A Phone Call with my Dad

My dad called me on Wednesday. He also called on Thanksgiving last month, so that makes two total calls in about two years. I love my dad, I know he loves me. Each has sent the other a message here or there, and we've even played phone tag a couple times, but we hadn't actually talked in a long, long while. I grew up with him around only in spurts, so this was no challenge to deal with or anything. Just the way things were. The way things are.

James Edward Harrison is 61 and lives in Oregon. He's lived in a lot of places all across this country. He is a very chill, nice man who has that country type of casual attitude. The kind that uses a lot of idioms but would never say the word “idiom.” He and my mother split up when I was two. He used to be so buff from lifting weights in various California institutions, and so tan from hard work, including a job trimming palm trees in Arizona during the Summer. This last bit has helped me hold my tongue when tempted to complain about work on hundreds of occasions. “At least I'm not trimming palm trees in Arizona in the Summer,” I always say.

He has never yelled at me; we've never been in a fight. But he's also never really given me advice. He was around for a bit when my twin and I were about 9, and Julie told him that I hit her when we were fighting. Before I could state my case, he looked at me and said, “Never hit a woman, son. You don't do that.” And though it was very good advice, that's possibly the only time he has offered guidance. Maybe he doesn't feel like it's his place or something, since he hasn't exactly lived a model life.

He spent five years in a prison in Susanville, California from when I was 11 till 16... Those are formative years! We wrote occasionally (I still have a couple letters) and I'm sure he called a couple times, and we talked, but I really missed him. I missed a man I'd never really known, and had no idea why. When he finally got out, we went to see him at my uncle's place in Lodi. I could have thrown up, I was so nervous. We got out of the car and Julie ran up first and gave him a hug. I was next and went to copy my sister, but he had a premeditated handshake ready and so it was  trapped between our chests as I hugged him. My young, beardless face was crying. I was a good 6 inches taller than him, and much leaner. I felt too tall, and too skinny, and I still don't know why. But the awkward moment ended quickly, he regained his had, and we had a lovely visit.

I've seen him so few times since then... I'm ashamed. We had a tearful but milestone call when I lived in Canada at age 19, in which I told him, in a tiny phonebooth, that I held nothing against him, that all was forgiven, and that he'd be my dad forever. I was so grateful that he was crying too, because I think it meant that he also felt this longing that I felt. This longing to be close because of our blood relationship that could never be replaced by anyone else. And I think that he knew, like I did, that this longing would never really be fulfilled. Not the way it was meant to. I'm grown now, I've been raised. The job was done admirably by my mother, among many others. But regardless, I still wanted him in my life.

I was also raised by a stepfather, who tried fell short in so many ways. It was hard, I'm sure, to jump into a big family and be the best stepfather. But after a while, you start to wonder if it's really that hard to be a nice person. We get along quite well now, and I would say we got along pretty well when we lived together. But that's because of me. Because I grew up trading integrity for quiet evenings. Harsh as that sounds, I constantly admitted I did something wrong or kept silent while I was lengthily lectured on how far short I fell. I absorbed so many insults, delivered as statements of fact, that I grew up questioning every movement, ever decision. But if I argued, even with reason and peace, it would only get so much worse. One night, I stood in the kitchen for ten minuted deciding whether to toss away a peanut bar jar or put in back in the cupboard. There was enough left in the jar that throwing it away could mean hearing that I was wasteful and thoughtless, if discovered, while putting it back in the cupboard could mean that I was lazy and, again, thoughtless. Finally I decided that throwing the jar away would at least be a more hidden decision, even if it was wrong. Unfortunately, I seemed to have chosen wrong, because later he went to make a late night snack, looked for the peanut butter, and found the jar in the trash. I heard all about how much peanut butter was left in the jar and how far it could be stretched, and of course, how that thoroughly reflected my flawed character.

But that's how I grew up. As much as I hate it, fathers have a huge impact on how a person is raised. I've spent my whole adult life convincing myself that I can, in fact, make good decisions! I do not mean to complain, only to show how impactful fathers can be on a person. But I heard so much criticism about the most meaningless things, so that a questioning, condescending voice has stayed in my head for years. But there have been very positive improvements. I also do not mean to compare the two, my dad and my step-dad. One happened to be present and generally supportive, but emotionally distant, while the other was absent, but kind and warm. But still absent.

