Fun in the South

I just had one of my truest “southern culture” experiences this evening and it was quite wonderful.  I was at the group home where I work and the house manager told me that tonight some men were coming to “pick on their guitars.”  It was 5 old men, in their 70s or 80s (or both) and they get together every once in a while to play at the group home.  Their voices were by no means spectacular and some of the songs sounded similar but it was just so…wholesome and enjoyable.  They take turns choosing the song and singing or they ask the men and women who live in the homes for requests.  The men and women love in the homes love it all, they tap their feet, pat their cheek, clap, or rock back and forth to the beat (though none of them really keep the beat).  Also, a few of them got up and danced with each other, it is so sweet and innocent to see.  The girls are so funny, even though they’re in their 30s to 40s, they giggle like little girls as they dance or watch their friends dance.  The guys playing the songs would substitute the names in the songs with names of the guys and girls there and everyone thought that was really fun.  Okay, I’ll go now.  I wish y’all could have seen all this, it was fun.:)     

A new poem...it's been awhile since I wrote one

I am sitting at my desk

Slowly dying

Slowly wasting away

Because I choose to

No other reason

No lack of love

No lack of purpose

I turn from all those things

And sit here

Dying

Choosing to cave into my self

Instead of cascading into others lives

Choosing to love myself

Instead of choosing to love the One who gave his all to love me

I crawl into a hole

When, in fact, I was sent into all the world

I waste away

Both body and soul

When there is a offer to make me new

But there is light beyond this self imposed darkness

Waiting for me

He's waiting for me to but lift my head

And he will lift the rest

He can lift me out of apathy

Out of death

And out of waste

He is waiting for me to accept his love

To accept his purpose and his grace

He wishes for me to feel loved

And learn from him what it is to truly love

Oh Christ, Savior, Friend!

Thank you for not leaving me

When I think I am alone

Thank you for being by my side

When I am lonely

Thank you for wrapping me in your arms

God! I wish for someone of my own to love

I wish for someone of my own to hold

Someone's side to stand beside

And someone whom I can play with

To chase the spirit of loneliness away

God, I know I cannot really love someone

Until I can love you and love myself

But can they not be a teacher unto me

And I unto them?

Can we not make this journey together

And together lift each other up to you?

Father, help me to want to change

To be changed by you

So that you can make me new

Whoever they are

They do not deserve the pain my struggle would give them

They do not deserve to be burdened by my burdens

That I am not willing to let you lift

I suppose I have to be willing to begin to be lifted by you

Before I can learn to help another to be lifted

Please

Please grab my wings and help me fly

So that, maybe, someday, I can help someone else to fly

A Picture of the "Old Man"

I wish to paint for you a picture. It will not be pleasant, it will not be nice, on the contrary, it will be grotesque and fantastic.

Imagine if you can a man, a man so arthritic as to be twisted into a very contorted shape. One who slowly shuffles with head and back bent down as if a boulder lies upon his back.

It would seem that he has not bathed in months or, God help us, even years. His hair and beard are long, so tangled as to mingle into one to make a certain mane about his face.

His skin is almost bare; he has but a few rags about his form. The nails of his feet and hands make you cringe lest they perhaps come too near your skin, for they are covered in grim and filth and are shaped to a dangerously sharp end.

It is to your amazement that this man is still alive, because, as he comes closer in his painfully slow gait, you notice that is skin is crawling. You see the cause of this in some opened sores, where you can see it is maggots moving about under his skin that is causing it to crawl.

He looks at you in the face but you wonder if he can even see you for his eyes are dim and completely clouded by cataracts. His eyes remind one of the creatures who live in total darkness, in caves and forgotten places.

He smiles at you but it is a smile so twisted with pain and misery as to render it horrifying instead of a greeting, as it was perhaps meant to be.

This man was once me and it was once you. It is how our spirits look inside of us when they are not covered in Christ’s perfect blood. Without the healing that wonderful blood can give, our spirits are arthritic, so twisted as to not have the image of God recognizable in them. Without the cleansing blood, our spirits appear unkempt, neglected so as to be disgusting. Our nails are sharpened to a point for the purpose of trying to claw out our own filth and the maggots that lie within. This clawing is the cause of the open sores, our own efforts to cleanse our spirits have rendered them more wounded and placed things within that should not be. The eyes of our spirits have grow dim from dwelling too long in darkness and clouded from trying to look at the light without the lens of blood. Finally, the smile is an attempt to assure others and ourselves that we are still human, that we are self-satisfied and whole, but hopelessness showers from the smile instead of rays of sunshine; for we are not whole, we are mostly empty shells, with only a flicker of life. We are but shadows, echoes of what we were meant to be. So often have we turned our backs on those things that make us real that we have become thus, a creature who belongs in darkest nightmares, not worthy to walk in the light of day.

This is creature who attempts to fall at Jesus’ feet and I wonder as I approach if such a thing of beauty is even capable of noticing a creature as wretched as I. There is no longer an attempt at a smile, and my gait is slower than ever, my face bowed nearer to the ground for in the presence of his holiness my own burden seems to have grown heavier. Dare I really come near to him? Will he really allow me to touch his feet and test my hopes that were I to even but touch his feet, some of his cleanliness will come onto me, will give me life? I do not know it, for my head is bowed low, but as I shuffle nearer his arms stretch wide. I do not know it, for I do not heed what I hear for my thoughts are so confused, but he steps closer to me. I do not know it, for a dare not look upon his face, but his mouth begins to smile and his eyes light up as if seeing a long lost loved one. Before I can reach him, before my hopes and courage fail, he reaches me. With his healing hands he grabs my shoulders and slowly lifts me to my full height. He lifts my face so that I am forced to look into his eyes but instead of disgust, I find mercy; instead of a look of revulsion, I find a look of love. Thus assured I can find comfort in his presence, I hope for nothing more. Though I am still filthy and filled with organisms not my own, I can be at peace knowing he is near. However, he is not through with me yet. He wraps his arms around me in an embrace so tight I fear I that shall die. I feel his blood, coming from his wrists and feet, begin to mingle with my own in a fire so hot that I know the end is near. But then the pain subsides. He holds me at arms length and says to me, “Brother, in you I see a portion of myself. It is so good to have you home.” And then I realize I am whole, realize I am how I was meant to be. I realize I am a part of a family, no longer an outcast feared and shunned. I realize I am home.

kjagsdfg

Glasses, among other things

I just wanted to say the world looks different through glasses...I mean, I know that's kind of the point but besides being able to see a little better (my eyes aren't that bad), it's just interesting to have my world surrounded by frames (my glasses are somewhat narrow).  I feel a little like I'm constantly looking through a camera or something.  Also, I think one of my ears is slightly lower than the other so one side of my glasses sits a little lower.:)  Group home is pretty nice.  I've cleaned there a lot this week (I've only been there two days but I cleaned a storage room, mopped, cleaned tables, swept, and washed some dishes) but also had two meals with them and have gotten to get to know the guys a little better.  Also, I got to see Courtney's baby, Madison, and she's really cute.  Courtney is one of the girls who works there.  I'm not sure if I've talked about her on here or not.  She's very beautiful but looks like she's around 15 even though she's like 23.  Anyway, her and Crystal, the other girl who works there, are both nice.  Well, I need to study.  Josh, I finally wrote your number down and will try to call you soon.  God guide us all - Jed