Junkyard

Haunted metal husks,

Waiting

like road kill

for carrion

to pick their bones.

Still steel, as

muddy rust

slowly eats

the memories.



Residue of past

images

dissipates

into breaking

day gray

sky.

The battle scarred

forklift

looms

like a giant

guard over

their confinement:

as if they could escape

the heavy jaws

of crushing

cannibal

that waits

to reduce

them to

waste.

One day,

they’ll return

but we’ll not

recognize them

as we travel along

life’s endless road.

Suffering

  I had stopped posting for a while. It was all coming out about cancer. I tried intercessory prayer for a week or two. I have returned to only praying for God's will for me ... for us. This is whole. This is right. This is good.
  While praying for his will it came clearly, "Carry my message." I was concerned that the writing was not good writing. I was concerned what people might think. I was concerned for the privacy of my loved ones. I don't believe that this way of thinking is God's will.
  I'm not sure what I can do to help. I only know that this is what I do. I can only pray that it can help. If only one person ... for one millisecond can find something in these words that makes things better ... that shines a light in the darkness ... then I will have accomplished my goal.

Peace and blessings to all God's children :

My son has


Cancer. He’s

Suffering, pale

Yet laughing. He

Vomits then grins,

“It’s all good, Dad.”

He’s gone now to shoot

A bow and arrow with a

Hunting friend. Tomorrow

He’ll be too sick. I swallow

My food knowing he can’t.

His twin brother is suffering.

They are at the age of finding

Themselves yet now frozen in

This time of sickness. Their mother

Is suffering as she slips on the rocks

Of this endless, tumbling river. Each

Careful step, treachery defies her. She’s

Better than she sees herself and it claws

At her motherhood like an angry beast

Gnawing at her doubt. In the darkness

I feel the embrace of God. I listen and

Toil as I hear in the distant fog others

Crossing the river. I mourn for the

Suffering children. They come

With their bald heads and

Imploring eyes reaching

Out to touch my mouth

With their trembling

Fingertips.

"Can't Find My Way Home"

Where would I go if not to God? I have been to many of those other places during a time when I would not submit.

I have traveled those arduous and filthy paths where no one and no thing offers solace. I know the heartbreak of seeing the glow of family joy around the blazing hearth from outside a picture window while roaming endlessly in the cold and dark.

Where would I have gone  if I had not found the grace and dignity of faith that harbors the only truth? I have been to the road of lies that is self-sufficiency. It led to torment and loneliness and I almost did not find my way.

Years past, a haunting voice cried out in song, “ I can’t find my way home." Stevie Winwood was a heroin addict and through the veil of his youthful genius recognized his disease. He yearned for the love he knew beckoned on the other side of his dark brokenness. He could see joy through his window of misery.

The drug and alcohol addicted have suffered and they have died all these years on the altar of broken ideals. They have suffered in the spotlight of derision while our ignorance rubbed salt in their wounds.

Jesus came and he touched the lepers. Jesus came and healed those that had been cast aside yet we discard our children because we do not understand their search.

There are those that “can’t find their way home.” Would we deny them the light of our Lord because we abhor their disease?

Can we reach out to the lepers of today with the hope and grace that we have been so freely given? Can we carry the message of truth to those who wallow in the lie of escape?