But on Wednesday my dad called me. It was a sunny winter day and he was sober and attentive. I talked about everything to him like I knew him; like he had walked in the door from work every night of my childhood. For fifteen minutes, I paced a parking lot and updated him about where I worked, what I was studying; I asked him where he thought I  should transfer and other difficult life decisions in my head, and of course, sports. He listened, answered, laughed, all in his casual, “Jimmy Smooth” way. (That's his nick name, or so I've heard.) Before we hung up, he told me that he believed I could make the right choice, and that no matter what I chose, he was behind me. How powerful, to hear those words! How they conflicted with what I've learned to believe about myself!

After hanging up, I allowed myself to feel sadness. Deep regret that I did not enjoy this mysterious person, this powerful influence in my life for more than this phone call. I feel like I would have matured so much stronger, more sure of myself, less passive aggressive, more respectful, and that I would have chased after affection far less, if his steady input was around me. But it wasn't, and I've been so insecure. And I have hurt others, and I'm still far from the peaceful man I want to be.

But after this sadness, I felt excitement and possibility! I could be that steady force for someone, someday! One day, little Harrisons will be running around and I've been thinking, What a great thing it could be, if I could be better, trust in God, and be a steady, cool, listening, advice-giving, caring, good father? Well, I think I would be the happiest man on earth, if I was a good father.

I'm James Lowell Harrison, and I'm 24. I have so far to go, so many more decisions to make in my life. But I have friends, family, coworkers, my step-dad, and my dad to ask for advice. It's become a group effort, and there's nothing wrong with that. But I've had a taste of what a good dad is like. And I've seen some great examples over the years, and I have God in Heaven who forgives like no other. Thanks for reading!

All About My Day

"Talk to me, tell me something"
My mother would say
She wanted to know
All about my day

So I opened my mouth and told her about
The girls I had kissed and the cats I had kicked
The shirt I had stained and how I splashed in the rain,
And the graffiti I did and how I threw a big fit
When the teacher had stopped me
From hitting that kid

My mother just sat there
With her eyes so wide
Waiting for me to say I had lied
But I was telling the whole darn truth
And that wasn't even the end, to boot!

So since I had started I couldn't now cease
These secrets and stories from finding release
So I told her some more, though she might abhor
At least she would know all about my day

And how it all started by showing the class
My reddest and strangest, most recent rash
And at lunch I poured a box of milk
On Fred and Ted and Julie and Phil
And then made Sally slip on a banana peel
Because she said I looked silly

How at recess I greased up the monkey bars
And yelled out "Fire" during the play
Cause it was too long, anyways

And then I swung a kitten by its paws
And told little Suzy there was no Santa Claus
And all about how I wrote in a book
That the principal's a dirty, rotten crook
For saying my shoes looked funny

But the worst of my day was still yet to come
Because I had bit little Elvis's thumb
And nearly all of the school gathered around
And suddenly I didn't feel so proud
So I ran and they chased, and I came home to you
Cause you're the best mom, I'm sure you knew
Now all of my actions were uncalled for
And I know what I've done, I'll answer for
But Mom, by God, please don't answer the door!
I'm sure I've learned my lesson.

Two Songs

Capo 4

(Dsus4 D Dsus2 D)
A rabbit hops and sings a song
His voice is deep and it carries on
Through the grass Until it finds
Two ears that hear The hopeful rhymes

The tunes don't change A single thing
Except to give The silence wings
"Don't ever stop raising your voice
It's pointless sound, But more than noise

"The words that come Are from the heart
And shaped into Different parts
Of one big heart That we all share
Each beat reveals The freedom there"

(G Em D C)
And I'd travel the world to tell you a joke
And if it was raining I'd give you my coat
So you could be dry when you heard the punch line
On a day when it thunders as the sun still shines

And I'd climb the tallest trees in the wood
To find you a flower that matches your mood
To give you peace as you see the stars above
On a night when you wonder just what you're made of

The sun's gone down, The rabbit's gone,
But the wind still carries, His faithful song
The wolf that heard Won't move or blink
His heart and mind Think and think

That maybe he's Got it wrong
Because of that Old Rabbit's song
So he howls at the sky And claws at the trees
Knowing now that we all have A heart and teeth

"Gather round you souls And sing with me
Together as one, under This old tree
I dreamt of a world Where I chased each of you
But instead to give you All the love that I knew

A Day In the Life

The cable guy showed up at 7:30am, rounding off a solid 4.5 hours of sleep for me. Saving my mother from having to solely deal with him, I got up, lazily got dressed and cleaned out closets, etc, as he needed to access certain lines. He was an energetic man and fun to talk to, even at such a horrific hour of the morning.

