“Hard to be sure. Sometimes I feel so insecure. And love so distant and obscure, Remains the cure. All by myself. Don’t want to be all by myself anymore…” (1975) “All By Myself” Recorded By: Eric Carmen Composers: Eric Carmen and Sergei Rachmaninoff
What a loss. With Eric Carmen passing away in his sleep recently, I felt the loss, even though I never met this incredible talent.
Phot: CNN Eric Carmen (1975)
His songs, “All By Myself” and “Never Gonna Fall In Love Again” were brilliant for the airwaves in the mid 1970’s. In fact, they were mesmerizing for me as a young performer and lover of music. There is so much to say about the songs. Using themes and variations from composer, Rachmaninoff was simply genius.
I loved performing torch songs, especially pulling at the heartstrings songs. The way the music and lyrics can mesh with lyrical tools to identify with pain, struggle, and heartbreak, is just a gift. The drama of a phrase can make you cry unanticipated tears. THAT is what a great composition can do.
Eric’s last verse of “All By Myself” was a kicker for my 15 year old emotions the first time I ever heard it. The lyrics are so honest. It speaks of hues of instability, mourning, and unrest. The first line, “Hard to be sure…” was often opted out by Eric in concert with the phrase, “I must be sure…” It clearly spotlights the transparency of the songwriter concerning the idea of life’s hesitancies. Have you been there? Procrastination is often born from the hesitant feet refusing to move forward because of fear, uncertainty, or lack of faith. That entire idea of the rickety wooden plank suspended bridge between you and the love and understanding searched for. The phrase warns the listener of the authentic pause before leaping into the unknown depth of waters below the suspension.
Eric’s next line shows not only the topic through the lens of honesty, but it reveals he is ready to admit the issue at hand. “…Sometimes I feel so insecure…” It’s the right thing to acknowledge the shortfall. Too many of us, including myself, are guilty of putting on a show in the attempt to hide the hinderance. We’ll use the crutch of nervous laughter, the ever wandering eye for distraction, not to mention the substitute of social media as a shield. Those doctors in the know tell us it’s healthy to admit, confess, or display the shortcomings.
Eric’s next line is a doozy. “…and love so distant and obscure…” When love remains at arms length, rather by choice, or by design, the ambiguity, the vagueness, and mystery becomes the nutrients of the day. Like a very well crafted diet, it becomes the norm. Like sugar, or carbs, one can crave the imagined satisfaction. When that settles into the brain, self-training maps the pathway chosen. In his words, “..remains the cure”, tells the tale. It slow dances us to the chorus, with the line,
“All by myself…”.
Eric is saying the solo life, without the responsibility of love, is what’s for dinner. Loneliness. It places you in a fog of complacency, a sense of security. Others might translate such an emotional hermit as being aloof. But then comes the rub of truth-telling in the second line of the hooky chorus…
“…don’t want to be all by myself anymore…”
Wow! This is what truth will do. That line is the punch for the entire meaning of all the candor written prior. That line means in the heart of hearts, the center core of who you are, that special room in the soul which you guard from others, is ready to respond when a knock at the door is heard. The lyric screams out, “I’m ready for change!” The knock is heard again. The lyric of a forthcoming heart shouts out, “I’m coming! I’ll be right there!”
The fact that the one knocking will not turn the knob, invites the one on the inside to unlock, turn the doorknob, and pull open the door, which is found to be far less weighty than imagined. When love, authentic, unearned love is the visitor, life’s outlook changes immediately. And so does the future. The tissue box can finally be stored away.
God does that, ya know. He waits with the endurance of eternity. He visits the heart’s door, not beating with a fist of fury, not plowing His shoulder to the hinges, or setting fire to the doorframe, but rather gently knocks. No scary tactics. No forced entry. No sledge hammering to the lock. Just a soft, gentle, loving knock. The only doorknob faces the interior.
Photo: Door to munitions storage, Ft Belknap, Tx.
True love, accepted, unconditional love, adds stout fuel for the race.
“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I was victorious and sat down with my Father on his throne.” – Jesus – Revelation 3:20-21 (NIV)
“I’m lost without your love. Life without you, Isn’t worth the trouble of.
I’m as helpless, As a ship without a wheel. A touch without a feel. I can’t believe it’s real.” (1976) “Lost Without Your Love” Recorded By: Bread Composed By: David Gates
Have you ever lost something of great value? Have you ever misplaced something of unspeakable treasure? An irreplaceable is never forgotten, not to mention, the loss is like a vacuum of oxygen leaving the lungs. Losing a wedding ring in the sands at the beach is vastly different than the vacancy of a loved one. Both hurt. Both scenarios sucks the air out of the room. Still, when a precious loved one has left, that is a place of tremendous darkness and indescribable heaviness per square inch.
I had a stepson who went missing at the age of 5 years old. I didn’t know him then, but his story grips me. His mother was waiting for him at the school bus stop location in the neighborhood, but little Brendan never got off. Children filed out one by one onto the curb, until there was no more. Brendan’s mother rushed up the three steps into the bus like lightning yelling his name. She quickly ran down the aisle looking in the empty seats, along with the floorboard of each.
The bus driver said he assumed the little kindergartner was absent that day since he wasn’t in the group of kids boarding after school. You can imagine the fear, the panic, the anger rapidly bubbling up in the mother’s mind. Images of Brendan screaming out her name while wandering the streets. She tried to flush the mental video of a monstrous kidnapper molesting her baby boy, but she could not. Her mind began to frantically spiral into a sense of hopelessness. She told me the worst feeling of that day was…the unknown.
Sunday, June 18th, the explorer submarine called, Titan dropped down in the waters of the Atlantic to reach the Titanic shipwreck some two and a half miles down. There were five souls aboard this tiny sub, about the size of a minivan, including a father and son duo. Not long after its decent, the mother ship above lost contact with the sub. At this date there are many questions about safety, location responders, communication back-ups, etc. In the end, none of which mattered. At some level of depth, the submersible had a catastrophic event causing a massive implosion due to the immense poundage of pressure per square inch. All five souls were lost instantly. Experts tell us they probably never even had an indication there was a problem at that depth before its hull imploded in a split second. They did not suffer.
As tragic as this event was, as it held the world in suspense while the search and rescue from several nations embarked, nothing could compare to the victim’s families in waiting. There was not much in the news reports concerning the families who were suffering through the 4-day search. It very well could be the loved ones did what they could to keep away from the media. I know I would. Heart wrenching, is not an accurate description for these who had a son, a father, a brother, a husband, an uncle just the night before. There must be a stronger word.
During the torturous days of mystery, the nations and private sector experts involved in the search, had a huge job. So many factors collided with the painstaking diligent search from the surface, the air, and below the waves. Very sensitive deep-sea aquatic acoustical instruments were being used. The finest sonar on the planet was in operation. Night vision 24/7 aircraft scanned in grids. Robotic unmanned subs were deployed. In the case of a power failure, underwater currents could have pushed the 22 foot sub way off course, dozens of miles away from the Titanic wreckage below. The sub could have surfaced somewhere. The men on board very well might have been stranded in depths equivalent to ten Empire State Buildings stacked one on top of the other. If so, without power, the survivors might have been sitting in pitch darkness with frigid temps counting down the hours of available oxygen. Even if the sub had partial buoyancy at a more shallow depth, the hatch was bolted shut with 17 bolts from the outside. Time was of the essence. It was a race against the clock.
In the end, just hours after the calculated amount of waning oxygen levels had supposedly been exhausted, an unmanned submersible located what was left of the Titan on the seafloor, just 1600 feet from the bow of the Titanic. The irony is nothing short of thick.
Tremendous sorrow washed over the crews, the families, and the prayer warriors keeping track of the traumatic episode. Certainly, the five victims were wealthy individuals, including a billionaire. In very bad taste, I heard a couple of news anchors discussing the loss in the view of dollars right after the sting of the breaking news aired. One mentioning it was, “unfathomable” (Terrible choice of a word in this horrific breaking news.) that they each spent up to $250,000.00 to board the Titan. The other numb-headed anchor brought up the question of how much insurance might be involved in the tragedy. It was just a pitiful moment of poor journalism in real time. Yet, the dollar value the explorers represented was not the true treasure. Just ask one of the loved ones left behind. The search was necessary, and expected. It was a thorough search. Most of all, the families depended on the efforts as they scoured the area as the clock ticked away in reverb.
Imagine the Creator, the One Who is called, THE GREAT I AM, looking throughout the earth for His lost ones. Jesus said we do not search for God unless His Spirit moves us. We, in ignorance, search for something higher, or something which will give us significance, or purpose, or fulfillment. We hunters, without God, do not know that it is He Who is the giver of all good things. So, our search continues for the fakes outside of God. In other words, on our own, we lay on the ocean floor, without life, eternal life. We, being as faulty as we are, do not drift toward Him on our own current. Jesus said He came to SEEK and to SAVE that which was lost. Divine search and rescue.
