Topher Pike's Blog, page 92
October 14, 2018
Raising Tomorrow
If your standard of life is unsuitable, raise the standards of how you live. There is a reason why you live the life you have today. There is no one to blame but yourself if the life you have created is mediocre. Don’t continue to do the same things you did yesterday if you want different results tomorrow. If you want to create the best version of yourself, raise your standards to mirror the person whom you admire most.
If you want to lose weight, get moving; if you want to write a best-selling book, open your laptop and start punching keys. We can all see the person we want to become but never make the necessary changes needed to become that individual. Don’t be afraid of hard work. Raise your standards to give birth to your future self.
Use this quote when you have a resolution and always seem to fall short.
Read more from 101 Quotes That Will Change Your Life
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October 7, 2018
Strengthened Attack
For your mind to function at full capacity, it will need a solid foundation to grow and subsist. You need to incorporate some sort of physical activity into your day. This might seem like a lot of work at first, but the benefits will be twofold. If going to the gym is not an option, then spend fifteen minutes every morning taking a walk before you shower.
Not only will your body start to regenerate, but your mind will have a newfound energy to attack your day. Your body and your mind have to be at one and connected if you want your dreams to thrive. Insert physical activity into your daily routine, and you will not only feel stronger but more energized to fight off the negative images that will try to attack your mind.
Use this quote every morning when you feel like skipping your exercise routine.
Read more from 101 Quotes That Will Change Your Life
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September 30, 2018
Invisible Darkness
We all have days when nothing goes right, and we are unsure of how we will ever have the things in life that make us happy. You feel lost in your daily struggles and feel you will never be able to break free from the life that is causing you so much stress and disappointment.
The simple answer is you haven’t decided what you want in life or given yourself a purpose to get up every day. The more complex side of this darkness is you feel life is insignificant and not under your control. You have a choice to find a purpose that will create a light to ignite your passion.
If you think that darkness lasts forever, set your imaginary alarm clock and watch a sunrise with a smile on your face. Force it if you have to. Every day we have an opportunity to create something better. Once you find a purpose in life, the darkness you see will dissipate into light.
Use this quote when you think darkness will forever surround your life, and choose to watch your dream smile through the darkness.
Read more from 101 Quotes That Will Change Your Life
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August 23, 2018
Blackbird – Chapter 12 – Final Chapter
THE DAY IS June 6, 2018. I decided to write the closing chapter of this book on the two-year anniversary of a day that transformed my life. The time is 4:32 am. I stand beside my aunt’s newly constructed boathouse overlooking a wooded landscape I thought would present a sudden sunrise to help me discover the words to finish this book.
When I decided two months ago to schedule a personal day to write this chapter I anticipated watching the morning sun coming over the horizon just as I did almost two years ago.
However, as I stand underneath another midsummer rainfall, I realize the sun is not happening today. I have already drafted a couple of short paragraphs to spark my imagination, but I intend to write this entire chapter as I stand at this moment.
[image error]Today is a day of reflection, another moment of silent contemplation. It’s been almost six months since I first said the words I believe in God and in the process of writing this book my reformed faith is stronger than ever. I have no idea what today is going to bring, but I am confident the unifying force I have chosen to embrace will give me the direction to finish this book.
The cold northwesterly wind is driving the damp drizzle into my face as my tired hands tremble to type this sentence. The morning song composed by the surrounding birds is starting to fuel my words.
There is a slight wrinkle in the blackened water as it gently pushes up against the massive rocks. It is not an enormous ocean that stands before me this morning but only a small pond.
Although darkness and drizzle surround my innermost thoughts, you need not worry about me because you cannot see what is about to come over the horizon.
Over the last two years, a blackbird had presented himself to me in moments when I needed inspiration. I didn’t ask for the bird to join me in those moments, but today is a new day. Unlike the other three times, I have already asked for him to come.
As you read this book, you may assume the blackbird represents God. It would be a reasonable assumption, but you would be wrong. The blackbird is not a representation of God, but God is the one who sent him.
The blackbird represents many things to me. Freedom, perspective, inspiration but at its core it embodies a spirit that lives inside of me. I don’t know how God is going to reveal the blackbird to me today, but I trust he knows a perfect way. I expect him today because I have faith he will show.