Next on the agenda was to make bread! I've been meaning to for a while and finally got around to it, and Lord knows I can't go back to sleep when I've awoken and the sun is out. Moist banana bread does something for my soul... Or my tastebuds; what's the difference? It was much easier than I expected and I left it to bake in the bread-maker while I went to my tennis class at the Junior College. Tennis was fun and afterward I ran into Chris Beatty, an old church friend who has also spent some time in Canada!

When I arrived home after that fun morning and refreshing rendesvous, my surgery-recovering mother was hungry for lunch, and she had the kind of post-op hunger only a burrito could answer. After briefly tasting the bread (which was good, but dry), I left the house again.

The road to the burrito ran right past Doctor's Medical Center, and as I passed I saw an old, ragged man on a wheelchair, propelling himself backwards with one foot. It must have been easier than using his arms. As I began to pass him, a loud question boomed within me: "Why not ask to help him?" It's just a question, maybe he'll say no. My next immediate thought was more interesting: "How can you ever teach Jesus-stuff without doing something like this?" So I betrayed my comfort zone, rolled down my window, and asked, "Hey bud, are you okay - do you want a hand?" Alright, that's two questions, but he still answered, "Yeah, actually... I'm trying to get to the bus stop!" Agreeing to help, I stabled Shadowfax, my white Jeep, in a nearby parking lot and approached the man. I said I could push him down the road and so I did, but this is very important; it was only after I introduced myself as James and asked his name, shaking his gnarly hand. If I didn't shake his hand, what's the point of doing the whole thing? I wasn't afraid to shake his hand because I thought maybe his life experience, his dignity, and his overall manliness would overcome the dirt and germs in those etched callouses, transferring to my hands some of what I've always wanted... Because if Rusty were a tree, he would have been an old, red maple, with knobby branches reaching out from a scarred bark, with dried-up leaves and a white moss growing upon it.

After our quick introduction I began pushing him down the road, and asked questions. I learned that Rusty had just gotten out of the hospital, was taking the bus to the Greyhound, hoping his son could take care of him, and was still in some significant discomfort. We got to the stop and I parked him next to the bench. Finding out that he needed nothing further, I asked if I could pray for his pain. He said something that almost froze me. He said, "Well sure, that always helps." I sought for physical healing, I asked that his son would look out for him, and prayed that he would always know his Father in heaven loved him and is taking care of him. Rusty was all for this prayer and when we said our "Amens," a lady sharing the bench asked me what church I go to, and she told me hers. Another web was spun, a yarn weaved as it turns out she goes to church with a good friend of mine from school! We both know Jamie and then the bus came. I said my goodbyes and Rusty thanked me about 5 times with the most sincere smile - it truly made me feel like my simple obedience actually, honestly, helped somebody. And by God was it so easy.

I dropped off the burrito and went to give blood. It's something I care about, another easy thing to do that makes a difference, and everyone knows the best part is the unlimited, free snacks and juice once you're done! I make myself watch every time the voluminous needle goes in my arm. Is that weird? Probably. But I got a voucher for a pint of ice cream and watched a girl almost faint, so it was an eventful time.

A few hours at home to reproduce some blood cells helped me rest a bit before work, which was standard. After work, though, there was a man parked just past an exit with his hazards on, at about 12:30 in the morning. Again, I made myself admit that I wasn't in a real hurry, and if I were him, I would have loved some help with a flat tire. I rolled down my window and asked the question, and he answered an enthusiastic, "Yes!" So I parked safely and learned his problem, while a kind-hearted man cycling by stopped with us. We learned that the tool that takes off the lugnuts was the wrong size for his car. After a few moments of brainstorming, he used my phone to call his family (because he didn't have one and I hypothesized that he could not drive away very far if he decided to actually steal my phone, given his flat tire). In the end I just gave him my number so he could call with his family member's phone when they arrived, and I could drive the short distance from my house with some tools that he wasn't sure his family would have.

I had an eventful day and one that birthed several good stories. The good stories rarely arrive when I obey my own demands for comfort and routine, but instead when I dare to meet another set of eyes face to face, admitting that we're all cut from the same cloth.

The Voyager

The flashing lights blink and scream

That something's wrong within your dream

The timeline shifts and spins around

The waters rise with threat to drown

Where are we now? It feels so wrong.