As for little 5 year old, Brendan, he mistakenly boarded another bus at school that afternoon. After the driver of that bus made his run, he took the boy back to the school where he reconnected with his panicked mother. The reunion was like something out of a movie with a sweeping John Williams soundtrack. He once was lost, but now found.
If you have felt a tug to “find” God, consider, it could be He has found you. Knowing that, you can climb aboard with fuel for the race.
8“Or what woman who has ten silver coins and loses one of them does not light a lamp, sweep her house, and search carefully until she finds it? 9And when she finds it, she calls together her friends and neighbors to say, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my lost coin.’ 10In the same way, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of God’s angels over one sinner who repents.” Luke 15:8-10 (BSB)
“Baby do you know what that’s worth? Heaven is a place on earth. They say in heaven love comes first, But we’ll make heaven a place on earth…” (1987) “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” Recorded By: Belinda Carlisle Composers: Rick Nowels & Ellen Shipley
Two ants were taking it easy under the hot New York City summer heat. The pavement was hot, so they decided to relax under the shadow of a wall. As they leaned against the wall, soaking up its shade, they began a deep conversation to kill time. One said to the other, “I’m sorry, I just don’t believe in man-made skyscrapers.” With a sense of bewilderment, the other ant expressed his opinion, “Well, I guess it’s possible. I just never saw one built.” After a time, one ant wiped his forehead and made a suggestion, “I’m much cooler since we rested in this shadow. Let’s find a nice lump of sugar someone might have dropped on the sidewalk.” And off they went as they strolled away from the Empire State Building.
Not far away, in an apartment on the 21st floor of a building facing New York Harbor, a fish bowl sat on a table near a window. Swimming around, two fish were contemplating their lives in a fishbowl. One was a small common goldfish, the other was a Beta. The Beta was a beautiful metallic blue, with rather long purple and pink fins hanging beneath him from his side. His melded blue, pink, and purple tail fin waved behind him like a royal flag in a gentle breeze. His dorsal fin was equally stunning in brilliant shades, floating freely from his back. he was very proud of his beauty, and didn’t mind flaunting his body in front of the very average goldfish.
The Beta noticed the inquisitive look on his pal’s golden face. “Hey, Goldie, why do you continue to be a stooge fantasizing so much about this imaginary ocean you keep talking about?” The goldfish rolled his eyes in aggravation at the Beta’s prodding. “Through this wall of thick glass, I can’t see clearly, but I still believe there is an ocean out there beyond our bowl. It’s an endless depth of wonders with all sorts of oceanic life you and I aren’t privy to in our bowl.” The Beta laughed as he took a quick lap around the interior of his domain. “You’re an idiot, and always will be an idiot. Once and for all, you and I have our ocean, right here, right now. I love it, all 14 inches of it! Besides, I’ve gazed out through this glass and I haven’t spied one drop of this ocean you’re always bubbling about. Who needs an ocean of other life beyond this bowl when you have me, and my beautiful fins?”
At the same time, on the other side of the continent, a herd of wild mustangs are running free along the stones and cactus of northern Arizona. About 20 in number, the horses of every color loved sprinting together with their beautiful manes flapping in the wind. For the herd, the dry arid land is their home. Somehow, they are well fed, their noses discover the water needed for them and their young. They are soothed by the brilliant sunsets against the strata of multi-colored rock and mountains. Everywhere they look, there’s open country to explore and call home, even though humans call it, “Rough Country”. Three stallions are running side by side in the middle of the stampede. The trio have many conversations about the lead mustang of the herd. Their names reflect their individual colors.
Red: Do you guys ever wonder where we are running to, and why?
White: I really never gave a thought. Do you know why?
Blue: I know why. It’s because our fearless leader at the front of the herd always knows where he’s going.That’s why.
Red: Yeah, but do you ever wonder why we always seem to follow him wherever he decides to run? After all, we have brains, eyes, nose, mouth, and hooves. We can always break off on our own adventure, right?We’re free to do that, right?
White: Are you crazy? No way! Don’t you want to be next to the most popular stallion of our community? Who knows, his brilliance may rub off on us sooner or later. I say, let’s follow with a full gate.
Blue: Every now and then, I do wonder if he is always right. But, never mind. If we think for ourselves too much, we will lag behind. We can’t have that.
Red: By my estimation, we’re clopping about 40 mph right now. We don’t know what’s over the next rise…or do we?
White: There you go again with your weird theories from out of fairy tale-land.
Blue: Please, no more of your wild stories. Let’s just keep our eyes glued to our fearless leader’s rear in front of us. I’m sure he knows where he’s taking us.
Red: Look, I know I never have seen it myself, but I’ve heard about an incredibly wide and deep pit beyond the rise. The stories go all the way back to the native tribes. There’s got to be something to that.
White: Ya know, you don’t have to run with us. You can go dream about the pit you always warn us about elsewhere. That’s “Your Truth”, and “Your Truth” is NOT absolute in my way of thinking. Come on, our handsome leader is gaining speed. We need to step it up.
So, off the herd went at full sprint, following their chief of herds, straight north, about 200 yards from the southern rim of the “absolute” Grand Canyon.
Recently, and I must admit I do not know what sparked this comment, the 75 year old celebrity, Arnold Schwarzenegger, gave his opinion concerning the afterlife. In my attempt to paraphrase, I will leave out his profanity. He stated something like,
“Anyone who says there’s a heaven is a – – – liar.”
He didn’t let it rest there. he went on to spout that heaven is “a fantasy, a fairytale”. He mentioned how he has had many friends die over his lifetime, especially during his bodybuilding career. He expressed that when you die, that’s it. You go into the ground like a dead dog. With that said, he admitted he is afraid of death.
Arnold, that great theologian of the godless, must know something he is keeping to himself. How can a person be so dogmatic about an afterlife he has yet to experience? Has he been given a secret by someone of higher wisdom sitting in the lotus position on top of Mt. Fuji? And where did that shaman get his opinion? Probably from another horse, another fish, another ant.
I am not here to judge Arnold. Arnold is just another sheep in the same flock of earth. Still, Arnold has a much larger problem than believing, or assuming, this life is it. If heaven is a place on earth, everyone is still searching for it. How many thousands of years, with all of its billions of people over those ions, will the search be complete? Where is Shangri-La, Atlantis, or the Fountain Of Youth in Florida? If heaven is here in our fishbowl, along with looking at the selfies of our fins, then why is the search still on?
If heaven is so unbelievable, then why is it one of the most mentioned words in the earth’s languages? Why do we flippantly say, “Oh, heaven knows why”? Or, “The beach had white sand and crystal clear water. I was in heaven”? How about, “She is so stunning. She’s heaven sent”? Obviously, each person is born with a sense of eternity, beyond the here and now.
The bigger problem Arnold has is understanding heaven itself. To deny heaven is to deny God, to deny Jesus. Yes, scripture describes heaven in little glimpses. It even has been written that no human eye has seen, no ear has heard, nor mind has conceived what God has prepped for His followers. Jesus spoke much about heaven, a place He knew, a place He came from to be with us for 33 years. For those who trust His offer of salvation, we certainly will be in awe of what is described about heaven. Yet, what will be the zenith of living in heaven will be being with Jesus, our Redeemer. He is the focal point, the center of heaven, and all the glory heaven contains is all wrapped up in Him. He loves us so much that He said, with His own mouth, that He would go and prep a place for us before we get there. I believe Him. Do you?
Arnold has some idea that heaven is a series of clouds and harps with cupids floating around. It certainly is not that, nor is it a place on earth.
Just yesterday, I was watching a TV show about conservation concerning the wild animal kingdom. There was a young sealion who was getting ready to be set free out into the ocean for the first time since it was a pup. He had been in the care of wildlife vets as he was recuperating from ingesting plastic trash from the sea. When they brought him to the beach in his cage, they opened the sliding door and he timidly stepped out onto the sand. After looking out at the ocean for a couple of seconds, he turned around and tried to get back into the cage. The assistant who opened the door, quickly blocked the entrance to the cage and gently encouraged him verbally, “No, buddy. You can’t go back.” He tried one more time to get around the man blocking the entrance to the cage. He then turned and started waddling toward the waves. Once the water splashed up on his flippers, he got excited and dove right in headfirst.
There are some who are so attached to this world, they really don’t want the afterlife. I was once married to a woman who felt that way. She was so enamored with the beauty of nature, she literally didn’t want to leave this planet for what is beyond. Her perspective was skewed. This earth is NOTHING compared to what waits for those in Jesus. For now, we are in a cage, a fishbowl, a stampede running toward the cliffs with a stupefied happy gate.