I’m not sure how to explain what just happened to me because I am afraid you will not believe what I just experienced. I’m worried you will think I made it up because it sounds unbelievable. If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it myself. I am going to try and describe what I just witnessed, but I’m not sure my words will do it justice.
When I decided to ask for the blackbird to join me today, I had romantic visions of a majestic bird flying from the distant sky and landing directly on the railing surrounding the boathouse. It would look in my direction as a loud caw vibrated throughout the air while I wrote the final word.
I thought it would be the perfect ending to my book. I was confident I would see a blackbird because I already saw a few while I stood in this same spot writing the chapter about my grandfather’s death.
I knew I would see one, but asked God to bring the blackbird in a way that would confirm without a doubt my belief in his presence.
Immediately after typing the words I have faith he will come, it happened. It was quicker than I anticipated but out of nowhere a blackbird blasted from the heavens and descended on the railing. It was the exact dramatic scene I had in my mind when I pictured his arrival. I knew he was coming, but I am still in shock at the strategic timing.
When I saw him freely standing on the wooden railing, I fell to my knees as my inextinguishable laughter circled the boathouse. I laughed so hard involuntary tears rolled down my puffy cheeks as I put down my phone to savor the magic of the moment.
He didn’t look in my direction or say anything, but I knew he came for me. He said nothing and everything all at once. He resided on the railing for a minute before he dove to the dewy grass right outside the door. I could barely breathe as I tried to inhale.
I decided to open the glass door and see if I could approach him, but as soon as he noticed me, he flew into a nearby tree. When I looked further up the thick tree, I saw him posing with two other blackbirds. They sat on different branches of the tree, but each one stood in perfect sequence.
As I’m writing this, it still seems unbelievable, but the fact I saw it with my own eyes is undeniable. You can call the other moments a blackbird appeared in the last two years a coincidence, but there is no mistake what I just experienced was the presence of God.
I was planning on waiting all day for him to arrive, but he had other plans. I am prepared to find the words to finish this book not because of what I saw but because I am not alone.
While I write this book, I work the grind of a nine to five. I also have two children under the age of five and a wife that needs extra support to fight the demons that call for her daily.
Everything surrounding my life would provide a great excuse not to finish this book. I have the perfect story of why I don’t have the time to continue working on my dream. I could’ve hit my snooze button this morning, but I decide to get up at 4 am every day to find my words because that’s what it’s going to take.
I choose to script a different story where the lead character fights each day to find the strength to rise above depression. I am not discouraged I didn’t see the sunrise this morning because I don’t need the sun to shine to be free. I have faith I will finish this chapter today because I feel a deeper connection between the sunrise and the darkness. God had a different plan to bring me the words to finish this story.
I have given away more books than I have sold but I feel closer to my dream now than I ever have before. I have released my attachment to the outcome. It doesn’t mean I have given up on my goal. I have faith because I know what my part is in the process.
I have faith in what I cannot see because I have confidence in what I feel. I write every day because I want to be an example for my children to look to when the world explains to them their dreams are not possible.
I’m not going to stand here and pretend the path is easy or paved with gold. If you want God to perform miracles, you need to put in the work. Some days will be a desperate struggle, but every time you fight through the pain, you lay down a yellow brick along your road. Every time you keep your faith in hard times you put down three more. Every time you trust in God, your path will present itself. It may be a long and winding road, but this is when you need to be strong. The time will come because the journey is preparing you.
When I think back to a couple of years ago, I believe that was the day I died for the very first time. There were no funeral arrangements to be made, and I didn’t see any bright lights approaching from the distance. I had no idea that a fateful summer day would be the beginning of a strange journey I still find myself walking today.
I didn’t fall to my knees to pray to god that day, and it would be almost two years later before I said the words I believe in God.
If you were to ask me back then, I would tell you that God didn’t exist. He was a figment of your imagination, and you were a fool if you believed in a fictional character from some outdated book.
For so many years I was told to look up to find God, and if I was a good boy, I would go to heaven and see him with my own eyes. No one told me to look within myself. I was told to look on the outside when the real power of God is born in the hearts of you and me.
I have been writing for over three hours, but I still have work to do. Right now, I hold in my hand a rectangular metal pendant my daughter gave to me when we first arrived back in my hometown. The words “choose happy” are engraved on the back. I have kept it in my pocket the moment she gave it to me because I understand the importance of these words. The fact my daughter gave it to me gives it even more meaning.
