Taking Flight

I am a passionate person.  I LOVE people, but I do not suffer their foolishness, their complacency, their negativity.  I endeavor to plant seeds of excellence in folks so they know they’re loved, valuable, precious—but it’s up them to water ‘em.  Though I am AGGRESSIVELY LOUD, do not confuse my volume for anger.  YOU WILL KNOW WHEN I AM ANGRY.  I burn.  I fly.  I bound.  I vibrate with the love I have in my heart for my life, my friends, my family, and the endless pursuit of excellence of those around me just KILLIN’ themselves to get better.  I pray for all of us—every single soul I encounter—that we reach the height at which I soar this morning.  And y’know what?  I earnestly hope that some of you have to look DOWN to see me because you’ve reached such an altitude.  Love y’all.

Man Buns and Cargo Shorts

Yo!  Man bun!  If it makes you feel cool, you rock that topknot like a bad guy in a Saturday afternoon episode of “Kung Fu,” man.  Bodaciously curvy momma in horizontal stripes?  If you work that black-and-yellow-black-and-yellow combo, you can hover your fine self from flower to flower and keep the hive alive.  Brother in the goatee and cargo shorts?  Yeah, NOW I’m gettin’ close to hittin’ some tender spots.  If you get the slow nod from the guy in the mirror when you sport those functional culottes and yer pudding ring, don’t let ANYBODY harsh your choices.  Sometimes you’ve just gotta do what makes you feel 112%, regardless of what Cosmo, or GQ, or any of those other folks are tellin’ you.  Get out there and OWN it.  Love y’all.

On Prayers and Actions

Y’all get ready for some fire lightin’: there’s some loving anger coming your way.

I am up to *HERE* with your gutless prayers. If all yer gonna do is bow your head, lace your fingers, close your eyes, and moan on for a minute about…WHATEVER, in response to the state of the country right now; then go back to your dinner, your “Wheel of Fortune,” or sittin’ on your lazy butt and expecting GOD to take care of all of it while you cross stitch or sudoku, well, you can keep ‘em. Stuff ‘em in your censer and smoke those spineless, lifeless, GODLESS prayers. YOU HEARD ME. “OH ME, AMEN! HE’S USIN’ CAPS LOCK NOW” Just save your whispering breath. God, or howEVer you choose to see the cohesion of the universe, is LIFE. In prayer there is ACTION. A prayer without action is DEAD. Which means that a prayer without action has NO GOD IN IT. Y’hear me?! I’ve had it taught to me over and over and over in Sunday School, in sermons, in the Good Book itself. “Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” You’ll find that in James.

Love that book. Strong title. Book of James, chapter 2, verse 17.

Yeah, I Googled it. Judge me.

I banish your impotent prayers to the devil’s hell, the MTA and the DMV. That’s where they belong. Keep ‘em. If they’re offered for nothing more than to appease a world hindered by people plagued with fear, anger, and echoing caverns of loneliness and distress by doing ABSO-LUTELY NOTHING except delaying your own action, I suggest you just shut your mouth.

HOWEVER: if you’re willing to follow up your mouthful of righteous supplication with some aggressive open-mindedness; some blood, sweat and tears; some listening and some honest-to-goodness LOVING, then by all means—ask for wisdom. Request some tolerance. Beg the All-Knowing for understanding and a solution. “It’s a people problem, not a gun problem.” Then Lord Jesus God, universe, Allah, however you find your strength to continue—please grant me the knowing of how to make a difference or lend a hand to the next person that has the power to make a change.

Good GRIEF, I love y’all. But we have GOT to take up our own burden to make this better.

Patrick

His name was Patrick and he smelled of bacon and…something else; I could never quite put a finger on it.  We attended Dayspring Tabernacle daycare together.  He had a perpetual crust of snot on his upper lip, even though Miss Vicky and Miss Lucy were ALWAYS tugging at him with a tissue—they rubbed the poor kid’s nose as raw as a Saharan sunburn from Kleenex friction.

His shirt was always a little too tight, always had a couple of stains; his hair was never combed and he always had sleepy-dust in the corners of his eyes.  He played a little too rough, and God love him, he was the ANGRIEST child I had ever encountered.  When the teachers tried to discipline him, he’d wad himself into a rage knot then sprawl into a purple-faced spread eagle, every tendon and vein protruding to showcase his fury.  He would scream until he was hoarse and try to bite and kick at whoever attempted to hold him down.  It was a spectacle fascinating and terrifying to watch.  

Once he finally exhausted himself, he’d be panting in the corner; slumped, sweating, and staring out from his shameful exile, and we’d all be chewing our snacks slowly, eyeballing him from the other side of the room, keeping a safe distance between ourselves and trouble that always seemed to follow this little boy who smelled like breakfast.  AND CIGARETTES.  That’s what it was—the high note of his scent was something akin to an old Marlboro Red.  I didn’t realize it until today as I was passing by a BBQ joint at DFW which must be a stone’s throw from a smoking lounge near the American terminal.

That mixture of aromas threw me back to that sandy playground where monkey bars and 55-gallon drums lined our paradise, and tormented Patrick, the kid who couldn’t keep his shirt tucked in or clean, or his hair from cowlickin’ every which way, or his temper under control when he…“colored outside the lines.”  

And I couldn’t help thinking about this little boy from decades ago, how if I’d known then what I *think* I know now, he could’ve been a lot happier.  Maybe he wouldn’t have been so angry if I’d let him play with my Hot Wheels, if I’d shared my Little Debbie with him.  He’d have been happier if we’d let him inside the circle on the carpet instead of leaving him alone in the corner.  

And that has stayed with me all day.  If I’d been a better friend to him, I might know where he is today instead of recalling a cholesterol-scented memory with a whiff of nicotine regret.  

Please be kind.  Find it in your heart to ALWAYS be kind.  Just because I’m not aware of the entirety of the situation, it doesn’t excuse me from being kind.  I’m asking you to accept the same responsibility.  Love y’all.