The Freedom

These are the new blossoms on the mulberry tree Barb planted last summer. It made it through winter!

I have learned this, that courage is chosing not to run away any more.

And to run to something greater than one's own heart.

I wish that I were brave enough

that I might cry out to God

to say I'm not so very tough,

that being hard is just a fraud.

I wish that my veneer would snap

(it truly might be for the best),

that I'd weeping crawl into His lap

and lean my head against His chest.

I wish that I could pour my heart,

free it from its cage of fears

and feel the awesome beauty start,

my cleansing in His flowing tears.

I pray I may be reconciled

to being man enough to be His child.

And now I'm free.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is BREAK. Love to take one, but I'll write this first.

I didn't think that I would break,

and I didn't, this is true.

I just decided not to fake

my heart no more, for God nor you.

The nights are getting really rough,

and now I long for every dawn.

That blush of eastern light's enough

to keep my soul keep keeping on,

but I can't do this by myself;

I thought I could, yeah, what a dunce!

I put my pride back on the shelf,

and then I realized at once

that something had happened to me;

once my own slave, I was now free.

Three minutes fifty seconds, rounded up. I can live with it, and live well.

Music from Slim Dusty, with Waltzing Matilda.

 "I'm proud of you, Dad. You finally grew up." - Sylvia 

 

Barb's Voice - Control The Emotion

 

Over to Barb. She'll be answering any comments you might care to make, under my name.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is FOLLOW. Following God's will, even when not liking it, is the heart of what, well, follows.

Andrew and I were having one of our deep conversations, don't ask me how it got started, this is normal and has been since day 1.  

The portion that became important for the blog went something like this.

Honey I so sorry you're not feeling well. I wish I could change it or fix it or you could go "Home". But God really doesn't care about how I feel about it. I've already cried over it, prayed more times than I can count, mourned over it. I still pray for you, usually in terms of: "Hey God can ya do something about it? Make it stop, reduce the escalation of pain, take him Home, Something!" All I can do is try to help the best I can. I'm not being disrespectful when I'm saying God doesn't care about how I feel about all this. Everything has to play out for the Bigger picture, you know I love You. I just don't have to like all the suffering. (Andrew didn't know but like many times before, once again I had an image of Mary the Mother of Jesus having to watch His agonizing suffering).  

I went to walk a dog or two and Andrew and I talked again. This time more him than me. The summation is this. Andrew basically doesn't like equating himself with Jesus and Jesus' suffering, mostly because Jesus' was for all mankind. I get that! Yet, I reminded Andrew that as true Children of God, who accepted His gift of forgiveness and grace, we reflect imperfectly Jesus to the world. So the suffering Andrew successfully endures...and as Andrew said writes about is a Jesus reflection.

So why blog it? The point is this, Paul tells us to give Thanks in All Things. But honestly in the midst of it, you have to stop your emotions! And I'm sorry, but some times pain overtakes the moment, even for Paul, or Peter, or Silas, or Stephen, or countless others. There is a moment in the midst of pain that pain ceases to exist strongly and one can stop the emotions. In this moment, you need to accept your feelings don't matter.

Music from Amy Grant, with Don't Try So Hard.

Hey Ho Here We Go

There is no-one to whom I owe

my laughter and good cheer.

Disagree? Well, you don't know,

mate, 'cause you are not here

to see the epic sufferings,

melodramatic pain

that this kind of cancer brings

when you're circling the drain.

Except maybe I got this wrong,

and made it all 'bout me,

when in truth I just belong

to larger community

that I see, in yonder looking-glass,

has strong call upon my...uh, donkey.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is STORY.

It is the story of my life,

I just cannot get a break

(eye-roll by The Barb, my wife),

but surely God's made some mistake

that looking like Asian Brad Pitt,

and with the grace of Jackie Chan,

I just cannot seem to fit

into Hollywood's big master plan,

that I could become rich like Croesus,

living in Aspen, or Bel Aire,

with entire island-leases

to take perhaps a Christmas there

with daiquiri in my hand

enjoying sun and surf and sand.

That was quick. Under three and a half minutes.

Music from Winnie The Cattle Dog - Her 30-Second Trailer.

 It'll open in a new window.

Winnie's video left Sylvia exhausted and hungry. Ice cream time!

Dancing Day

 I am a hippie and a thug,

and an accomplished dancer,

so watch me while I cut a rug

as I waltz with cancer.

We sashay 'cross the parquet floor

as the band plays on.

My partner herds me towards the door,

but it's not time I'm gone,

for sure not while the grace notes ring,

and mirror-ball shines bright,

and not while my heart can bring

all love and strength into the fight.

I know one day the end must come,

but until then, I'm having fun.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is CHOOSE. Easy.

On this day I choose to dance,

choose to whirl and pirouette,

and though it feels I have no chance,

this is not over yet.

