LifeRevelation

Life is a Revelation…be encouraged

Archive for the month “February, 2013”

Saw Something Wonderful Today…

http://newvision2012.weebly.com/-10-countries-with-female-soldiers.html

I am traveling today. Which means I was up way before the sun, shaved, showered, downed some quick breakfast, loved on the Gang of 5, kissed Susie goodbye, checked seventy three times to insure I had my passport, drove an hour to the airport, finally convinced myself to pay the extra money to park in the garage, noticed after the nearly three mile trek to check-in that I had once again packed way too much crap, and after taking off various clothing while thinking how absolutely barbaric the whole security thing is, finally made it to my gate with exactly two hours and three minutes before my flight departs.

Now what to do?

One of my favorite pass-times is to watch people and the airport is one of the very best places to do it. This morning I got to gawk at everyone from a twenty something guy wearing a pair of well worn boots, slacker jeans, hoodie, and an International Harvester tractor hat to a woman wearing Chanel haute couture talking to someone on her cell phone about the latest Bulgari fragrance. As I looked around at my fellow travelers, my mind began to wonder what kind of people they were. Were they kind? How do they make a living? What were there thoughts? If we could talk, what would I learn from them?

The call came over the PA system for all first class passengers (which I am not one of) to prepare to board. To be honest my eyes and mind were still in the people oogling mode, but I suddenly became aware of a well tailored gentleman who oozed confidence, style, and power stepping out of the line and making his way toward where I was sitting. He stopped in front of a young black woman who was dressed head to toe in the desert camo uniform of the United States Army. He knelt in front of her extending  his boarding pass and with a silky smooth voice said, “Thank you for your willingness to serve our country. How about you take my first class seat?”

I shed nearly as many tears as she did.

Be encouraged!

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Melody writes with a with straight forward power and conviction that you can feel when you read her words…even if we are not “officially” in recovery this post will still speak volumes…beencouraged!

Bright, shiny objects!

Melody-Beattie-8x6.jpgMelody Beattie writes:

Recovery is not about being right; it’s about allowing ourselves to be who we are and accepting others as they are. That concept can be difficult for many of us if we have lived in systems that functioned on the “right-wrong” justice scale. The person who was right was okay; the person who was wrong was shamed. All value and worth may have depended on being right; to be wrong meant annihilation of self and self-esteem. In recovery, we are learning how to strive for love in our relationships, not superiority. Yes, we may need to make decisions about people’s behavior from time to time. If someone is hurting us, we need to stand up for ourselves. We have a responsibility to set boundaries and take care of ourselves. But we do not need to justify taking care of ourselves by condemning someone else. We can…

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Later One Night…A Long Time Ago

http://www.komonews.com/news/local/2-shot-in-early-morning-Tukwila-bar-fight-136262138.html

I looked at my watch, it was nearly 2:00 am. The bar would remain open for another hour and a half. The place was packed as was always the case for a Friday night. The bar was located near a large university in a city well known for it’s long association with the country music industry. This created quite a mix of different lifestyles for the patrons, ranging from college co-eds to music legends to the stragglers just prayin’ for a break. The kind of break the scraggly hair, unshaven for about a week, fat man sitting at the end of the bar had experienced. The fat man had written a song three minutes and thirty two seconds long, it had shot to number one, held that position for several weeks, and eventually had a movie produced from it. His financial life was changed forever. That fact alone explained the two big busted, leggy blondes, each wearing a dress that would barely cover a six year old, perched on each side of him. The kind that are attracted to the money, either for as long as it holds out or until new money comes along.

My friend Mikey and I weren’t interested in the rest of bar goers who were packed into the room like sardines, and smelling nearly as bad by this time of night. Our eyes were riveted on the flashing blue and red lights across the street. Mikey’s plan was unfolding perfectly, so far. The way he had it worked out his pager (before cell phones dominated the earth) should go off any moment now. Then he would get up and exit the bar area by the door going into the kitchen. He would step over, around, and in between couples in various stages of sexual acts until he reached the sound proof office of the owner of the bar, where he would be let in by one of the numerous bigger than life, bodyguards who toted large caliber firearms and did an excellent job of keeping the peace when a female co-ed found herself more enamored by the rock n’ roll skinny, lead guitar player in a touring band than the physics major that had brought her to the bar with the idea of having her consume just the right amount of alcohol in hopes of  whisking her back to his dorm room for some personal excitement before she or he passed out.

Mikey would use the office phone to return the call. Probably speaking to someone at  dispatch who would deliver the crushing news that his store had just been robbed of all the gold jewelry. He would then wait about 20 minutes before slipping out the back door to his waiting car. He would then drive around a couple of blocks, checking for anyone tailing him, before pulling up behind the squad car we were now watching. Mikey would then go into the throes of a business owner who could not believe his misfortune. Who could do such a thing? Especially after all his hard work. What kind of people are they? What is this world coming to? If Mikey was anything he was a great actor worthy of a Grammy award and all its accolades.