Arnold wants to hold on to the wonderment of this world’s success…seemingly forever. He is amazed, and even spellbound, by his healthy blue, pink, and purple fins, so to speak. So much so, he can’t see beyond it all. I pray Arnold will put down his guard long enough to seriously look beyond the bench-press for His Redeemer.
One has no need to fear death when the One promising eternal life is your Redeemer, and Creator of life. How sad it is to view a future as being in a box six-feet under.
To sightsee a bit of heaven is just a few page turns away in fuel for the race.
“After this I looked, and behold, a door standing open in heaven! And the first voice, which I had heard speaking to me like a trumpet, said, ‘Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.'” – Revelation 4:1 (English Standard Version)
“Why don’t we steal away. Why don’t we steal away, Into the night. I know it ain’t right.” (1980) “Steal Away” Recorded By: Robbie Dupree Composers: Rick Chudacoff & Robbie Dupree
Some will say, karma rules. Some will say, too bad. Some will say, just deserts. (Yes, that’s the correct spelling for this old phrase. I had to look it up to be sure.)
Let me just start by denouncing any such phrase reflecting judgement here. Judgement toward another is easy to slip into, but more harsh when inflicted. Judging this young woman, described below, is not the intension of this post. I am not one who attempts to execute God’s edicts.
What a 24 year old shoplifter from Orlando, Florida did recently could cost her a hand, or arm in some systems of law around the world. It very well might have been more acceptable to her in lieu of what actually occurred.
A young career criminal, caught up in a sucking whirlpool of misdeeds in her life, partnered up with a man for a shoplifting spree at a Dillard’s store at a Florida mall on May 26th. As been her routine in past crimes, she left her two little children in the car while she spent an hour inside Dillard’s collecting products. Because this was not her first heist, plus the fact that it has become well-known that major retailers are now trained to avoid conflict, or aggression with shoplifters, like many, she felt “safe” in blatantly stealing merchandise around noon that day. With the current culture’s relaxed laws, many give themselves a sense of justification to commit crimes. This particular crime has become a national plague of late.
After a good haul of free stuff (not free for you or for me), she walked toward Dillard’s exit with her arms full. As she looked up toward her parked vehicle, she could hardly believe her eyes. Running through her mind at that exact moment must have been,
“Is that MY car? No, it must be somebody else’s car. Oh, no! That IS my car!”
Photo: NBC News. Car fire at a Florida Dillard’s.
Her mind wanted to deny, at first, the horrid truth that her car was engulfed in flames. This 24 year old mother of two, dropped all of her stolen goods and ran to her burning car with only two thoughts purging her brain…her trapped kids. One child tried to escape the flames. Good Samaritan bystanders rushed to the engulfed 2016 Ford Lincoln and thankfully rescued the screaming children. They both were sped away to Arnold Palmer Children’s Hospital. One child received severe first degree burns to her face and ears. Their ages have not been released as I write this. The cause of the fire remains under investigation.
I wouldn’t wish that scenario on my most aggressive enemy. I don’t know this young mother, this young criminal, so I can’t say what she may be pondering today. One would hope that the sheer tragedy of the event will cause this woman to turn from her feelings of license to commit crimes against the public and start anew. One would hope this woman will reject her negative influencers, make new friends, and discover the richness of a life free from lawbreaking.
No matter what future she is allowed from this point onward, one thing is certain. She taught us a little bit about the hardness of the wall of truth. Notice how even though the heist was all planned, the get-away was designed, the dollar signs in her mind from a potential black market resale may have floated like balloons in her dreams, it took one second, a wisp of a moment of clarity to let it all go. Even though somewhere in her youthful past her heart had turned to stone, to some degree, she had a love for her kids. Her love may had been tainted, seared, or covered over by her lust for crime, it all melted instantly when she saw her two children in a torched sedan.
What would you do? Sometimes it takes a burning car in life to shake us to wake us. Sometimes a horrible event can slap us into reason. Other times, the vision of seeing your family go up in proverbial flames can cause a turning from a life of deceit, abuse, petty theft, or infidelity, and the people who enable such infractions. Still, when the snares of pet sin freezes its victim in a cold, hard grip, it has teeth causing lifelong scars.
King David wrote a prayer reflecting this thought:
“It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn your decrees.” Psalm 199:71 (NIV)
The marble wall can be brutal.
My hope is, someone will read her story and maybe feel the winds of a change of heart deep in the core of the soul. After all, this young mother, no matter how twisted her life had become, suddenly understood the goods she nabbed illegally was not worth a dime in real life. She knew where her true treasure really was. They were behind the licking flames.
Unfortunately for the woman, the harsh truth also catches up regardless of lessons learned. The young mother is now facing two felony charges. She will be in court fighting charges of aggravated child neglect and arson, although the cause of the fire has yet to been determined, the arrest report states her neglect contributed to the children’s injuries while in the process of the commission of a felony. Roosters do roost.
As an added note of reality, the Seminole County Sheriff’s office also presented an outstanding warrant for her arrest detailing charges from a past petty theft, combined with, assault and battery on a 65 year old victim in another county, about 55 miles west of Orlando. The cows do come home.
Again, I will not trash this individual for her choice of lifestyle. There, but for the grace of God, go I. It is enough to know the God of the universe, the One Who loves this misguided mother, and her innocent children, was there on the scene. It is this Wonderful Counselor, Who also happens to be the Earth’s Ultimate Judge, Who will speak to her heart through His Spirit concerning a release from sin, a redemption reserved for her, with keys to His kingdom. Meanwhile, I will pray for her to listen to His promptings.
One more note of observation.
Did her partner in crime hang around to help rescue the kids, or comfort his accomplice? No dice. This is the “enemy’s” playbook. That reveal says so much, doesn’t it?
Grabbing true treasure of lasting value can always be discovered in fuel for the race.
“And I (he) will say to myself, ‘You have many goods stored up for many years to come; relax, eat, drink, and enjoy yourself!’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your soul is demanded of you; and as for all that you have prepared, who will own it now?’ Such is the one who stores up treasure for himself, and is not rich in relation to God.” -Jesus – Luke 12:19-21 (NAS)
“The keys to the vaults of Heaven May be buried somewhere in a prayer. The keys to the vaults of Heaven May be heavy or lighter than air.” (1999) “Vaults Of Heaven”, From the musical, “Whistle Down The Wind” Composers: Andrew Lloyd Webber and Jim Steinman. Also recorded by: Tom Jones
It was June, 2021. I was in Buffalo, NY for my middle daughter’s wedding. Staying with me, for a couple of days in an Airbnb in the city, were four other loved ones. My oldest daughter, Tabitha, her daughter, Skylar, my youngest daughter, D’Anna, along with her fiancé, Nik.
It was in an older neighborhood, laced with quaint frame houses. We were treated to a nice understated two story home. The second floor housed regular leasing tenants, while the first floor was a nice Airbnb layout with a beautiful front sunroom deck in a cedar interior. Built like a rowhouse, it had three bedrooms, but just one bathroom in the hallway. (That was a bit of a squeeze for the five of us.) Nevertheless, it was a very charming place, and so suited to our needs for a wedding weekend. The only complaint I would have registered, if I were going to, would’ve been the fact that the owner gave us only one key. Yes, one key between the five of us. To make matters worse, we only had one rent-a-car at first. After the first few hours, Nik decided he would rent a car to ease the schedule. Smart kid.
As you can imagine, we all didn’t go to the same places, at the same time. Nik and D’Anna wanted to visit Niagara Falls just outside of Buffalo, while Tabitha and Skylar wanted to shop, and I, the old man, just wanted to relax in order to push away the jetlag. Also, I was going to sing at the reception and needed to find a time to rehearse with the band.
And if that wasn’t enough ingredients for a collective headache, the three girls were in the wedding party and needed to pick up their gowns, go to a bachelorette party, get dolled up for a rehearsal dinner, etc… There was a lot to cram into 2.5 days. In other words, we all had our schedules. Of course, this meant some of us were coming back to the house at different times for different reasons. Still, we only had one key. You can see the frustrating issue.
Wedding day had arrived. We were all so very busy with shower schedules, ironing of clothing, breakfast plans. Every inch of the large dinning table was made into a hair and make-up salon. Curling irons, as well as, blow-dryers were all over the place. It’s a wonder we didn’t blow a fuse.
The wedding was at noon, down on the banks of the Niagara, very close to the famous U.S./Canadian Peace Bridge. The drive there is about 15 minutes, or less. As you can expect, it was a very busy morning for us all. My daughter, and bride, Megan, had someone from the wedding party pick the girls up as they needed to be there early to assist in the bride’s prep. Nik took his rental not long after, leaving me with…the ONLY KEY. Yes, I was the last one out the door, as planned, and nervous as all get-out (as we say in Texas). Being the Father of the bride, I assumed the role would come with rattled nerves, and it certainly does.