On this day I choose to smile,

for frowning is a bummer,

and if I last a little while

I'll see another summer.

On this day I choose to write

about the Lord, who is my friend,

with whom I rather tight,

and on whom I depend.

And on this day I choose to laugh;

God's asked me for my autograph!

Two minutes thirty-seven.

Ah, why not. Dancing Queen!

Sylvia will dance for ice cream.

On The Day Of Glory

Do you think about Heaven?

Used to be, I didn't. I figured, let it come. Whatever.

But now, wakeful from one in the morning until the dawn, too tired to read or watch a movie, needing to keep the house quiet so I can't work...

Yeah, I think about Heaven.

But mine looks different from what I've heard tell, with grand royal halls and angel choirs.

My Heaven's got more "Awww!" than awe.

My Heaven's more fun.

The cows that soar above the seas

on shining wings of purest gold

upon the day God will release

the greatest stories ever told.

The mice in regal splendour reign,

in purple robes and silver crowns,

and the cats that day will deign

to serve them cheddar, with no frowns.

And there the Son will have no car,

in no carriage shall He pass;

he will place a bright-jewel star

upon the brow of faithful ass

and side by side will walk with him

into the New Jerusalem.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is REACH. Might be a stretch for me.

Do you think you might reach Heaven

while your feet still walk this Earth?

Do you think good deeds are leaven

to give you just that much more worth?

Do you think it's a reward,

a glimpse into Eternity,

for a life that you bent toward

that which you thought that you should be?

It is not your deeds that give

you entree to the streets of gold,

nor is it the life you live,

doing what you think you're told;

no, my friend, to see that place

is a gift of God's own grace.

Three minutes ten seconds 

But Heaven's not mine yet. I've still got (music courtesy America) some Work To Do.

Sylvia knows there's ice cream in Heaven. How else could it be Heaven?

The Best Choice

And so it goes, mainly downhill. Well, physically.

Days get pretty limited by a lot of trouble breathing when I try to move, and a lot of coughing thereby, which leads to a lot of puking.

My cup runneth over, all right, but let's don't go there, and you're welcome.

And why am I so happy?

I love my days, and even love the long sleepless nights (do you know that wonderful feeling of sliding back under the covers after a cold 3am dog walk?).

I love the beer that cuts the nausea so I can have at least a small meal. The way my body processes alcohol now, I don't even get mildly drunk, darn it, but BEER is my One Word for 2023.

I love Barb and the dogs and the cat and you, the people who drop by to read this stuff, share the trip, and offer encouragement.

Love's a choice, I guess. The best choice of all.

When the push doth come to shove,
I really love my wife,

so I'm buying her a copy of

The Porpoise-Driven Life.

With this I will go real big,

and think it would be cool

to alter the backyard and dig

a deep wide swimming pool

in with the big fish could enjoy

water-walking on his tail

(he, assuming he's a boy)

and round the pool would be a rail

to allow anointing, porpoise-fashion

with a whole great lot of splashin'.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ASSUME. I assume I can do this.

People will not give me room,

and I'm often pressed,

because they feel free to assume

that I am real depressed.

"Talk it out, " they like to say,

"tell me how you're feeling down."

When I say that I'm OK,

they shake their heads and frown,

thinking I am in denial,

delusional, or am on drugs.

Then they really hit their style,

and offer smoochy teary hugs

while I try to make it clear

that I really want a beer.

Four minutes fifteen of veracity. I really am OK, but a case of Fosters ale sure wouldn't go amiss.

Music from Thirty Seconds To Mars, with Do Or Die.

Sylvia says, "Ice cream. Don't forget to say you love ice cream. Comes before the cat."

Good Morning!

 In the dark before the dawn

as the world rests from its sins,

something turns the switches on

and The Car Alarm begins.

It starts out with a high-pitched "Yeeee!";

Cocoa's always on it first.

Then Latte joins in, in high G,

enough to make God's eardrums burst.

They rush to wake up all the crew;

Henry rumbles, low and deep,

"Don't know what YOU want to do,

but as for me, I'd rather sleep."

And then yawning, shakes his head,

and joins the whirling dance instead.

Did you know that the human eye can detect a candle flame from 1.6 miles away on a clear, dark night?

Coping with cancer is like this now...in a week that's been worse than ever, regarding just flat-out pain and fatigue, I lean into the small bright things.

Like Chihuahuas before the dawn.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is MANY.

Two Chihuahuas in the place 

running through the open door

barking a glad hymn of grace

leave me wanting much more.

Chi's are like potato chips,

you can't have just one or two,

and notwithstanding little nips,

there are more waiting for you

that will very soon arrive

to take places in the pack.

The big dogs have now learned to thrive,

and there is no looking back

to the cooler days long prior

to when they brought Chihuahua Fire.

Just under four minutes.

Music from Vanity Fare, with Early In The Morning.

Sylvia would rather sleep in, and dream of ice cream.