The Words in Red

There's hardly a person in the country who doesn't know what 'the Words in Red' is. Many people claim to live by them. Few actually act as if they live by them, however. I'm not sure anyone could live by them perfectly. But, there are those who do try. But, what do they mean? When you boil it all down, what do the Words in Red actually mean?

For me, to put all the Words in Red into a single word, it would have to be 'attitude.' Attitude toward God, attitude toward others, attitude toward self. Jesus says He calls us all to be servants. We even say that we serve God. But do we? Are we truly trying to be servants? A servant is the least in the community. Servants don't get words of acclimation, praise or awards. A servant does all the things others don't want to do. The dirty jobs. The lowly jobs. The unspeakable jobs. Servants are mostly unnoticed by those in power or control. There aren't many rewards for being a servant.

Jesus teaches us to revere God. To place God above all things and all people. To love God with every fiber of our being. To obey God without question or hesitancy. He also teaches us that God is our Father, not just a deity to be feared. He is the Provider of all things. He is the Source of all things. He is the Giver of all things. Jesus tells us to take all our worries, all our sorrows, all our triumps, all our praise to God. To give God all the glory. He teaches us that God loves us more than anything else in this universe. That He wants to have a real, true relationship with us. He doesn't want us to be automotons who just blindly do things, but that we give him our hearts and show Him respect, love, praise and acknowledgement for all He has done.

Jesus also teaches us to take care of our brother. To give to those who are in need. To share the load with those who are heavy burdened. Feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, clothe the naked, give shelter to the homeless, visit the sick, the widowed, the orphan and the prisoner. To give without expecting anything in return. To help without expecting anything in return. And to allow others to go before us, to sit in a higher place than us, to elevate others above ourselves in all things. And to love everyone without condition and without reservation.

Jesus also teaches us not to be consumed by the things of this world. That the treasures of this world are temporary while the treasures of heaven are eternal. The things the world considers important are not important in the Kingdom of God. Man's greatest desire is gold and jewels, while Heaven paves its streets with gold and builds its wall from jewels. They are the least important things in the Kingdom of God. The things of this world are trash compared to the things of Heaven.

Everything in and of this world is going to pass away. None of it will remain for eternity. Not the money, not the jewels, not the precious metals, not the houses, not the clothing, not the cars, not the fame, not the renown. Nothing of this world will remain for eternity. Only the Kingdom of God will last for eternity. And that's all I'm concerned with. His Kingdom, His Message, His commands, His love, His grace, His mercy, His salvation.

I'm Giving Up

I'm finished, done! I will no longer call everyone when no one calls me. If people want to talk to me, they have my number. I am tired of hearing people tell me they love me, they care about me, blah, blah, blah. Their actions prove otherwise. No one calls to see if I'm okay. No one ever calls to ask how my day has been. IF someone calls it's to complain about something, to talk about what's going on in their life, but they don't want to hear about what's going on in mine.

I'm tired of trying to make friends with people who promise they'll call but then my phone never rings. And if I finally break down and call them, I'm interrupting something, or they have something they just have to do, but then they never call back. I'm sick of those people who were friends for a long time but they got mad at something and just ghosted me, then they contact me and say they'll call "tomorrow." But, unlike the musical "Annie," in real life, tomorrow never comes.

I'm tired of feeling like a failure because other people don't do what they say they'll do and then I wind up wondering what's wrong with me!!! Whatever is wrong is obviously with the people who say they'll do something but then never do it and never bother trying to explain why they didn't. They just never call or come by. But, if I see them somewhere they'll be like, "oh, I love you so much. I know I should call but I just never seem to have time." Yet, they have a huge circle of friends they do things with and post about online. It's only me they don't have time for, so they won't have to worry about that, anymore.

I'm sick of being lied to, is what it boils down to. When someone says they love me, but they never call to check on me, they can't love me very much. When I love someone I try to stay in touch with them. I may not be as good about that as I used to be, but the phone lines do work in both directions!

The Hurt

How I wish I could say it don't hurt, but I can't say that because the pain is real. I wish I didn't feel the pain when someone talks about me behind my back, saying bad things about me that aren't true. I wish I didn't feel the pain when someone walks out of my life without giving me a reason for them walking away. I wish I could say it doesn't hurt when someone tells me they'll do something and then they don't do it and they never tell me why.

I wish I could say it doesn't hurt when family members shun me or turn their back on me. It hurts that family members will talk about me but won't talk to me. It hurts when family believe something about me when they don't take the time to get to know me. I feel the pain when family members talk about something that isn't true because they never took the time to ask me if it was true or not. I feel the pain when family members won't talk to me because they believe the lies told by someone they know is a liar.