About an hour before vow-time, I was carrying all that I needed for the event, including…the ONLY KEY. The front door was the type which had to be locked from the outside as you leave. So, after you shut the door, you locked it up tight with…the ONLY KEY. That’s what I did. Juggling a briefcase full of music, while carrying my jacket in the other arm, as well as, the rent-a-car keys in my right pants pocket, I quickly shoved…the ONLY KEY into my left pants pocket.
Over twelve hours later, after a wild music filled reception with dancing, food, toasts, and the greatest rock musicians in western NY, we five left in separately all with dreams of getting out of the wedding clothes and crashing hard at the Airbnb.
I arrived first with a full bladder while dragging my feet. Exhaustion doesn’t come close to the state I was in. It was very dark. I have Glaucoma. For me, darkness has a velvet blackness to it without a good light. Only a dim overhead porch lamp gave some glow on the door. That was just the beginning of trouble.
As I shuffled up to the steps, I reached into my left pants pocket and found nothing. The right pocket only had the rent-a-car keys. I checked my shirt pocket, my jacket pockets, my shoes, my briefcase, and did not find…the ONLY KEY! I literally sat down on the steps of the porch scratching my noggin in the dark. My brain had to work hard to do a rewind to the morning exit out of the house. Firstly, I reassured myself that I was indeed the last one out of the house that morning. I also reassured myself that no one asked me for the key after I arrived at the venue. Methodically, I went through the film in my head where I locked up, stuck the key in my left pants pocket while taking out the car keys from the right pocket and got in the car, which was parked across the street. Nothing made any sense. Why did I not have…the ONLY KEY?
Nik showed up with Skylar. After telling them of my embarrassing situation, he suggested that we search the walkway, sidewalk, street, the curb, etc. Nik and Skylar began to scan the area after I mentioned how my vision can’t make out objects in darkened places. As we looked like fools on a scavenger hunt after midnight, I called the girls to warn them of the problem. They were on their way as someone was dropping them off. Tabitha asked Nik to go over the interior of my car with a fine tooth comb, with zero results. I don’t think the kids were too happy with me. We were all so tired.
As the girls arrived, I was on the phone with the owner, who lived some 30 miles away. Bless her heart, she was gracious, even at 12:40am on a Sunday morning. About an hour later, she rescued us with another key…the other key we should’ve had to start with, but I’ll move on.
After we were collapsing inside the house, Nik walked up to me holding…the ONLY KEY!
I blurted out in astonishment, “Where on earth did you find it?”
There was a mail slot next to the front door where mail was dropped into a mudroom where you take off your shoes before entering the front room. Just beneath the mail slot, as Nik was taking off his boots, he moved a pair of shoes already placed there and found…the ONLY KEY on the floor under the shoes.
Not only do I have Glaucoma, I also suffer from neuropathy, mainly targeting the shins and feet, but a bit in my fingers. I can only surmise, in my hastiness, my fingers didn’t feel the…ONLY KEY slip out of my grasp as I made the attempt to pocket the…ONLY KEY. Some very good Samaritan tenant, from the second floor, must have spotted it on the walkway, or the porch steps, and tossed it in the mail slot. I cannot tell you how relieved I was. It also saved us from a hefty fee for a lost key.
Have you ever been there? You thought you had a key to such and such, or so in so, but when the keyhole was there, you lacked what it took to get on the other side of that door. I’m not thinking so much about a car door, a gate, or a storage unit, but rather moments of love, life, or longings. One might feel the lacking of the key of acceptance. Some of those airtight doors can be a frustration. If you’re like me, you can recall a few.
Maybe there have been times when a loved one passed away, and you sat in the memorial service watching the slide presentation of the once lively person enjoying their days from the past, and you wondered. It’s natural to wonder about, “what’s next”. The wisest question surrounds the time spelled out in the dashes on the obit with the dates of birth and death. How short is the dash between, let’s say, 1960 and 2023. “Joe Blow, 1971-2023”. The dash is most important. It’s there where we decide our eternity. There’s a reason why the dash is so short. Scripture states that life is just a vapor, a puff of smoke, a wispy cloud.
Why wonder? Why not “KNOW”? There is only one key, and you do not possess it. In fact, you never possessed it. Be a thinking person, not one who is blown around by the most popular thought of the day in a very darkened culture with severe spiritual Glaucoma.
There is only One Who holds the key to your eternal door. “Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door” is a start. Look into it. Your dash is very short.
Spoiler alert: Jesus, the One Who holds the ONLY KEY, is also the only doorway. In fact, He has the master key to gain entrance to eternal life.
Know more about hearing the key lift the latch by diving headlong into fuel for the race.
“When I saw Him, I fell at His feet like a dead man. And He placed His right hand on me, saying, “’Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living One; and I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of death and of Hades.'” – Revelation 1:17-18 (NAS)
“And when one of us is gone, And one of us is left to carry on, Then remembering will have to do, Our memories alone will get us through. Think about the days of me and you. You and me against the world.” ( 1974) “You And Me Against The World” Recorded By: Helen Reddy Composers: Kenny Ascher and Paul Williams
Happy birthday to my mom, Carolyn Atherton-Brown!
The two of us in 1962.
February 1st turned her page to 79 years of age. I have written about her story in the past, about how she was only 15 when she was date raped. She was barely 16 when she chose to have me. Yes, I interrupted her life, her growth, her education. In spite of me, she forged ahead like a freight train.
Carolyn Atherton (Mom) at 13!!!
That event did so much harm, which for her entire life, continues to exhibit the ripples from that personal ground zero. Even after two suicide attempts, somehow, someway, God pulled her through it all to my day of birth.
The two of us in 1962
In her small town culture in that day and time, she was urged to marry my bio father, which only lasted two years. Two years of vile abuse, violence, and adultery with countless women was simply torture for her. She remarried again when I was five years of age, but that marriage only lasted four years. Beyond those short years, she raised me on her own as a single, hardworking mom during the 60’s and 70’s. Those days were brutal for both of us.
The two of us 1965 (Scratched photo)
The two of us 1975 (I was 15)
In October of 2021, I went into rescue mode. At that time I realized she could no longer take care of herself. Living alone was to be no more. My wife and I made the decision to be her caregivers in our home. It has not been easy, even though my family has a long line of caregiving over the decades. I have seen it up close since I was old enough to understand it.
Yes, February 1st is her birthday, but she was unaware. I had to tell her of her special day. A few months ago, she was diagnosed with Lewy Bodies Disease. It’s under the dementia umbrella. It resembles both a bit of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Since she has been living with us, her condition has noticeably declined mentally and physically.
Knowing our time is growing short, I wanted to once again treat her to something I promised her when I was just a little kid. I wanted to do a cookout for her on my grill from our backyard patio. Hamburgers have always been her favorite, and so easy to do on the grill over mesquite wood. However, wintry weather kicked in with sleet and ice, freezing my chef’s hat. But, we will just delay the Texas BBQ feast. On that day, I will fire up the grill in tears, knowing it will probably be the last time I grill for her birthday due to the gravity of her condition. We know we will be forced to move her to a care center where she can be more properly cared for.
My memories of her, to be frank, are not always pleasant. The happy days were certainly a part of our story. Multiple times in my life she has had my back. Although strictly legalistic in her faith, she made sure I knew God from a very early age, but a stranger to grace. Many good memories can be, and must be, unearthed as I get older. Yet, there were very difficult times in our lives, including poverty along with hard disruptions in her career. In most of the churches we attended, this 20something divorced girl was called by, “Mrs”, not by her first name. It was always hurtful for her. So much for true fellowship and love.
My grandmother, Opal Atherton and my mom – 1965.
As a kid I was also unaware of her injured mental, emotional condition which can be traced way back to that horrible rape event in August of 1959. The irony of the crime of that night, when I was conceived, reached through the years to injure me as a young boy. Although she loved me, she also was incredibly harsh in various ways. In fact, looking back, I can testify solidly that she abused me at times in violent ways, as well as, psychological renderings. Yet, as a man of Jesus, I had to understand how an injured, hurting person can, and will, inflict their pain on others they love. Choosing to recall the sweet times doesn’t always have to be a struggle.
Many years ago, I had to confront my own deep-seated anger, leading me to ask God to help me rise above the painful memories and forgive my mother. I had forgiven my bio father long ago after we met, but delayed offering forgiveness to my mom out of pure resentment. Often, even today, I find myself revisiting that snare over the past. Still, I must always overcome the trap within, and ask God to repaint my soul of soreness with a coat of His special brand of varnish. This is what I must cling to for the remainder of my days.
She no longer remembers, but the Helen Reddy song, “You And Me Against The World” was a hit on our radio when I was just about to turn 14. During that time I never would have fathomed the bitterness, and the sweetness, of an ironic line in the very last chorus…
“And when one of us is gone, and one of us is left to carry on, then remembering will have to do…
Today, I am the only one who remembers.