As I gently rub the engraved words with my thumb, I realize my intention was never to search for God but only find a place where I could feel peace. In my pursuit of happiness, I have learned that if you do the things you love it will inspire others to do the same.
It wasn’t until recently I realized my inspiration came from God. Every time I questioned myself my writing seemed to rise to the surface. From an eighteen-year-old kid trying to find direction to a thirty-seven-year-old man trying to find meaning in his life. Every time I questioned myself on the journey of life, God gave me my answer.
Writing has always been a guiding light in my life and some of the most satisfying moments in my past involved my writing. When I decided to make it a definite purpose I was brought out of the dark to see the delicate beauty of what it represents.
The time is 9:03 am. With my phone at nine percent, I decided to take a drive to recharge my battery. I wasn’t sure where I was going to go, but I now find myself sitting in the same place I first told my brother my new belief in God. I was nervous sitting in the position over a year ago, but I no longer have the same secret fear to express my faith in God.
I am so sure God exists today because I see him everywhere. I see him in the continuous waves of the ocean as they crash into the rocks. I see him in the rocky landscape as it welcomes the salty water to the shore. I see him in the young man a hundred feet away pointing his panoramic camera at this exact scene trying to document the picture only he can see. I even feel him sitting on the empty bench resting right in front of my rusty car.
Since I can’t find the words to continue this chapter, I think it’s time to sit on the right side of that bench and fasten my headphones. I have no idea what song is coming, but I have faith the brief moment will inspire my words. So I will go now and see what happens.
I am so cold my whole body is shaking, but I will endure because I know what awaits me on the other side. I’m currently sitting on a wooden bench overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. I can feel the chilling rain from yesterday soaking into my blue jeans. The intensity of the wind rises as the light drizzle from this morning feels much stronger behind the enormity of the ocean.
It ain’t about the breaths you take but the moments that take your breath away. The song on the other end is Rollin by Ish. I listened to this song almost every day before I left the city, but as I hear it now, it feels right. If you listened to the words to this song, you might not feel it as I do. That is the beauty of art and the power of expression.
When I first heard this song, the beat brought me in, but now the lyrics are bringing me out of the illusion I can’t find my words. I believe God reaches through music because he knows it’s a perfect way to connect with our soul. Music always has a way to lift my spirit when silence cannot. It triggers a part of me that wants to be free.
While I write these words, a second blackbird is flying overhead. There are dozens of blackbirds in this area, but the one that just flew down the concrete path to my right has caught my attention.
He looks no different than the rest, but something inside tells me another story. My curiosity is lifting my wet feet toward the path. I choose to follow him and see what words await my arrival.
I have walked for a few minutes and now find myself standing on the edge of the ocean. I want to get closer, but I cannot swim. I see a bench below, but I am nervous to get close to the unforgiving rocks. My anxiety is telling me to walk away, but my heart tells me to investigate what may exist beyond my apprehension.
I understand my fear is not real, but I still hesitate to make the journey down. I can’t see what is on the other side, but I feel I should walk closer.
What I find on the bottom is a stone cross standing on the edge of the cliff. I can’t help but shake my head in disbelief. I wanted this day to unfold itself to me, but this is to perfect. On the cross sits three plaques for three men, who drowned right where I am standing. I can’t help but think if these men could swim.
I look at the cross in amazement as I make my way closer and closer to the edge. Only a chainlink fence is dividing the limitless ocean and my underlying fears. My hand grips the cold steel rail as the sound of breaking waves pushes my childlike imagination to the edge.
My hands are getting numb, so I will walk back to the car and warm up. As I make my way up the rugged hill, I notice another bench inviting my words. I want to sit down, but there is one more place I want to revisit today.
Maybe I will come back another time and see what words I find on the right side of that unoccupied bench.
The time is 12:06 pm. I intended on writing this entire chapter at my aunt’s boathouse, but now I find myself sitting in the park where I first said the words I believe in God.
The relentless rain is coming down harder as I stand beside the same hidden waterfall where I started this book. I am seeking shelter under the overhanging trees, but I can hardly punch the keys as the fresh water drips onto my mini keyboard. I’ll take this is a sign to enjoy the moment.