For a moment the scene faded back and my thoughts went ahead. What kind of life was this? Why aren’t there any old drug dealers? Would the women filling this room with perfume and sexual heat eventually becoming moms driving Toyota mini-vans around, filled with children, from school to soccer practice? Would they tell their husbands about the nights they went slumming with drummer of a punk rock band? Would the boys/men eventually sit on the boards of industry and make decisions about the direction of our economy? Would they be willing to marry women from this room or would they decide on someone who wasn’t so tainted, someone with not so much baggage? What would they tell their children about drugs, indiscriminate sexual coupling, and waking up in the the bushes by the business next door? Who would pull out of this morass and who wouldn’t? Who would die from an overdose, or alcohol poisoning? Who in this room would be forever damaged goods because of a relationship that went dreadfully wrong?

The pager went off…and Mikey went into  Act II of the evening.

More than 30 year later:

I never knew what happened to the woman I was with that night. The truth is, while I can recall the color of her hair and her long legs, I don’t remember anything else. Her name, the shape of her face, the sound of her voice all have been lost to the passage of many years.

Mikey on the other hand is a different story. He continued in the drug trade for several years and was eventually arrested after selling several ounces of cocaine to undercover DEA agents on multiple occasions. He posted bond, was released from jail and hired a defense attorney well versed in the ins and outs of plea bargaining drug charges. However, the mood of the country was beginning to change. The wild and loose era was becoming the straight and conservative era. Citizens were demanding steeper penalties for those who dealt death to their children. Mikey was looking at a couple of decades in a federal penitentiary. One morning he disappeared. They found his car along the interstate with the keys still in it. He has never been seen or heard from since. Seven years later his wife had him legally declared dead and collected one million dollars from his life insurance company. After twenty plus years she has never remarried and continues to live in the same home.

It took several years, but the questions I had that night sitting in the bar watching life pass me by, began to bear fruit. I stumbled from a shower one morning in a hotel room in downtown Columbia, Missouri with an entirely different approach to life. What exactly happened from the time I opened the shower door and stepped in until I sprawled on the bed bawling my eyes out some time later remains a mystery to me. I call it God’s grace.

All I know is those few minutes have altered my life forever.

It is not easy to write about the past. Like all of you, my past contains moments of intense pain. But I don’t write to relive the pain, or the excitement, or the so-called glory. I write to cast a light into the darkness. The light of hope. The light that says anyone can change. No one is beyond hope. It can happen anywhere, anytime, to anyone. I know…I’m living proof.

Be encouraged!

Late One Night…A Long Time Ago

http://drugsinfonewslineireland.wordpress.com/2011/01/24/dublin-the-day-that-cocaine-traces-was-discovered-in-leinster-house/

The small mirror I hold in my left hand reflects the dull light straining to penetrate the dirt that coats the lens of the overhead street lamp. If I turn it slightly it catches the bright orange light which flows from the dashboard of my turbocharged black sports car. The sports car turns heads when I drive through the city, which of course is the whole idea. The exhaust is tuned to make it purr like jaguar moving through the jungle. The car says, “I’m cool and I rule my world.”

At the moment I’m not concentrating on the car or the woman draped over the taupe buttery soft leather seat beside me. Come to think of it she is like jaguar too, just in a much different way. She says, “I’m cool and I’m going to sleep with you tonight after we party and you spend lots of money on me.”

My focus is on the mirror. To be more exact my attention is what’s on the mirror, which is about a hundred dollars’ worth of Peruvian marching dust, otherwise known as blow, candy, and sometimes referred to as cocaine, but usually only by those talking heads on the evening news and very uncool people.

I watch as my right hand, holding a single edge razor blade, makes short quick chopping motions. The technique used in this process speaks volumes. It says, “I know what I’m doing. I can do this in my sleep. I’m a pro.” The woman is impressed. She makes the appropriate sounds, a soft ooh and ahh through perfectly glossed shiny lips that are parted only slightly to display her movie star white teeth.

I’m parked in a lot behind a mini retail mall with eight store fronts ranging from a convenience store to an upscale men’s clothing store owned by my good friend and drug dealing buddy, Mike. All of the stores are laundering significant sums of drug money.

The night is perfect. My plans for the evening are rolling along just the way I had planned them. Earlier I had taken the young lady to a French restaurant with modern décor that screams, “Buddy, your ass is not getting out of here for under five hundred dollars.” Then on to a dance club where we had walked by all the poor souls waiting in line, palmed a hundred dollar bill into the hand of a man five times my size, and been ushered to a private balcony. There we sipped a variety of alcoholic beverages and decided when we would descend to the dance floor so we could gyrate in pseudo sex acts that pass for dancing. By daybreak the young lady and I will be seriously entwined with one another beneath the sheets, and I will have completed one more day as drug dealer without getting busted.