Carolyn Atherton-Brown 2023
Choosing a better way has instructions in fuel for the race.
“Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God has commanded you, so that your days may be long and that it may go well with you…”– Deuteronomy 5:16a
“In the circle of life, It’s the wheel of fortune. It’s the leap of faith. It’s the band of hope, ‘Til we find our place. On the path unwinding, yeah. In the circle, the circle of life.” (1994) “Circle Of Life” From Disney’s, The Lion King. Recorded By: Elton John Written By: Elton John & Tim Rice
Look around. We see the results everywhere. Our culture tends to scream it out. Childhood abuse, in various forms, can cause even the brightest souls to spin off course, or knocked into another orbit than intended. Early trauma in a child’s life can deliver a lens through which the injured views the future by way of a fogged scrim. Often this skewed vision can last until death, or to the doorstep of an intervention of some kind giving opportunity for an adjustment.
A brilliant young man, Reginald Kenneth Dwight was such an injured person. His childhood experiences drove him headlong into a life of debauchery, self-destruction, horrific tantrums, and hopelessness. Reginald became a severe addict. His addictive behavior was manifested in numerous ways. He became addicted to all things material, shopping, sexual addictions, sour relationships, abusive actions toward lovers, alcohol consumption, drug abuse (cocaine being the pet), out-of-control financial spending, gross hording of collectibles, eating disorders, and so much more. When it came to substance abuse, he became so addicted that he was in the all-you-can-consume-buffet-line. If there was more cocaine in the building, his nose found found it until it was all gone. Once he started, he couldn’t stop.
Relationships, good relationships, were seemingly avoided as a young man. Although he found himself engaged to a young lady, a woman who was abusive in word, in deed, and violent at times, he was presented with a solution to his troubled relationship. He listened to a close friend who was gay, and decided that he himself might be gay. Although it went against all he was raised with, he made the decision to try the gay lifestyle as he continued to run away from his past. The next morning they came with a truck to take him home, while she went her own way. His decisive choice threw him into a never ending line of gay lovers, some of which he never knew their names.
Many years later, he fell in love with…a woman. Nobody close to him believed it could happen, but it did. For reasons a bit unclear, they married. However, his lifestyle, and all that goes with it, had become so amalgamized with his daily life, and the destructive choices he made, ended the marriage some four years later. He, and his wife, both truly loved one another. They both still honor one another to this very day. They vowed to never discuss publicly the intimate details of their marriage, however the fly in the ointment was fairly evident.
As hard as it is to wrap your head around the following, it still must be mentioned here. Always looking for love, and always looking to satisfy his sexual addictions, he would pick up men like some pick up stray dogs. He would use them sexually for a few days, weeks, or possibly up to six months, then drop them by way of a friend slipping the rejected man an airplane ticket home. In the end, he admits to having hundreds of these types of relationships.
He never contracted AIDS, but many of his lovers and friends did. In fact, Reginald lost numerous friends to AIDS, drugs, accidents and suicide. In fact, he attempted to end his life at least three times with intension. Other times, he almost lost his life without any attempts due to cancer and rare infections. Still, his non-stop raving appetite for drugs and alcohol could’ve been his demise at any time throughout the fuzzy decades of abuse.
In 1978, on a rainy, dreary Sunday morning in one of his homes in England, he rose from his bed in deep depression. Actually, he had been in depression for many years as he tried, but failed to self-medicate. But on this day, it seemed much darker to him. Once again, he morbidly felt he was on the edge of death, even visualizing floating away from his body toward space itself, burning up the fuse up there alone. His steps from the bed to the doorway competed heavily with a massive hangover from the night before. As he made his way through the spacious home, he left Reginald Kenneth Dwight behind like a cold bathrobe and , as he did each day, slipped into his Elton John character as he made his stumbling way to the piano bench.
Photo: From – Me: Elton John from, Macmillan Publishing. Photographed By: Terry O’Neill/Iconic Images.
It was a rare occasion when he would write a song without his co-writing partner, Bernie Taupin. Bernie was the lyricist, and Elton was the music composer. However, something often came over him to write a song on his own, without the lyrical assistance of Bernie. This particular, dark morning, was one of them. Still in a cloudy haze from what lingered in his bloodstream, a haunting melody reverberated in his mind. He began to plink it out note by note, chord by chord. As usual, it was beautiful to the ear. At first, he had no thought as to a lyric as he was only playing the instrumental bubbling up from within. The song itself came rather quickly to the keyboard, as was the norm for Elton’s gargantuan talent, but soon a line wormed its way through the notes and the fog of the morning. Like a tape loop, it rotated in his mind over and over again. Being in such a depressive, hungover state, with a sense of great loss, he wasn’t expecting a lyric to make its presence known. Yet, there it was, out of nowhere, loud and clear. Elton began to match it with the chord structure, repeating it verbally like a thick continual scroll. Unlike past lyrical adventures in the composition of songs, this line was the only line that displayed itself to him that morning. It was a short lyric, but a massive, hard-hitting domino of a line not to be lost or forgotten. It read like this…
“Life…isn’t everything.”
Now, say what you will about the validity, or the absurdity of such a line, but there are times when one can be inspired by something in the air? Something outside of one’s self? A spiritual connection? A spirit tested? A spirit not tested? Which ever way you believe it to be, this did happen while the melody was being formed in his music room that day. It’s a sad state of affairs when an individual, who is worth north of $500 million dollars, held such a lack of darkness and hope.
He loved the song so much that he wanted to release it. His intension was to title it, “Life isn’t Everything”. In studio, he simply sings the line very softly, repeating the line several times, toward the end of the instrumental. If you should bring it up on YouTube, you will find it to be a stirring, daunting piece, mixed with an edge of a feeling of floating away without care. Businesswise, the song did well on the UK charts, but poorly in the US. Still, if you heard it you might recognize the recording.
Guy Burchett was a 17 year old who ran messages and errands for Elton’s production company. He was a local lad who was always available, hard working, and dependable. Guy was a year younger than I. Knowing how I loved EJ’s music, I can see how eager he was to work for the musician. Elton was notified the following day of Guy’s unfortunate sudden death due to a motorcycle accident. As the information came down, as it turned out, the young man’s life had been snuffed out at the same time Elton was constructing the song on that Sunday morning. Grieved, he made the choice to honor his young friend by entitling the new song, “Song For Guy”.
I am not here to be Elton’s judge. I am not here to bash Elton’s lifestyle. I am not here to denounce Elton’s decisions in life. Because I view things through a biblical point of view, I know that for the grace of God go I. I know I have a tendency to feed on addictive trappings. God granted us freewill. I cannot blame my DNA heritage, or any particular generation in my bloodline, although it would seem easy to do so. Scripture makes it clear that I am responsible for my own decisions, whether to try for the bait in the traps, or not. In Elton’s autobiography, Me: Elton John, he admits falling hook, line, and sinker for cocaine at the very first snort. It can happen.
Still, the single line whispered into his brain on that drizzly Sunday morning in 1978 is so profound…and yet, so wrong. “Life isn’t everything”.
I will assume here that there was a Mr. and Mrs. Burchett who grieved painstakingly at the news of their son’s tragic death on the road. Although we don’t know them, I will assume they might have said, in their grief, “Oh, no!” Or maybe, “No, not my precious son!” Or possibly, “Our boy meant the world to us.” Grief is indeed the penalty of loving. More than likely, Guy’s life meant everything to his parents, in fact, to anyone who loved Guy.
Allowing for Sir Elton’s possible meaning, as he wrote the lyric which pounded into his head, the expression may have been a statement of eternal hope after this life is over. In that respect, it’s true. Life, in the here and now, isn’t everything. Life here is only temporary. Scripture aligns it like a puff of a vapor in the air, or a blade of grass that comes and goes with the seasons. Of course, in Elton’s state of loss, depression, while reeling from the aftermath of a night of debauchery, he might have been thinking death is more valuable. After all, it must be the relief of all that stains us, all that pains us, all that shakes us.
Here, I am pushed to disagree with one of my favorite musicians.
How valuable and distinctive is life?
Life isn’t just a four letter word on a board game by Hasbro. Life isn’t just a name on a Quaker Oats cereal box. Life is a gift, issued to each living thing. However, life for the human was issued in the most intimate way. Unlike the cow, the tree, the worm, humanity first took a breath when The great I Am, The Creator ordained the inhale by placing His own mouth over the nostrils and blew the breath of life into the first human. In other words, God Himself crouched down to the lifeless body of His creation and performed mouth-to-mouth, and that action caused life to occur in the new man. Life is issued. It is a gift. Just ask anyone who has had a near-death experience and lived to tell about it. Moreover, ask anyone who was lifeless due to an illness, or accident, and was reignited. I am one of those people. Life is a gift. Life is a stone thrown into a motionless pond, activating ripples upon impact. If you are alive, you have an impact on others around you. Yet, the One who gave life, also removes the breath.
