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Exiled.

Broken. In the wilderness. Exiled. In the desert. Surrounded perhaps only by heat. And desperation. And perspiration. And nothing else.

Grasping onto nothing. Crying out for help. No one answers except for the sun that keeps on shining. No wind. No rain. No one that was there before is there now. It’s just me. Alone. And I cry out not to be alone anymore.

Broken. In a crowd. Exiled. In the biggest city. Surrounded perhaps by the largest skyscrapers. And strongest metals. And toughest people. And everything else.

Grasping onto nothing. Crying out for help. No one answers except for the sun that keeps on shining. Lots of wind. Lots of rain. Everyone that was there before is there now, but none of them answer. None of  them can help him now. And the man in the city cries out to be me in the desert.

We are both completely broken. In the same way. We blame our circumstances and cry out for something deeper. Something more. Something that reaches back towards us, not moving farther and farther away from us.

But we cannot find it. In our soul there is a fault. We call it normal, you may call it a defect. But we fight to keep it everyday. I pray to rid of it while practicing to make it better. He just lives with it, knowing it does not satisfy. And why are we are okay with this? We aren’t. But  we know no other way.

We are broken. Into so many finely broken pieces that we swear we are barely recognizable anymore. Much less able to be put back together again. So we have no hope. And we are. But we aren’t. We are breathing, but we are not living. We are broken.

Burn, Burn, Burn.

Inside I'm crying out

While my head is flooded with doubt

And though I sound silent,

My heart is clearly violent.

I'm sighing in need of a cure

Don't know how much longer I can endure.

I'll keep on fighting

And in my pain, writing.

Then my soul will speak

Aspiring to disguise the weak.

Thirsting for more than I've got,

I remember that I was bought.

Perhaps this is only hope

That allows me to be able to cope.

But still, I hold onto this tight.

Inside, I feel something ignite.

I'll search it out until I learn

that life is this burn, burn, burn.

Living in the Now.

At what point in my life will I become less of a reader and more of a writer? I've spent 23 years (and counting) reading about my life, about who i am. Each day I spend searching myself as well as the world around me. I've been looking for the way to make my life and to create who I want to be. I am constantly preparing myself for what is to come. Getting ready for who I am about to be.

I am a husband, a father. I have a steady job in a stable company making more than substantial income. The people I work with are great, and they really get me. My wife is beautiful on the inside and out. And my kids. I could play for hours outside teaching my sons how to hit a baseball or cast a fishing rod.  

Although this is not who I really am, this is who i am in my eyes. I am by no one's point of view to that stage in my life yet. I am single. Very single. I have no children. I have a low man on the totem-pole job in an unstable economy with a barely there income. I am in a big sense, living beyond my means. (And I don't mean that I am spending more money than I make.) What I mean is this: I am living beyond my stage of life.

I've forgotten what it means to live young. To live in the moment and not to worry. I've planned for far too long, hoping, wishing, praying that I would be someone who I'm not right now. I want so bad to be someone in the future that I stop being who I am right now.

There's a disconnect between me and Me and what each of me wants. I only want to date girls that seemingly have it all together, that put God first. And then, I am somehow surprised, when I'm not what they are looking for. I am imperfect, I put myself first. I have lots of flaws. I have made my mistakes, and I hold onto them rather than calling them regrets. I am me, and I'm okay with it. It's just that I'm not okay with dating girls that are like me. 

Do you see where I am going with this? I end up spending most of my life time as a spectator. A reader of my life book, if you will. Of this love story I envisioned has been written for me. But I'm sick of reading. I'm ready to write. I don't care anymore if it's a love story or a sad story. A mystery or a thriller. Or even a comedy. I don't care. I'm just ready to write my story. To let others know who I really am.

T'was Night Before Christmas in Nashville

Twas the Night Before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a Nashvillian was stirring, not even Allison Kraus.

Titan jerseys were hung in closets with care

In hopes that Albert Hanesworth would soon find repair.

Musicians were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of #1 singles all danced in their heads.

Mrs. Dean in her dress, and Karl in his cap

Had just sped through Chief Serpas' speed trap.

When out of Centennial Park, there arose such a clatter

Karl sprang from the driver's seat to see what was the matter.

First to the Parthenon, he flew away quick

Then to Tootsies only stopping to steal a purple brick.

The moon shone across the Cumberland that night

Giving the light of midday even showing Exit/In within sight.

When, what to his tired eyes should appear,

But Bill Frist and eight tiny white-tailed deer.

And then an F-150 came crashing so quick

From the tailpipes thunder, he knew it was good ole St. Nick.

Faster than Chris Johnson, his elves they came

He whistled and hollered and called them by name,

Now Jeff! Now Martha! Now Joe and Martina!

On Howard! On Barry! On Trace and Jo Dee Messina!

To the top of the General Jackson! To the top of the boat!

Now row away! Row away! Row away all!

As Interstate 24 at 4:30

They all got in line looking so 'purty'.

So up, up the Cumberland all the friends they flew

With a boat full of toys, and St. Nicolas too.

And, then in a moment, he saw from a distance

The General Jackson flying with little resistance.

As Karl was yawning and turning around,

Down Broadway St. Nicholas came in a bound.

He was dressed in all camo from his head to toes,

His clothes were all messy from his earlier trip to Lowe's .

A bundle of toys he had flung over his shoulder

He looked like a man trying to carry a boulder.

In his eyes you could tell, a good year it had been

In his hand a Powerball ticket, he was lucky to win.

He carried trophies for the Titans and for the 'Dores,

Even brought for the Vols some off-season chores.

The stump of a cigarette he held tight in his teeth,

The smoke ring encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face, and a little beer belly,

That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was Southern as could be with a twang in his speech,

Then Karl noticed it wasn't really St. Nick, he let out a screech.

A wink of the eye and a drop of the jaw,

Soon let him know that he'd done nothing against the law.

He spoke not a word, and packed up his bag

But stop to fill up Karl's pockets with dixie swag.

And holding his finger way up above his head

He gave a last nod, and up Broadway he fled.

He sprang to his horse, to his friends gave a holler,

And away they all flew leaving Karl with a dollar.

But I heard him yell as they rode out of sight...

Merry Christmas to y'all, and to y'all a good night!

Cheerleaders vs. Warriors

This isn't the time to sit on the sidelines and cheer on your buddies.

This is the time to fight for your life.

No one else is going to do it for you, because no one else can.

This time it's up to you.

And if you are just sitting back hoping that the best will happen...

It won't.

You'll lose your family, your friends, your life.

This is your chance.

Take advantage of it.

Use your resources. Have your friends help you.

Listen to them and what has helped them.

Share with them what has helped you.

Don't just say what sounds good.

Tell the truth.

Because this is your chance.

And you don't always get second chances like these.

So get in the game

And fight.

Fight for your life, because that's what we're doing here.

There's a time and a place where cheerleaders are good.

Your friends, your family can be your cheerleaders

And it helps.

But you can't be a cheerleader in your own life.

You have to be a warrior.

In fewer words, this is what he said. So courageously.

And although I am not in his shoes. 

I kinda feel the same way. I am trying my best to understand.

Daily I watch others from the sidelines.

Listen to their heartaches. See their setbacks.

And, now, I want to get in there. 

I want to be a 'warrior' for myself. And for others.

Because someone said I was worth it.

And I do believe that he is worth it. That she is worth it.

That our neighbors. Our strangers. Our friends. Our acquaintances.

Are worth it.

Life in Too Many Words