Life doesn’t get much better than this.

It was then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. Probably just a stray alley cat or a large rat, but with  a hundred dollars’ worth of cocaine on display and another six thousand dollars’ worth lying in the console between the seats one couldn’t be too careful.

Damn, there it was again! Definitely something behind the trash dumpster. Without taking my eyes off the dumpster I laid the mirror and razor blade down between the seats. Now that my right hand was free I reached beside my seat and pulled out my Glock 9 mm. The vibe in the car had changed, and while the little missy setting beside me would never be mistaken for a psychiatrist, she detected the change and to her credit, even noticed the gun.

I carefully placed the pistol in my waistband and pulled on the door handle. “Be cool.” I said as I pulled myself up and out of the car, “I’ll be right back.” I walked slowly toward the dumpster with two prayers on my lips. The first was for whatever was behind the dumpster that I could now hear, “Oh God please let this be a rat.” The second was, “And God whatever happens; please don’t let this damn gun go off while it is only inches away from the only penis I’ll ever have.”

It is then that I hear a familiar voice.

“Ditch the bitch.”

My first prayer was answered, it was a rat, only with two legs.

“What?” I mumble.

Slower and more distinct, like I’m a kindergartner being told to pick up my crayons, “Ditch the bitch.”

Mikey that you?

“Yeah, who the hell did you think it would be?

“Gee Mike, I don’t know. I guess I just kind of forgot that you always hang out behind the dumpster at 1:00 on a Friday night.”

“Get rid of the bitch and give me hand will ya?”

“Not on your life butthead. For your information I’ve got over a thousand dollars tied up in that babe tonight and I’m getting laid for my money. Besides what the hell are you doing back there.”

“I’m stealing my stuff.”

“What!?”

“Did you suddenly go deaf? I said I’m stealing my stuff and I need your help. So get rid of the woman of your dreams and give me a hand.”

“I don’t think I’m the one going deaf…or stupid. Why the hell are you stealing from yourself?”

I’ve got a shipment of blow coming in at the end of the month and I’m a little short on cash. So I’ll heist my stuff, turn it into the insurance, get the money, pay for the blow, put the stuff back, and life will go on. That is unless you stand out here in the parking lot and keep flapping your jaws until somebody finally calls the cops cause two queers can’t make up their minds what they are going to do.”

“Danny, this isn’t exactly on my schedule for this evening.”

“Look Steve, send the girl over to the bar across the street with some cash. Tell her you’ve got to help a friend for a few minutes and you’ll be right there. We aren’t moving a damn warehouse, man just the shit in my store. I’ve got a van setting right over there. It won’t take thirty minutes. Then I’ll bust out the lock on the back door which will trigger the alarm and I’ll scoot across the street and you can buy me a drink for being such a genius. It shouldn’t be too long before the police arrive. The alarm is tied directly to them. By the way is that a gun your carrying.”

“Yeah it is.”

“Jesus, I hope you don’t shoot your dick off.”

Obviously friendship can do strange things to the brain.

I trudge back to the car and open the car door. I explain a kind of, sort of emergency thingie has come up and I need her to go across the street to the bar and I’ll be along shortly. I can’t help but notice the blow is gone from the mirror and there is a small smidge of white powder resting just underneath both her nostrils. Nothing surprises me anymore. It has always amazed me how compliant a woman can be when you are spending a thousand dollars a night on her. She shimmies out of the front seat and teeters across the street on come hump me pumps while I go back to my friend.

Less than thirty minutes later we are sitting in the bar nursing our drinks as we begin to hear the sirens.

It’s just another wasted night in a life that has no reason to exist.

Be encouraged!

I am more cautious now…

http://people.tribe.net/reiki_jewel/photos/e79831a6-93d0-45b4-ab1b-b916a5522ce7

This post won’t contain any catchy stories (as if any of mine ever are), nor will it be witty, charming, or dramatic  This will be just the plain, ordinary words of someone who has learned a few lessons in life the hard way and feels compelled to share what little wisdom those lessons have generated.

Susie and I have a wonderful old fashion fireplace in the living room. It is surrounded by a couple of comfy chairs and a sofa that has the ability to lull me to sleep every time I curl up on it. So let’s imagine we are sitting there with our warm teas and the dogs and cats are stretched out in front of the fire, so close you can not help but think about the possibility of spontaneous combustion. The lights cast a low warm yellow tinged light that recalls the old style kerosene lanterns with the glass chimneys. From the kitchen you can faintly hear the comforting notes of a Brahms’ lullaby. We are relaxed and the conversation has that low tone which comes late at night when the cares of this world have receded and the walls we cling to so furiously during the daytime are only a distant memory.