Let us resolve to mention another truth concerning Elton’s lyric. As stated before, life isn’t everything, in that it is temporary. Just ask Guy Burchett. Oh, that’s right, you can’t ask him. Guy left his body at the age of 17 in 1978 during a tragic motorcycle crash. Guy, the person of Guy, left his body to enter eternity. Holy scripture is clear, there is more to this life. It may seem like a candle in the wind, but when the wick burns away, our flame carries on. Jesus spoke about the afterlife often, and the place(s) of the afterlife. God controls the final exits, and the doors entered. In scope, this life is only a blink of an eye compared to eternity. There is a second life, and a second death for some. I didn’t make that up, it’s spelled out in the ancient scrolls.
Although Elton is weird and wonderful, his book is brutally honest, so much so, it can be a very difficult read. Trust me, there were times at the end of a chapter I wanted to take a shower.
The man, the soul, Reginald, found himself removing his electric boots and entered a 12 step program. He learned much about his mistakes, his substance abuse, and even his old ruthless ways with those around him. He has gone back to many he has wronged to apologize for past behaviors. Sobriety has been his norm for many years now, and helps others who need to enter treatment. His view toward life softened much through the following years, even to the point of pouring himself into charities, and forming the Elton John AIDS Foundation, which has raised over $450 million in AIDS research and medical treatment around the world. Through his circumstances in life, he has been forced to a more pliable heart. Even at this elder stage of his life, who knows where it might direct him.
As for Elton’s 1978 view of a throw-away life, he has changed his camera angle. In his book, on the very last page, he writes something so vastly opposite of his 1978 lyric. After suffering from cancer, and a devastating infection he contracted while on tour in South America which almost took his life, he writes:
“In the hospital, alone at the dead of night, I’d prayed: ‘please don’t let me die, please let me see my kids again, please give me a little longer.’ In a strange way, it felt like the time I spent recuperating was the answer to my prayers…It was like being shown a different life.” – Elton John, Excerpt taken from, Me: Elton John, Macmillan Publishing
He knows you wouldn’t mind if he put it down into words, how wonderful life is.
The true circle of life, and life’s destination, is in black and white in fuel for the race.
“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but so that the world might be saved through Him.” – Jesus From John 3:16-17 (NAS)
“People smile and tell me I’m the lucky one. And we’ve only just begun. Think I’m gonna have a son. He will be like she and me, as free as a dove, Conceived in love. Sun is gonna shine above.” (1970) “Danny’s Song” (Even Though We Ain’t Got Money) Composer: Kenny Loggins
It was an unanticipated event. Unexpected, you might say.
1968 was a landmark year for Danny, and his girlfriend, Sheila. It wasn’t their first choice, or their second. Yet, God had other plans. When the news came from the doctor that Sheila was expecting, the sky didn’t fall. The earth didn’t stop revolving. The stars continued their sparkle. In their case, the two were very much in love, even though unmarried, it didn’t matter. A new dynamic had surrounded the two young people, which changed their navigation in life. Danny was so pumped about the idea, that he wrote a letter to his younger brother about his circumstances and the new developments. It was THAT letter which made up much of Kenny Loggins’ lyrics of the very famous song, most remember as, “Even Though We Ain’t Got Money”. (Anne Murray would also release it in 1973. It became a huge hit with her offering of the song.)
One might say, “Sure, but they were in love. They were a couple. Abortion was illegal, and not an option for an unmarried couple in 1968.” Yes, it’s true. Danny and Sheila were in love, choosing pre-marital sex in their relationship. True, abortion wasn’t available legally at the moment, if that was a choice Sheila wanted to make. But, what if the opposite were true. What if Danny and Sheila were not serious lovers of the heart and soul? What if they lost their sexual composer on a date out on a moonlit beach without planning a long-lasting future? I’ll go further than that. What if Danny was over aggressive in the sexual heat of the moment, and a date rape occurred? (This is how I was conceived in 1959.) Now, let’s take all of those hypothetical questions, and add a hard question from the fabric of reality check. Ready?
Would the baby inside Sheila’s warm, nourishing, and protective uterus, suddenly changed into a glob of tissue, a tumor, or an intrusive bio-matter of a cyst if the love didn’t exist? The honest answer hits us in the face like a Boston Cream Pie. No, the baby would not suddenly transform into a knot of fat and gristle. In fact, Sheila and Danny’s baby is about 53 years old this year. You know why? Because when he was conceived inside Sheila, there was nothing, nada, zero, to be added to his DNA to make him a newborn baby boy nine months later. Everything he needed to grow into a 8 pound baby, who would seek a nipple even before birth, was already there in the beginning of the union of the egg and the sperm. There would be no need for a fairy to come along with a shaker of pixie dust to anoint his expanding cranium to complete the make-up of humanity. Unless a horrible deadly health issue invaded his body, or an abortionist’s steel bladed tool attacked his limbs and head from outside the protective womb, he would be a 53 year old man by 2022. Danny and Sheila’s love for one another had nothing to do with his development and growth. Danny and Sheila could’ve broken up before his birth, and not one piece of his DNA, his structure, his brain, his heart, would be subtracted to make him less human.
Nov 1987 – Tabitha, my first, and me without any sleep.
Roe V Wade was overturned in the U. S. Supreme Court a few days ago. They call it, “The Supreme Court” because that is the institution’s nature. The nine justices who are honored to have a chair in the highest court in the nation, are vigorously screened, reviewed, researched, and grilled prior to a vote of approval on Capitol Hill. These individuals, are seated as justices in the high court partially due to their individual swearing oaths to uphold and protect the constitution of the United States, not holding to their personal choices, whims, or outside influences and payola. Integrity is not just a word, but rather a code inside the decisions of weighing the written laws of the land with the constitution as the standard by which they are to write legal decisions. They vow NOT to wear blue or red robes, but black ones. There is to be no evidence of political bias, not even a hint, seen in their documents. Yet, that is exactly what happened in 1973 when Row V Wade was debated and decided using ideology from the left. It simply was not a case for the Supreme Court. Simply put, the constitution could not deliver such rulings on if abortion is to be legalized in all 50 states. Abortion ENDS human life. It keeps a nephew of Kenny Loggins from being a 53 year old man, with a career, a family, a contributing citizen of the United States. The constitution will not defend ending a child’s life, in or outside the uterus, or in some cases, the actual birth canal, (Partial Birth Abortion.
(Keep in mind, the recent decision from the Supreme Court simply puts the abortion issue back in the individual states where the voters decide on the local levels.) It’s freedom, it’s liberty at its best! Abortion is a procedure that will be kept, or denied by the citizens who go to the ballot box in each state. In other words, Uncle Sam doesn’t keep babies from the abortionist tools, or provides the facility where the remains of babies are sold to research facilities, or the bio dumpsters. Only WE THE PEOPLE, the Texans, the Floridians, the Alaskans, the New Yorkers, will make that choice for our own states. No liberty is lost!
Assumptions can murder. The lies spread about the Court’s decision began immediately from the left, for those who refuse to look at the law, the constitution, or the case involved which brought it to the floor, in order to bolster deceit in the minds of such. There are those in Washington who toss fabrications professionally in order to keep their political power, just for the chess pieces who would rather wallow in emotion, instead of reality. Unfortunately, this is how people get killed, property gets torched, and wars can ignite. The wisest will resist kneejerk reactions and research what they read, or hear. Verification is essential to discovering the truth of matters.
Even technology, normally worshipped by many, has progressed to the point where we now have no excuse to understand when life actually begins in the womb. Not long ago, we had no way to prove it scientifically. Too often, science is only praised if it fits the narrative of weak-minded ideologues. Medical advancements, and digital computerized 3D imaging can now “boldly go where one one has gone before.” When one chooses to let go of their spray painted signs of protest, their masks, and their hoodies, and look up the videos and pictures of the growing child in the uterus, a truth pie arrives for the face. However, most want their ideology to last, therefore staying ignorant is bliss. Shameful, really.
We have learned, through incredible medical technology, the heartbeat of the unborn child is “detected” at six weeks after conception. The heart is developing prior to that, but the “detection” of the actual beat can be heard and seen at six weeks. That’s two heartbeats inside Sheila, the pre-birth infant’s heart, and her heart. Tragically, there are now videos showing the growing baby pushing back away from the abortionist’s blade, or vacuum tube for the brain, as it approaches the infant’s body. We now have video of the reaction of the baby as it shakes in pain when the chemical begins to burn the skin during a chemical abortion. One former abortion nurse reported how the screams of the baby can be heard in some procedures, including when the child is dying “outside” the birth canal. We wouldn’t do that to puppies! Am I right? We spend millions on saving the seals in the artic from being clubbed to death for their coats. We spend the same on saving sea turtles when hatched in the sands of beaches. Why do we nod and look away when we slaughter human babies approaching birth? Enough said.