I do not wish that I was less sensitive about things. I'm proud to be a sensitive person who has feelings. God and me have done a whole lot of work changing the person I was into the person I am. (I said what I said.) I don't want to undo a single thing that we've changed. No, I'm not all the way "there." I have not yet arrived at where I want to be someday. I'm not there, yet. But I continue working toward getting there. That should count for something, but no one bothers to check and see where I'm at now. They just cling to what they think they know and the truth isn't relevant, as far as they're concerned. But, I'm only supposed to see who they are today and forget their past. Why is mine the only past that matters?

I also hurt when I see someone who professes to be a follower of Jesus treating me in a way that Jesus does not approve of, but that hurt is for them, not for me. I hurt when I see someone in need and I don't have the ability to meet their need. I hurt when I see someone mistreated for things that are beyond their control. Again, the pain is for them, not for me. I hurt when the people who mistreat me don't get what they want or need. And I hurt for them when they tell me I need to be less sensitive, because I know that they have lost their sensitivity.

I know that those who mistreat me aren't "there," yet, either. I know that we're all a work in progress, especially those who are Believers. So I forgive those who hurt me, whether intentionally or not. And I treat them as if they have never hurt me. Or I try my best to. And I pray for all of us to get better, wiser, smarter. I pray hardest that I can somehow touch someone's life in a way that shows Jesus to them and they will know Him and trust Him and follow Him.

Yes, I get hurt, but I also get healed. I get blessed. And I continue.

Legacy

Well, the end is in sight. Received the draft of the affidavit for succession for Dad's estate yesterday evening. It made me realize that even when someone passes, there's still a lot to do, and once that's done, then the end is truly done.

Eighty seven years of life reduced to 7 pieces of paper. Seventy years of relationships, marriages, divorces and children reduced to two paragraphs. Sixty-two years of my life reduced to black and white, waiting for signatures and notarizing.

Back when I was preparing for Dad's Memorial, I tried to think of his legacy, and I've thought about it, frequently, over the past nine months. A whole lot of heartbreak, heartache, pain, suffering and missed chances. Six legitimate children, nine grandchildren, a few great-grandchildren. Two surviving sisters, two surviving brothers out of seven total siblings. None of his wives or relationships survived him. All of them, except Charlynne, passing away long after the relationships ended, but before he passed away.

In the end, he had a relationship with one of his children, none of his grandchildren and one reluctant relationship with his late girlfriend's granddaughter. Only one of his offspring chose to stay in touch with him. Almost every person he had known or had relationships with had closed the door on him by the time he passed away.

He was not the same man in those last four years that he had been throughout most of my life. Yet, his change came too little too late for most of the people who had known him in life. His desire for success, wealth, renown had cost him everything and every one. His need to control had stripped away everything worth having, in the end.

The worst part of it all, as far as I can tell, is that the one person he thought the most of and the most about, while there around him, did not want to be there with him, at all. She was there because he was her only hope of gaining her grandmother's estate. In the end, he let her down on that, as well.

When I hear people talk about him, I don't hear happy stories. I don't hear people talking about the good he did. And I don't hear people talk about the changes in him over the last few years of his life. He talked about making amends, but he never got around to actually doing so. I may be the only person he apologized to.

Some say even that was too little too late, but for me it wasn't. It was something I had waited 62 years for. It was something I never thought I'd hear him say. No, it wasn't worth waiting all those years for, but it was worth hearing him say it. It didn't wipe away everything that he had said and done or didn't do, but it was healing to hear him say that he regretted those things.

The tragedy of it, really, is that his passing won't leave much of a hole in anyone's life. Truth is, almost everyone who knew him has gone on with their lives without much notice that he's gone. Only two people have even noticed that he's missing, really. Charlynne's granddaughter and myself. I do miss him. I miss talking to him on the phone, I miss knowing that I can get in the car and drive to Louisiana and see him. Help him with things. Serah doesn't mention him, much. Other than to talk about how he was supposed to get her grandmother's estate switched from her father to her. And complaining because she doesn't have her grandmother's money. She never says she misses him.