Our conversation begins…

There was a time when I threw caution to the wind. Caution, what was that? An antiquarian concept that had long out lived it’s usefulness . Caution, if it still existed at all, was something for the timid, the weak , and the needy. It was for those who knees shook when they looked into fear.

Caution had no place in my world. A world dedicated to my wishes and desires. I could act anyway I wanted. I was above it all. The rules didn’t apply, nor did the laws, or morality, or ethics. Those were silly childish concepts man had conjured up for those who couldn’t handle reality. They were crutches used to support those who couldn’t or wouldn’t stand on their own two feet. I was a self-made man. Without a high school diploma, I had built a business that supplied me with enough income to live, as a popular TV of the era proclaimed, “The lifestyle of the rich and famous.” even if I was having to constantly look over my shoulder for the long arm of the law.

Caution…I spit on the word.

It has been many years since I lived that life or felt that way. I’ve been brought down from my once lofty perch by the realization I was a fool. The reality I once thought others were too weak to handle was no reality at all, but just a world of smoke and mirrors, propped up by lies and deceit. I found that looking into the mirror and being able to look back brought rewards far greater than the riches I once coveted so wholeheartedly.

My world is much different now. I clearly see the errors of my youth. I find strength and contentment in the “little” things of life now. I am happiest when I get to sit by this fire and talk with good friends about what my heart feels.

I live a quiet, simple life now. I try to do good to others. I covet the silence that living in the midst of the woods brings. However, most of all, I enjoy the returned smile of a complete stranger, I cherish the laughter of a child, I am in awe of the grandeur of life, I never tire of hearing my wife profess her love for me, nor do I consider it a burden to return that love, I feel encouraged by the love I receive from you my readers, and I hold precious the time I spend with my Grandsons Matt and Hayden.

I see the wisdom in being more cautious now…and I’m grateful I do. My eyelids are starting to droop a little and I can feel warm sleep starting to creep into the edges of consciousness, but before I leave I want you to know just one thing…I have truly enjoyed sharing this post with you…and the prayer of my heart is that each one of you will find true peace, contentment, and love in your life…I’m going to bed now…and even if I never have the privilege of making your acquaintance in this life…know that I love you just the way you are…good night…please turn the lights out as you go…and be encouraged!

Bright, shiny objects!

“Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult-once we truly understand and accept it-then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.It is in the whole process of meeting and solving problems that life has meaning. Problems are the cutting edge that distinguishes between success and failure. Problems call forth our courage and our wisdom; indeed, they create our courage and our wisdom. It is only because of problems that we grow mentally and spiritually. It is through the pain of confronting and resolving problems that we learn.” M. Scott Peck

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Every so often, while careening around the blog world, I stumble across a post that hits me with tremendous force…usually it is something simple and concise…as most of you who read me blog know, I’m not in love with the complex…so here is this blog by a very a young lady with a very interesting story…I can’t exactly explain why it struck such a chord within me, but at the end she writes, “I don’t know where I am going, but – I am going.” Something about her honesty pulled on my soul…I admire her grit, vulnerability, and bravery…I hope you enjoy the read…be encouraged!

lilyboat

One early morning in 2008, I was crying out to God feeling most afflicted by my Divorce, Depression, and losing my Dog. I call it my 3D year. I was in a state of great fear about my future, and at the same time, grieving my great loss. I was afraid, and I was sad all at once. Fear and sadness are just not good things to mix together.

That same day God heard, and answered me. He sent me a postcard.

It was a brochure from the monastery located in the Monteagle Mountain, inviting me to their upcoming retreat program. It wasn’t the retreat that intrigued me. It was the verse they printed at the bottom of the brochure. It read: And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing.

I was a new…

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I reblog, talk, write and think a lot about failure…or at least what we consider failure…which isn’t always failure…because I think it is important for people to have a well rounded view…and because I have learned that my “failures” have provided me with as much (if not more) wisdom than my “successes”…so I’m reblogging this because once again Lily has written a well thought out, honest post…be encouraged!

Another one those posts that is just plain simple talk that illumines the life we try to live…be encouraged!

The Calm Monkey

We all do it, and probably most of the time, whether we’d like to admit it or not.  We put on a good show to the world, that’s not really our true selves.

Maybe we do this because:

  • we think that’s the role in life we think we should be playing – a responsible parent who needs take care of the family, a  consultant who feels they had better appear that they always know more than their clients, the ‘positive’ friend who always holds up everyone else, or the ‘good’ daughter who can’t do any wrong.
  • we’re unsatisfied with our image of ourselves
  • we want people to see us in a particular way
  • we are hurting or unhappy, and just don’t want people to know
  • we need to cover up what is bothering us or what we would rather not face.

There are countless reasons and we’re all unique, and…

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