During my sophomore year in high school, my girlfriend’s name was Sheila. (No, not Danny’s Sheila.) Shortly after we broke up, she became pregnant during a first date with her next boyfriend. The news was hard, but I was proud of her when she made the choice to carry him full term. She named him, Barry. She raised him. He is now 44 years old. I just had the honor of meeting him at his grandparent’s memorial service last week. He has a wife and two children of his own now. A fine, happy man.
I have had other close friends who chose abortion due to events of unexpected pregnancy. One dear friend had three performed in her 20’s. One woman I worked with had…12, yes, 12 in her lifetime. My ex-wife had two abortions prior to our relationship. During my radio career, I have interviewed many involved in the abortion field, crisis pregnancy center directors, doctors, nurses, and the women who have had the procedure who claimed they were marked for life. The stories were consistent. It seems there is damage to the very soul of the woman involved, while the abortionist, gladly pockets her money and shows her the door. Trust me, I know the pain, the fear, the damage, the psychological monkey on the back concerning this deadly decision. There are choices, choices for avoiding killing the girl, or boy dependent on the mother for survival, for the mother of right choices.
God, whether one acknowledges Him, or not, will be one’s judge. He, not me, will be the final Court of Supremacy. With that said, if one is angered by the overturning of Roe, upset by the Court’s decision, marching and rioting due to the outcome of judicial debated, one must ask of oneself a question, if not in denial. The question is, why are you disjointed over the fact that millions of babies will live? Why are you enraged over the fact that YOU, and your neighbors on the local level, get the freedom to choose if infants are to be slaughtered in your state? What causes the outrage, the insanity of inward collapse knowing more babies will survive the tongs and blade?
Those in the camp of outrage over this decision by the highest court in the land are doing so under the lie of “women’s rights”. Some, “women’s health”. While others would march under the umbrella of, “A woman’s right to choose what happens to her own body.” In such thoughts, the idea is to place SELF as #1. If honest, they cannot argue the fact of priority placement. It’s the idea of “convenience” to stamp out a child’s life in order to not accept responsibility for one’s actions, to avoid putting a child first before self, or to avoid disruption of daily status quo. Tattoo your baby. Dye the infant’s hair purple and green. Pierce the child’s ear and nose. But there is no right given by God, nor the constitution of these United States, to kill the baby entrusted to you, especially to satisfy your personal notions.
2001-D’Anna, my youngest daughter. She was going to be premature with under developed lungs. The possibility of a disabled baby was very much real. After 24 hours in a incubator in ICU, she was breathing on her own. Yes, weaker lungs than her sisters, but a true flower in my garden.
God gives life, even if the mother is avoiding Him in life. He states in scripture, He is the “Lifegiver”. The rights given to a woman, and man, are given from above, so says our founding father’s documents. How can one, “pursue happiness” if that one has suffered the blades of an abortionist in the sanctuary of the womb? We do not have the right to kill children. We have the right to aid them, keep them healthy, nurture them, but not to end life. We should hold up the standard to have the right to do what we want with our own bodies…but we do not have the right to destroy the body of another who does not share her organs, her spirit, her soul. The woman in the clinic’s stirrups, isn’t there to abort herself, to end her life, to rid herself of a limb, or an eye, or a foot, or a cancer…she is there to rip apart another person’s living body. Dare to educate yourself by watching the videos that are now available.
Date raped at 15, my mom made the choice to carry me to term. However, depression from the sexual attack almost destroyed her, even to the point of two attempts at suicide, she survived by God’s amazing grace…and that’s why I can write to you today.
Danny and Sheila had a baby boy named, Colin in 1969. When he wrote to his brother, Kenny Loggins, Colin had already been born. Danny and Sheila did marry soon after, even though they ain’t got money.
On this road of LIFE, there will be unanticipated issues. Yet, LIFE needs fuel for the race.
” I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live,” – Deuteronomy 30:19 (English Standard Version)
Recently, I have discovered a new vice in my life. Something that I have noticed in myself before, but shrugged off as a silly diversion. Of late, I have come to realize, I need to guard my time with a bit more scrutiny. While scrolling through my newsfeeds on Facebook, I have found I can get addicted to the various short video clips offered from a plethora of sources. In doing so, I discover I consume much of the clock in that hour without even looking up. What a misuse of precious time. It’s something I need to work on before I slip further down the rabbit hole of a kaleidoscope of clips just waiting to snatch me away from more important things. (Even now, I am tempted to stop here to check out the latest uploads of strange things caught on security cameras. ARG!)
However, now that I have confided in you, concerning the latest leach which sucks on my brain, not all video clips are worthless visuals for the eyes.
Last week, while moving on to the next video clip of the day, I was captured by a very touching, yet painful clip from a cat owner. His beloved cat had a litter in a cubby hole, cave-style, dug out in a sandy area on his property. A couple of the new kittens came up missing from her little makeshift den. It wasn’t difficult to guess what had happened, but he wanted proof. Being a techie, he set up a video camera pointing toward the entrance to the den of little ones. He set it up and reviewed the footage several times a day, often catching the mom’s activities live from his computer screen indoors.
One afternoon, glancing at his screen, the cat owner was shocked at what was displayed. Gazing at the screen, he witnessed his mama cat standing fiercely in the entrance of the cubby hole with teeth showing and hisses spewing out of her mouth. There, directly in front of her, with her babes behind her hidden in the sandy den, was a large snake slithering nearer and nearer to the portal of the home of the kittens. Arching her back, with a strange growl, she swiped the claws of her paw toward the nose of the reptile with every effort of reach she could safely muster in the protective stance she defiantly chose. Time was not on the mama’s side, nor the owner’s. He dropped everything and ran out toward the area of his property where the den of kittens had been prepared. With each step, he contemplated just what his course of action would be once he reached the cubby. He didn’t take note of the species of snake, or the scope of its length. Unsure of what tool he could use to fight the crafty invader, his urgency to run as fast as he could to the mama’s aid took over his mind.
As the video continued to record, I could see the snake had advanced to the point of wrapping the mama cat up in a squeezing death grip around her stomach and ribcage. She clawed and fought while her life ebbed away in the same spot where she took her last stand against the enemy of the children. The video shows the owner gripping the body of the resisting reptile where it wound itself around the cat’s torso. With both hands, the owner was able to remove the snake, although it took every ounce of arm strength he had. Simultaneously, a few of the kittens raced out of the protective cave, stampeding over their mother’s lifeless body to escape the danger as the owner continued to wrestle the powerful snake.
After a quick edit of the clip. the owner is shown holding the dead reptile from the tail, followed by the man gathering the kittens who instinctively retreated to various hiding places nearby. Of the kittens she had remaining in the cubby behind her during the fight, not one was lost.
After another edit, the video shows the owner, lovingly and respectfully, placing his cat in a shoebox and placing it in a grave close by.
While watching the clip. I was struck by the bravery of the young mother as she faced an enemy of certain destruction. She fought tooth and nail to defend her brood she had nestled in the dug out shelter. Even as her lifeless body was in the clutch of the snake, her body length stretched out against the opening, kept the reptile from fully entering the little cavern.
Oh, how I mourn for our world, seeing so many mamas seem oblivious to the dragon at the cubby doorway.
My heart goes out to the men and women of Ukraine. So many evacuated their loved ones then stayed to battle the invading military of the serpent from Moscow. Yes, that’s how I feel.
My spirit is also reminded of why Jesus came to rescue the world from itself. If you were to go to the hill, Golgotha, in Jerusalem today, you should not see just a hill. One should say to oneself,
“Here is where the Savior of the world made a stance, a standing in the gap, to give away His life for His own.”
Now imagine with me. What if the mama cat came out of her grave three days later and returned to her babes to nurture, teach, and comfort them? That would be worth an international news conference.
The fact remains, Jesus came to take our spiritual death upon Himself knowing there was no other way to escape the deadly serpent. His resurrection was earthshattering, with enormous evidence that He is truly the Great I AM. He holds the keys to death and the grave. To mindlessly stampede over this truth is an eternal mistake.
The empty garden tomb of Jesus.
Now imagine with me, again. What if only a few kittens took their mama’s sacrifice to heart, escaping certain death, while many more of the litter thought it wise to stay in the cubby with the snake at the door? If not for their willing protective mama, their lame self-wisdom would have cost them their lives. So, the same is true today. Many only see the cross as a trinket for dangling from a rearview mirror. When in reality, the place of the cross is a doorway of safety and comfort. Jesus warned us that there is no other way. No other road. No other hope for eternity.