The ground is dry and lights turn on

Darkened tent, with crashing notes

Should I feel fright? I do not know

As I stand, the ground so shakes

A ball drops hard, a crack it makes

The racing line draws to me first,

My feet no longer touch the earth

I fall and fall to depths unknown

The blurring faces sing and moan

Of years and lives of fallen dreams

And I alone can hear their screams

Darkness fades, replaced  by mist 

My face, the clouds begin to kiss

Wet and wetter, my clothes are soaked

Cold and ice become my bones

My frozen mass smashes down

The icy shards float around

But melt away once they touch

The spiky plants and ground so rough

A desert dry, and wide, and long

I walk and sweat and trip and fall

When down the hill, I see the sun

Shining off a golden pond

The water makes me stand and run

Down the dunes, oasis come!

My toes are wet, my mouth is dry

But just before I'm set to dive

I hit a wall, hard and rough

The unforgiving brick has scuffed

My chest, that now groans and heaves

My arms respond and stretch and reach

Up and down and side to side

The fear pours in and blacks my eyes

Encased, the bricks almost complete

But leave a hole, with room to see

A way to go, just too small

For me to fit, so I start to claw

And rip and pull and lose my breath

About to faint, at last I slip

I slide and roll on rocks and stone

Till at last I crash upon

A rock so high, somehow I stopped

From falling off this endless drop

I catch my breath, I breathe, and breathe

I look and think and finally see

My final fear now realized

Weary, broken, I close my eyes

All those years I ate and drank

I took my fill, myself to thank

It comes to me now, so very clear

All those days were borrowed years

But this is mine, this moment here

And if I choose, there's no more fear

I step, I fall, all alone

And all my senses become one

The Owl Leaps Over Running Water

Here is a little random story I wrote in a short sitting to get the creative juices flowing. Enjoy!

Once upon a time,  there was an owl. Not an old, wizened owl, and not a young, cute owl,  but a teenage owl,  and that means danger. This owl's name was Kaba,  and he grew up in a dark green forest. Kaba never liked the forest,  and instead wished he was raised on the cliffs by the water.

Heights intrigued him,  and because of the thick canopy of the forest,  could never break the ceiling and fly to the clouds. But if he lived by the cliffs he could dive of every day and enjoy what must be that wonderful sensation he could only taste from falling out of his nest.

And instead of eating mice, he wished he could eat fish! Flying over the water, stabbing a swimmer with his beak seemed to him the way to live. He wanted to be an eagle!

But eagles were to be feared in the forest,  and without a covering, every animal in the forest would be eaten by the huge, mighty eagles. So kaba could not even speak of them,  let alone meet one. But it is what his heart desired,  and for youth,  the heart's desires are always louder than the counsel of another, and more powerful than the fear of danger, or the allure of peace.

So as soon as the sun set,  Kaba ventured out, for only the second time in his life,of the forest. Across the grassy fields,  under the bright moonlighted he walked in silence, smart enough to keep from flying, even at the risk of snakes and foxes. He climbed the slopes and reached the top within an hour.

Dozens of nests filled with eagles and eggs lay before him. But he was not interested in meeting one, especially under the premise of a surprise in the night.

For laying before him, across the whole plateau, we're bones. Fish bones made the floor of the eagles' abode and awakened in Kaba the hunger for fish! He bounced to the cliff edge and took in what he saw. After feeling the breeze on his feathers stronger than he'd ever felt before,  he beheld a great drop, far to the ground, the rocks and frothy water breaking on them.

It would take moments to reach the bottom and that realization spurred him on into a silent frenzy. Vaguely knowing what it took to dive, spread, soar and stab a fish, his youthful vigor seized him, And down he dropped.

The wind, the torrents of air that found their way past every feather to run its course across his skin slapped his body into real consciousness. Kaba was born in that fall, not physically but in just as real as way. The ground approached, but it would not ruin this second of joy, of creation. He turned his wings and curved, slowing, bending parallel to the water. The mist wet his wings and within seconds he spotted a fish, sleeping near the surface.

He speared it with his short break like he'd done it a thousand times! He flew and flew, with fish in beak, for days and days, forever. He never lived under a forest again and never ate another mouse for the rest of his days. He was alive, And happy.

THE END

Breathing Alive

We walk each day

With thoughts of life,

Pretending that we're not

All burnt inside.

We lie and swear

That nothing's wrong;

Meanwhile limping

And stumbling along.

The wound's too big 

To cover with hands,

So we cover our eyes

And forget how to stand.

For all we know,

We're all alone;

Everyone's outside

And perfectly fine.