My uncle Harry told me that he had gotten to where he wouldn't talk to my Dad because he got tired of hearing all Dad's lies and his bragging about things that he never did. But, he did tell me that Dad would brag about raising Serah and Uncle Harry said he really wanted to ask Dad why he didn't raise his own children. Because Dad never raised any of his own children. Three daughters with his first wife, Linda, were raised by their maternal grandmother, their mother and step-father. Two boys with his second wife, Sue, were raised by Sue, Bonnie, Dad's sister, Tene, Dad's parents and Dad's girlfriend, Ann Hanson Hale. One child by his third wife, Bonnie, was raised by Bonnie and Tene. Out of the six kids, I was the only one who was around him, much, and that was only because Ann was raising me and Dad lived in the same house.

But was being in the same house with him worth the price I had to pay to say I lived in close proximity to my father? Most people would answer with an expletive. I still carry the physical scars and the emotional and psychological scars will never heal, completely. I share one additional thing in common with Dad's youngest daughter, Karen, other than parentage. He tried to kill both of us. Her before she was born and me at 17. She still carries that emotional and psychological scar.

Dad left a legacy, as almost every person who lives does, but it's not one that has any good in it. It's not one that anyone would want to share. He lived 87 years, 11 months, 2 days. A wasted life. A life that left broken, hurting and scarred people in it's wake. A life that moved like a hurricane across the face of the planet, leaving destruction, pain and misery behind.

Why?

Why do we look for what's wrong with a person instead of looking for what's good in that person? Why are more concerned about the sins of the person than we are with sharing love and salvation with them? Why will talk about what someone did wrong more often, and quicker, than we will about what they do right? Why are we so quick to list the failures of a person than to list the successes?

The Bible tells us to meditate on whatever is good, holy, of good report, so why do we give so much of our attention to what is bad, degenerate and of bad report? When we talk to others about someone, why can't we talk about the good things they've done, the great plans they have or just the good way they love instead of talking about their missteps, their stumbles or their wrongdoings?

Why can't we behave the way we want others to behave?

What Is Art?

Music, poetry, paintings, drawings, sculptures, dramas, comedies. All of those and more are The Arts. But the arts are so much more. Art is the emotional expression of the people who create them. Art is about the human condition. Art is the manifestation of what is in someone's soul.

Art is what people cannot say in a one on one situation. Art is learning. Art is passion. Art is searching. Art is healing. Art is pain. Art is human.

You may not like some art, and that's okay. You may love some art that others don't like, and that's okay. Art is personal. Art is connection. Art is reflection. Art is rarely about perfection.

Every single person on the planet creates some type of art, almost daily. Others may not think of it as art, but it doesn't truly matter what others think. Art is personal. Art is grand. Art is simple. Art is many things to many people and seldom do two people see a work of art and feel the same thing. Because it is personal. To the one who views it and the one who creates it.

Art is beauty. Art is wonder. Art is love.

Living With All Known Spinal Conditions

I have never been under any delusions when it comes to the issues I face with my spine. I know I have a very aggressive case of degenerative disc disease. I've lost 21 of the 24 discs I was born with. That's pretty strong proof of the DDD. Also have stenosis, double scoliosis along with the disc disease. Then I developed arachnoiditis in the late 90s to go with it. I've known for 28 years that it will cause me to progressively lose the ability to work for very long. I'm currently at a point where 10 to 20 minutes is about all I can muster before I have to sit down and rest. For at least 2 to 3 hours. But, I've also beat the odds because God has kept me on my feet these last 26 years, when I should have been in a wheelchair according to x-rays, MRIs and CT scans. No doctor who looks at the images of my spine would say that I'm able to walk, much less work.

And I want to say loud and clear: I'm SO SO SO SO SO GRATEFUL! I just wish I could still be going at least an hour or two of working before having to sit down and rest. I miss being able to get things accomplished in a single day versus a week. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, because I really do have way to much to grateful for to allow or justify any complaining. I just get frustrated with my spine, with my small amounts of being able to work before sitting. I want to keep going even though my spine refuses to go any further. But, I will be okay. God still has His hand on me. Actually, I'm kinda sitting in His hand.

It has been a tough journey, one that truly began on 18 October 1987 on Buncombe Road in Shreveport, Louisiana, right in front of First Assembly of God church (now known as Shreveport Community Church.) In just a couple weeks the 39th anniversary of that wreck will be here. Thirty-nine years of pain. Thirty-nine years of gradually losing the ability to do the things I love to do. I'm 63 years old and I am physically able to do what a 90 year old can do. I've prayed for healing. I've had others pray for my healing. And I know my healing was accomplished before Jesus was hung on the cross. His stripes were taken for my healing. So I know I am already healed. I'm just waiting for the manifestation of it. And sometimes I'm patiently waiting.

I sometimes grimace when someone says I'm living with it, because at times it doesn't feel like living, it feels like existing without living.