The beauty of Easter is first found in fuel for the race.
“I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you. After a little while, the world no longer is going to see Me, but you are going to see Me; because I live, you also will live…” (Jesus) – John 14:18-19 (NAS)
"She can feel He's coming soon.
There's no place, there's no room.
A baby changes everything.
A baby changes everything/" (2008) "A Baby Changes Everything" Recorded By: Faith Hill Written By: Craig Michael Wisemanm James Timothy Nichols, Kimberly Kerryann Wiseman
If you are not a regular reader of my jots, then you may not know I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s with a single mom, and as an only child.
My bio-father left our lives while I was a toddler. It was not a good marriage, In fact, the reason they got married was because he raped my 15 year old mom on a date and I was conceived. He had many problems which contributed to the divorce. Before I was three years old, the divorce served as a rescue mission from domestic violence, habitual adultery, and alcoholism. It was not only needed, but it was the end of a long nightmare for my mom.
Although my mom remarried a couple of years later (ending in a four year marriage) I grew up always wondering about my mysterious bio-father.
A poor teenage girl with a baby in the early 60’s in Texas, had no idea what counselling was, or even the availability of solid counseling in her circles. Her ripped out heart only went by her depression and emotion. Twice she tried to kill herself during pregnancy. Gathering all photos of my bio-father, cutting him out with scissors was the norm, she exhausted herself in removing the horrid memories. A pre-court deal was made by my granddad which involved an erasing of my bio-father. This meant no child support, no visitations, no contact as long as we both lived. For the first couple of years, gifts and cards would be delivered to me from his parents, but were returned to them. Keep in mind, in those days of tragedy, these were decisions in the attempt to protect me from the man and his brutality. My first name was changed to what was then my middle name. My middle and last name would be legally changed when she remarried, totally deleting the residual of how I was brought into the world.
Old faded memories from my toddler years produced little moments of scenes from when I was two, which included a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man with enormous hands. My bio-father wasn’t spoken of as I was growing up. My questions concerning him were quickly snuffed out, for the most part. No pictures, no stories of him, no name. It was as if I came to this planet on a spaceship and was discovered in a cornfield wearing a cosmic diaper.
By the time I was 15 or so, I learned his name, and my birth name. That just made me more curious. Promising myself I would find him after I turned 18, I began sorting out plans to do some detective work on my own without the aid of my family.
Yet, it was nerve-racking watching for him. By the time I was eleven years old, anytime I was on stage performing in a play, musical, or singing solo work, I would scan the audience to see if any man out there in those chairs resembled my vague snapshots from my toddler brain. By the time I was in 7th-8th grades I took up the martial arts. Throughout my teen years, in hopes my bio-father had secretly been scoping out my events and activities, to the point of attending incognito, enjoying my performances in Karate and kickboxing tournaments, I would again, scan the stands for any man who might be tall, dark with large hands. Because I was a singer/actor, years of performances during the 70’s were spent going to the lobby during pre-shows looking at every tall man which walked to the ticket office window. Peering out the curtains before showtime, even though it was highly frowned upon, was the norm for me. I was always hoping that somehow, some way, he would be interested enough to check out who I was becoming and what I looked like.
My high school career ended on a humid night in May of ’78. I had just turned 18. My graduating class of almost 900 kids was prepped and ready to walk across the stage in royal blue cap and gowns. The ceremony was taking place at Texas Stadium, where the Dallas Cowboys played. The stands were filled on the north side of the stadium. Too many in the throng to scan for what might have been my last hope of my bio-father caring enough about me to attend in secret. There were dreams of a surprise introduction.
As it turned out, he never tried throughout my school years. Not once.
Saturdays were very busy days at the Florsheim shoe store where I worked in the Valley View Mall in Dallas. It was my first job right out of high school, while auditioning for various singing and acting gigs. You learn much doing work like that, especially when the goal is to understand how people think. But nothing could compare to the one Saturday in November of ’79, when a kind, and apprehensive elderly couple sheepishly walked up to me in the shoe store and introduced themselves as my grandparents. Talk about being in a daze. I was indeed. As it turned out, an aunt from that side of the family did some detective work to locate me.
They invited me to a dinner. I accepted. Entering into their family room at their house, I found old babyhood pictures of me I had never seen before on their wall, almost like a memorial wall. Honestly, I fought back tears through my shock. The second, or third dinner delivered a question from their side of the table. I was asked if I wanted to meet my bio-father…in person, face to face. Without hesitation, I said yes. He drove over to their house to meet me the same night. 6′-5″ tall, dark eyes, dark hair, olive skin tones, and large hands, just exactly as I had held him in my mind. Still…my mom and her folks were not pleased to say the very least.
Suddenly, there he was, in the flesh. I learned what his voice sounded like. Being an actor, I studied his mannerisms, his speech patterns and accent, his gate as he made his way across the room. Tirelessly, I hunted for anything which identified him as my DNA match. No longer did I have to wonder, dream, or scan an audience. He was there. No longer was he so mysterious, vague, or indescribable. No longer was he over there somewhere.
At Passover, in every Seder dinner, the ancient traditional elements are carefully place on the table. There is so much to be done to prep for such a holiday, including all the texts which are read and lyrics to be song. Like Christmas, or Easter, the feast is for the entire family, and extended family when available. The table can be set for 2 people, 12 people, or 50 people. Of course, the more the merrier. There is one curious tradition which every Jewish family recognizes. The empty chair with a place setting. This is a tradition which reminds those in attendance of “The One To Come”.
Elijah, the Old Testament prophet, was the name they chose long ago to represent the Promised One, the Messiah. To this day, many believe Messiah will be Elijah himself.
Since the days of Genesis, for the Jewish people, God was far to reach. He was over there, over the mountain, over the river, high up on the mountain, etc. Yes, He attended to them in times of trouble, but always having to come from up there, from over there, from the other realms. Although God told them His Spirit would be with the nation, many forgot or disbelieved. Even in their ancient temple, it was believed God resided behind a large, thick drape where the Ark of The Covenant was placed. No one was to enter behind the veil, or death would swiftly come. The ancient scrolls informed them that He can not be seen by the human eye. Only once a year, only the high priest could enter through the drape to perform his sacred duties, but even he had a rope tied to his ankle which had bells on it, just in case he himself fell dead due to seeing God with naked eyes. The other end of the rope rested outside so his body could be recovered. Yet, on Passover, they are always prepared to welcome Elijah, a Messiah-type, to suddenly come to their Seder table. Why? Because Messiah was the Promised One, Who is to come from God’s throne. He is to come in the flesh and fellowship as a member of the clan. So, the chair is empty for those who are still scanning humanity for Messiah.
Christmas cards and songs reflect a great truth about a name given to describe Messiah. It wouldn’t be His personal name like, Fred, or Jim. But rather, a description of an attribute with great and powerful meaning. We first knew about this in an old Hebrew prophecy.
” Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, the virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call Him Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14)
Prior to a teenage virgin who would give birth to a son, she was told by an angelic visitor the child would be called, by people who would know Him, “Immanuel”. (Matthew 1:22-23) The writer, Matthew, went further by interpreting the old Hebrew name for us when he included, “(which means, ‘God With Us'”) Since Hebrew is written and read from right to left, literally it can read, “With Us Is God”.
King David was correct in Psalm 139. He mentioned the ever present God in his personal ever changing, ever altering life. Wherever David was to go, wherever his destination, he knew God was there. However, He starts out with the words, “Where can I go to escape your spirit…?” No “Immanuel” in David’s life…in the real physical sense. David understood from scripture, and by life’s experiences, God was spirit. He looked forward to a Christmas, which never came in his day.
“WITH us IS God” A Baby changes everything.
Because Messiah came to dinner, the chair is filled, no vacancy anymore. No room for any other god, nor demonic spirit, no room for a lucky charm. He FILLS!
Immanuel brought the world its first Christmas. Because of Immanuel, no need to scan for a higher power sold at truck stops, or spirit mediums. Because of Immanuel, there’s no more need to wonder if God cares. Because of Immanuel, hope rises, hearts are lifted, and lives are rebooted, washed and set to glow in darkened times. A baby changes everything.
No more searching to see if God shows up, to see if He cares about you on a personal level. Jesus came to make sure you understood you are not left as an orphan in your Father’s eyes. For 33 years, He was here to overwhelmingly prove it.
Ironically, He would turn the tables on us a bit. He mentioned to concerned followers, when He did leave, He would have a place built and ready for each one of us who trusts in Him, so that He could be with us after this life is over. So, I imagine, He has an empty chair and place setting readied with your name on it,,,if you belong to Him through faith.
Find Christmas renewed in fuel for the race.
“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.” – Revelation 3:20 (NIV)
Fuel For The Race 