But if we could only

Take just a peek,

Ignoring our shame,

Looking up from our feet,

We'd gape and stare

And see and learn

That every one soul

Has suffered a burn.

Then the doctors could heal,

The builders could make

A bed for us all 

To rest and awake;

Living again and learning to thrive,

Tasting the sun

And breathing alive

Letters from the Farm - 1

(I wrote this letter on a yellow legal pad and mailed it to my friend in England last year. I sent it to my good friend, Melissa, in the hopes of making her laugh. It was probably just confusing.)

12/6/12

Dearest Melissa,

I write to you at this first week of December with thoughts of you, Christmas, and the coming winter months. Thoughtful of the famine, it is likely the farm will suffer heavily this season of freeze. Though I am no stranger to hunger, this year will be a tough challenge nonetheless. If the farm doth freeze, I will be forced to sell, only hoping to find a reasonable purchaser, who lacks that vulture mentality. Wish me well, good woman, for this winter may undo me.

In less gloomful news, I was wandering through some less traveled – nay, uncharted – land when I came across, bubbling out of the ground like a spring of water, some thick, black liquid. I cannot say what it is or what it could possibly be used for, but I shall trek into town tomorrow eve and inquire upon the noble and knowledgeable lawyer, who will undoubtedly inform me of the uselessness of my inquiries.

Otherwise, the neighbors’ 2-headed calf finally died. Moo-Moo gave a good fight but could not overcome her genetic shortcomings. I suppose the old mantra holds true: “Having two heads is too much for just one heart.”

Separately, my small farmhouse has fallen victim to raccoons. Though cute, they are unbelievable destructive. I should have been alarmed when they occupied the outhouse. I began to worry when the porch became a hostile place to transverse, but finally grasped the fatality of the situation when my bed began to be a nest for newly born raccoon cubs. But alas, I have sharpened my machete and will begin work on my bamboo raccoon traps this eve. (Machetes are so useful.)

Alas, I nearly forgot; last Wednesday I fought and defeated a wolf. He was very large and I could see my death in his eyes. He leapt on me and nearly had me but for my quick reflexes. I nimbly strafed to my left, nearly losing my footing in the deep snow. His first unsuccessful move left him vulnerable to my left hook that I delivered with authority directly to the beast’s wet nose. Hardly a whimper was out before he charged back and grasped my arm in his vicious jaws. We struggled so closely; I saw his gray eyes and felt his hot breath on me. But as he snapped to earn a better grip, I swung around, slid my bleeding arm under his chin, and locked it there with the other arm. In those long but hopeful moments I could only think of you and what a beautiful coat you could be wrapped in if I managed to slay this animal. He was a beautiful white wolf with wonderful, dark gray markings to match those eyes and, though I hardly felt compelled to compliment my attacker, if I had to, it would have been regarding the softness of his royal fur. So it is with tremendous sadness that I tell you I do not possess this fur. For in his last remaining amount of oxygen, I heard an old owl hoot so profoundly that it drew my attention. Looking into his huge eyes, it was clear to me I was not to end the life of this carnivorous canine. And so I released him, and he darted away. My wound revealed to be quite minor, in fact, so I returned home and threw up. And every so often, but only at dusk, whilst walking I find nearby wolf tracks and simultaneously, though I cannot say whether far off or simply within my mind, I hear in the wind the hoot of an owl, who protects his brother animals in this severe earth.

But you must be bored of these mundane stories by now. I bid you a merry goodbye and wish wonderful happiness to you! May your coat keep you warm and the great Owl protect you!

Keep Warm & Ever Hopeful,
Watchful of the Seasons,
Affectionately,

J.L.Harrison

Twins, Summers, and Resurrection

Summer is coming! It's true, it's only March, but it's (mostly) warm and sunny and there's no looking back! Before adulthood, summer was easily the best time of the year. No school; what more could you ask for? Besides chores, my sunny seasons were spent riding bikes, playing basketball, and hanging out with friends. But after I finished school and entered Youth With A Mission, moving to Alberta, Canada, the summers merely meant that the sun would still be in the sky after work was over, as opposed to seeing stars come out at 5 pm. But besides work, the June, July, and August months meant occasionally visiting good ol' California to see my family.

Now, I have a twin sister. Before you ask, we are indeed identical twins, both in facial appearance and height. Yes, throughout our lives, most people can't tell who was James and who was Julie. It led to all kinds of problems. Julie would dress like me and get into all kinds of trouble, and the next thing I knew, I was being punished! It was tragic. But as adults, we've reconciled our conflicts and get along just fine. Mostly.

