctuary; from heaven did the LORD behold the earth; To hear the groaning of the prisoner; to loose those that are appointed to death (Ps. 102:19-20).

“Tomorrow I will be a better person.”

How many times have you told yourself that? You may have gone to therapists. You have gone to the meetings. You may even have tried “religion”. But you still find that your conscience accuses you. At night you lie on your bed unable to sleep as your mind plays your failures over and over again.

You are told that you are basically a good person. Perhaps you have addictions – sex, drugs, alcohol. Perhaps you just can’t control your urges or your temper. You lash out at your loved ones. You stay up at night browsing porn sites until early morning. No matter what you do…

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Cuddles with Minimal-Wiggling

My daughter just started blogging… Proud papa here

Cabbages & Kings

Two fifty-five. I don’t want to get up yet. I’m warm under my throw blanket on the couch. I read too long and nap too little. (This week’s portal transports me to a small Channel island after the war. Letters and telegrams, small snippets of lives, until I’m sure we’ve met before and just forgot to schedule a get-together.)

Three o’clock. I love technology. Hate it. I don’t want to get up yet, but the night light turns on at three. By the time I remember to tell Alexa to turn it off, it’s too late. He’s already seen it. The LED beacon that announces his freedom to exit the sleeping area. He wakes his brother, his partner in shenanigans. He goes to the bathroom. I still am not used to it, the freedom of him using a toilet. It’s the little things.

He goes right past me when he’s…

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Loss and Grief

Some of you might have noticed that I haven’t published anything for a couple of months. I’ve sat down to write a few times but could think of nothing to say. I think I am grieving. It’s an unfamiliar emotion. I don’t know how to analyze it.

In our culture, we learn very quickly to not grieve, especially if you are male. Grieving itself is viewed as a weakness. I think this is changing. But I’m not sure.

I know that in my own upbringing, weeping was a sign of weakness. Big boys don’t cry.

So I’m trying on this new feeling for me. Grief. Sometimes loss is just a bit overwhelming. Sometimes I wish I could just experience what they call the “ugly cry” but I don’t think I’m able to. Too unseemly. I have too much of my father in me I guess. But I still grieve.

I am grieving for lost youth. I wasn’t ready for middle age. I wasn’t ready for old people problems. I wasn’t ready for cancer. I haven’t finished being young yet. I wish that I hadn’t squandered my youth with childishness. But now that is gone.

My fingers cramp now when I type. My knees hurt when I walk. The arthritis gets my joints when it rains. I haven’t learned the third movement of the Waldstein sonata yet. There was always a part of me that knew it would always be a little beyond my reach, but now I say goodbye to the dream. It’s a strange feeling. Some days I don’t know who I am.

I am grieving things that I cannot speak of, for they are not my stories to tell. I am grieving the missed opportunities, the lambs that have wandered, the words unspoken, the good deeds left undone.

It’s hard to explain. I don’t know if this is what grief feels like. I know what being sad is, but it isn’t really exactly like that.

It a sigh, it’s a reset of the brain. The remembrance of things past.

I think it is like this: There have been moments in life when a grand buffet table was within your grasp. You tasted it for a moment, but it was taken away before you were finished with it.

Maybe this is how the grass feels. Just when it starts to bloom, the mower cuts it down. Always growing, always becoming, always cut short.

But then I remember that God remembers that we are grass.

13 As a father pities his children, So the LORD pities those who fear Him.

14 For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.

15 As for man, his days are like grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.

16 For the wind passes over it, and it is gone, And its place remembers it no more.

17 But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting (Psa 103:13-17 NKJ)

I am fading.

It wasn’t meant to be like this. I was made to live forever. But now, I fade and die.

To grieve that loss is to be human, I think. But to be a child of God is to try to remember that God knows that.

I am tired of saying goodbye. I am tired of saying goodbye to youth, goodbye to dreams, goodbye to friends, goodbye to family.

I’m tired of it. But God remembers that we are dust. And I try to remember that I will never, ever have to say goodbye to God’s mercy.

God’s mercy is from everlasting to everlasting. You don’t have to say goodbye to the one who doesn’t change.

“O thou who changest not, abide with me.”

Some days I forget to remember that God’s mercy is from everlasting. But God doesn’t ever forget.

Some days, I am in the valley of the shadow of death, and I forget to remember that God is with me. But he doesn’t forget.

He doesn’t leave me behind and forget that he has a child. He doesn’t forget his little lamb.

I think that is astounding.

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