Joking aside, one thing about my twin is this: she is summer. She embodies it, from her bubbly personality that cannot be eclipsed to her shining face filled with excitement. If you're around her, you know what she's feeling. If she's happy and laughing, you will be too! The sun is a ball of light and energy, never ceasing. And my sister is just as hard to shadow if she has set her mind to something. Once when we were seven, Julie got a hold of some flower seeds and started digging a hole. When I found her she was reading the bag of seeds and asked me what 6" meant. Intelligently, I told her, "It means six feet." She said, "How big is that?" "Julie, you'll have to dig for as tall as Jacob!" Sitting in the dirt with her wild, brown curly hair, she thought for a moment, then said, "Okay," and went back to it with the shovel.

She is persistent, loving, and full of life. Like the sun. Like summertime, that time of year I'm accustomed to seeing her. So when I think of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, I think of a special time of the year, lasting the entire year! Seasons disappear and it's summer all year around. The atmosphere is energetic and life is the air we breathe. Our Creator is persistent to plant seeds that don't stop growing, and he will never withhold his Spirit that waters us each day, until the sun stops shining.

Hold Fast

Hebrews 4:14-16
"Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need."

Though this passage seems very nice, it doesn't make any sense! Jesus, the Son of God, tempted in every respect that we are, still did not sin. Therefore, we, who have sinned, can find his help in our time of need.

Honestly, I do not get it. I'm not trying to set up a literary turn where it does make sense in the end - I actually don't see the connection. Because Christ did what we couldn't, we can find grace and understanding when we're needy? Maybe you get it, and in time I might, too. But for now, I'll simply take it.

So it is not with knowledge and understanding that I conclude, but with gratitude: God is an awesome God for extending grace, his very throne of grace, to us, sympathizing with our weakness and saying something like, "I know... it's okay." He is awesome because he was victorious and, though we are not, he still champions us and elevates us to be more like him, to be what we can't.

Now I draw near to this throne of grace with confidence, receiving mercy and grace in my time of need, and saying something like, "Okay... Thank you. Again." And I hold fast to my confession.

Letting Go

“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep...that have taken hold." -Frodo

I love Frodo so much. If he wasn't your favorite in the "Lord of the Rings" movies, give him a chance in the books. He is valiant. He accepts his role. He is selfless, and he is lovable.  He lets go of the Shire, not once but twice!

I've said some tearful goodbyes in the last few years, and I've left some wonderful people. The reason those goodbyes were so tearful, and why leaving was so heartbreaking, was because those friends were so good, so wonderful! I wouldn't feel this way if I only knew jerks! But I am so grateful to know such quality people from different states, different countries. They point me to beauty.

And that's what we're looking for. There was a time where I didn't see a beautiful sunrise or sunset for months. The weather just wasn't right. But I didn't need those, because I had beautiful friends who cared for me, who insisted on the truth about me, and who were persistent to point out the good. We all need to witness beauty to be whole, and I am rich with what I've seen.

After experiencing these things, plus forgiveness and such satisfying redemption, I see the Father at work. Here and everywhere! And if that's true, then letting go isn't always easier, but it's possible. Because what we're letting go of is beauty, and that can be found Everywhere.

Frodo left a lot of things and people, but what he came to was a far country of white, sandy beaches, the City-Upon-a-Hill, the Timeless Shores... There's more beauty where we're afraid to find it.

Change, Never-change

Goodness, this is long. But it's a reflective thing, so more for me than for you. So consider this a journal entry that I'm letting you read, haha! Understand, and please enjoy.

A lamp has a power cord. To move the lamp, you must unplug the power cord, relocate the lamp, and plug the power cord into another outlet. Simply unplug, move, plug. Quite simple. The lamp is still a lamp, but it's in a new place. Now, different things are happening all around the lamp, but it's still doing its job, while all it sees and hears is new and changed.

I lived in Canada for three years; 2 and a half years in a small foothills town in Alberta and half a year in the city of Vancouver. Those were very different environments - in two different provinces, even. One of them showed me a deer every day, beautiful stars, dangerous storms, and a slow, quiet life. The other presented a fast-paced, people-filled society boasting convenience and low prices within a lock-your-doors atmosphere. Though they were both truly beautiful, they were quite different. In fact, every Canadian was different; some wore cowboy hats and donned mustaches, and some owned bakeries while others made millions for the oil industry. And they all were different from me.

Less than three weeks ago I was unplugged, relocated, and plugged in again; a lamp moved not just across the room, but into another house! Yes, I am still James, but I'm in a totally different place. Different things are happening all around me. All the faces are different. The voices are different. The colors, smells, sky, and air moisture are all different. Even I am changed! Yes, I've lived here before, but I'm older. At this point in my young life, it amounts to being much older. And for some reason, that means a lot to me.

I know my surroundings are different and can't possibly satisfy my urge to recognize my experiences. There is no way to tell all the stories of who and what my light was cast upon, and no one would want to hear all of them anyway! And that's okay. That's normal! To expect more would be unfair.

Now if I understand the struggle of moving and the confusion of all things changed, why do I shudder at times? Why do I ignore feelings until they ambush me with storm clouds? Why do I desperately wish for someone with which to open up, while I fear the idea of opening up at all? I want a friend but push them away. It was never like this before... Good Lord, why?

Grief. I lost something very precious to me. I lost a community, a job, a bedroom, a level of comfort, a style of humor, a list of inside jokes, a system of meals, and a group of fine people who called me friend; who loved me more than I realized till those last few days. All of that gone, and I'm left here in American with jokes about "snow" and "eh" and "a-boot." Good gravy! It was so much more than that.

I became a man there, and I returned to be told that I need to put shoes on before I leave the house! I know! For Pete's sake, I know.

So here I am - new and fresh but scared, experienced but nervous, a man now a man, deathly afraid of being treated like a boy. But I am James, and I am loved, and there are some things that never change.

Still a Tree

You shouldn't be dramatic so

You shouldn't slow the traffic flow

Or frantically wave a flag so white

Ov'r a clean ship healthy at first sight

A ship is first a tree, you know?

And trees ne'er live without a touch of woe

Hardships endured, but thickened bark

Can't stop the wind of deathly stark

The fall of one so great and old

Must sound much like a smash so bold

And splashing into the flowing clear

Like rocks on rocks or thunder near

The river runs swift and blind

Past an old, stuck log refusing to wind

In time it will falter and fall

Jetsam dragged, forgotten by all 

But though the log is tall and wide 

It's still a tree, deep inside

And though the tree is dead and gone

It's still a tree, thick and strong

So because the roots must stay back

The support has now been all but sapped

Those precious nutrients so far away

Getting further and further every day

Perhaps before the log shakes loose

It will find a similar log or two

And form a little dam their own

And firmly stand, to brave the Unknown.

What's the object of the game?

This poem is fictional. But it does relate to this: when something seems wrong, but right at the same time. So you trust it, enough to give it a shot, even when you sense it's leading into a trap. Perhaps it's a wrong motivation, or a dream you're following that someone else dreamt. Beware!

I don't even know your name
And if I did I'd feel the same
I never learned to play this game
But if you teach, I'll try to play.

Look alive, it's time to shine
See if you can't take what's mine
Tie your string and pull my line
With silky words and a smile wide.

But then again, not you but me
Tied that string and hung it free
Yeah it's locked, but here's the key
For any fool to take and keep.

A key that leads to open flesh
Raw and pulsing, my open chest
Covered by no bandaged mesh
No hair or skin or bone protects.

If you ask it, I will gift
That key that leads to captive shift
And walk into deceiving lift
And headfirst ascend through blackened rift.

A Few Short Poems

I wanted to share a few poems I wrote recently.

1.

Ah, a pretty moon does shine
Yellow, like the winner's wine
And though he be not me
I shall look upon a final time

Perhaps, in time, another moon shall rise
And, too, the look of soulful eyes
Upon me, Oh could it be?
Your searching quest has died?

2.

In this ONE DAY, today
Be here, in me, and stay
When I try to cut another
Remind me with your thunder
That you are Love, and so am I
Till the unending well runs dry

3.

Father of smiles
Father who's near
Father from miles
Away from here.

Father of water
Of every star
Would you hear me mutter?
And never be too far?

If you see me shiver
If you smell my fear
If you hear me whimper
Speak strong and clear.

That I'm your son
That your grip is tight
Till the days are done
It's gonna be alright.

4.

Thinking of months and late history,
Things rarely happen the way that you dream
Sometimes it's bad - so bad you feel stuck
Drowning and starving alive in the muck.

Though now is fine, tomorrow is shaken
If it's looking too well I might wait to me waken'd
'Cause even though I'm headed back home,
It doesn't mean I won't feel all alone

I'm shaking, I'm scared, I'm feeling blind
Reaching out, I don't know what it is that I'll find.
All the faces are different, the voices are wrong,
Or has everything here been a dream all along?

Choose Well

What happens next does matter most!
    To drop my eyes with shoulders bent,
        And walk away from break of day?
Into the night self-engrossed,
    And tread only where the bitter went?

This moment now shall choice be made
    'Tween hope, despair; to love or hate?
        Will others' speech so deeply reach?
Or will your Love in me invade?
    Or will your Light new heart create?

"Choose well," do whisp'ring angels say,
    "It matters more than you may think."
        But another voice gnaws at my choice.
A dark, dark shadow stands in the way...
    But of his cup I will not drink!

So stand I shall with friends beside,
    And face and eyes all held up high,
        With hope and love 'neath Love above,
And live because of him who died,
    To walk in Light until I die!

Hourglass

That old clock's ticking like it's the last day of the world.

That captain's wheel spinning, hands a blur.

Our roads spiral quickly together,

Soon to join forever

As one.

Smiles spread and grins grow.

A little life multiplies into new joy and hope.

Before we know it, saplings of bright green jump and thrive

Then midnight strikes and the pillows meet our old, accomplished eyes

Spring Faith

Aye, this be a new chapter. God has written a suspenseful one, but I believe it’s coming to an end. Very old junk, old hurts, present exposure, present pain, new healing, new life! The previous chapter was one of colorful adventure in Vancouver, in Thailand and Malaysia with new friends from around the world, and in a beautiful community fighting to grow closer to God. But it ended 7 weeks ago in Alberta with a gray-scale Tuesday morning conversation that I’ll never forget.


The cat was out of the bag and the closet opened and contents spilled out. I was in trouble for mistakes I had made nearly a year before. That day saw some light though: I vowed to make things right and Jesus was in front of me – the beacon of reconciliation to lead the way. Emotions came and went: shame and confusion, then anger, then eventually and God-willing, compassion; to step out of my shoes and into another’s. I finally sensed some of the trouble I caused and squirmed uneasily. Then the good news set in, “This can be restored.” Really, truly made right.


It’s been a great story, if I may say so. The enemy, the antagonist, wasn’t clear for a time. At first I thought it was the then-revealed victim. Of course I discovered the enemy is rarely the person who’s hurt. The enemy is instead the one that silences the promise of healing. And his destiny is set, isn’t it?


I had a mediator – a godly man to help me; to defend me but also to make me see the wholeness of what I’d done, mixed with the destruction wrought by another who does not come into this tale… a child whose actions were never reckoned for. So I was not wholly to blame, but some blame was mine, and it is the role of a friend to reveal that if need be.


The River Time coursed by… it was mostly frozen at first, advancing at an agonizingly slow pace. But it picked up, thawed by the great Sun, by breaths of the great Creator who wished to test my patience and my integrity.


I ran the course with bow set stubbornly straight. Indeed, I may have never been so set in my ways as I was these last couple months; set on making things right, on seeing this through. As a character learns his strengths and weaknesses, I have learned and admit proudly that I am a Carer. Though clinging to selfishness at times, I have been endowed with a capacity to care. I am a cacophony of selfishness and selflessness, but inevitably, with enough time spent with Jesus, the melodies of love and peace and patience will ever carry on and away and drown out the harsh discords of self-demand. There was a lovely harbor I regrettably stole from in my youth. But I sailed my ship back there and mended what I could. Recovery will take time but I believe I’ve done my part for now. The rest, thankfully, is up to the Shipwright and the Repairman, the God of the land and the sea.


And the page turns as a large hand titles a new chapter, "Spring Faith."

May it be a sweet, sweet sound

This song really hit me at church. When we speak to God, he listens. And, it's a sweet, sweet sound in his ear.

I love you Lord

And I lift my voice

To worship you

Oh my soul Rejoice

Take joy, my King

In what you hear

May it be a sweet, sweet sound

In your ear

Testing Times

Though my name sullied may be,
Yours far more is stomped about,
The diff'rence, though, easily seen:
Guilt I have while you're without.

But that thing you lacked; guilt unknown,
You took from me and bore yourself
At the cross that made the curtain torn
And threw the world upon itself

Now my life is in your hands
And testing times I find I'm in.
But this day's end will have me stand
And with your power find peace within.

Easier said than done, I fear
How to keep from running away?
The answer's simple: You say, "Draw near,
Through this, together, we'll find a way."