I wanted you to experience this chapter with me at the moment because I understand a moment is all we have. Just like my journey over the last couple of years I had no idea how this day would unfold. I had no plans on revisiting this site today, but I followed what felt right, and this is what I have.
As I write these words, my head is on a swivel because I’m anticipating a third blackbird will show himself at the same spot I announced my belief in God. I’ve been circling, but I don’t think he is coming.
It’s not easy for me to share my story, but I do so with the hope that someone out there reading these words can find a light that desperately wants to shine. Over my journey, I have had many challenging moments and struggles that knocked me down but those same unexpected moments are the ones that helped me rise.
I believe in every failure there is a light that can awaken a spirit if you choose to see it as directed and not as a defeat. There is beauty in your struggles because on the other side is a strength to overcome them.
I now find myself standing on the wooden pier to the left of my aunt’s boathouse. I remember when my grandfather and I pushed our little fishing boat out into this same water. We would sit in the middle of the circular pond for hours talking about life. I can almost feel him with me as I write this. I can practically see the wrinkle in the water as my little hands toss the red and white bobber over the side of the scratched up metal boat.
It is such an intense feeling. I could probably find some beautiful words to match the picturesque scene behind my eyes, but I didn’t come back here today to reminisce about the past. I have done enough of that already. Today is a new day, and I have a brand new story to write.
There were a couple of things I wanted to experience at this boathouse today. I wasn’t sure how the first one would play out but what I experienced this morning still seems like a scene out of an animated children’s movie. That one I left up to God but the second one is under my control.
A few months ago I decided I was going to write a message in a bottle and toss it in the still water as an alternative ending to my book. My thought was maybe someone would find it and rethink their relationship with God.
I thought it would be another perfect ending to my book, but I changed my mind. I don’t feel I have to do this anymore. I believe my book will do it for me.
I have new inspiration on how I should experience this moment. I decided I will pour the bottled water into the pond to symbolize my connection to God.
But before I listen to the unmistakable sound of the stream connecting, I have something I have to tell God. What I am about to say I will not write. The only thing I can tell you is that when I hear the water connecting with each other, I will say the words I trust in God. The rest is mine.
The time is 4:32 pm. These will be the last words I write. It’s not the end of my journey by any means. I type these words sitting in the parking lot outside my daughter’s daycare.
In a few minutes, I will type the last words to finish this chapter of my story. I can already picture the radiant smile on my daughters face as she pokes her head around the corner and realizes I am ready to take her home.
I’m going to tell my daughter precisely what happened to me this morning after I strap her into her car seat. She is only four years old and probably won’t remember this moment. She has no idea of the importance behind what I witnessed today. The reason I will tell her what happened is I am still waiting for a third blackbird to end this part of my story.
Over the last six months, my daughter has heard the song blackbird booming from my phone as I was writing this book. She has even started to sing the words to the song.
When I tell her precisely what I witnessed this morning, I believe she will release the blackbird one final time through her words. I am readily prepared for her evening song to complete this part of my journey.
When you dare to reimagine your own story, I believe your connection to God will appear. I will go and embrace her now. Maybe one day I will write the sequel to this book, but for now, you will have to imagine the ending for yourself.
August 19, 2018
Blackbird – Chapter 11
WHEN I RETURNED to the office a few days later, my whole outlook changed. My inbox was full of requests for quotes and other administrative tasks, but I wasn’t weakened to see the work that awaited me. I moved along and replied to each request with a smile. It took me the rest of the week to clean out my email, so when Friday rolled around, I was happy to get a couple of days to spend with my family. I felt so alive because the birth of my son sparked a sudden desire to return to my writing.
I made a faithful promise to myself that no matter what happened from that moment on I would never let another word go unreleased. I would spend every waking moment away from my job and my family to pursue the dream that gave me so much hope. I wasn’t sure the direction my writing would take me, but I was determined to recapture the continuous path and reimagine the cage that held my thoughts.
[image error]After I tucked my family into their beds that night, I headed outside to contemplate my next move. I had started a manuscript for my daughter shortly after the release of my first book to teach her some of the ideas I had been researching. I already had a few thousand words written, so I decided to head back inside to rediscover the lost words.
When my quick hand gripped the knob, I could feel the cold rain trickle down my forehead and fall on my fist. I hesitated to open the door because I could feel a subdued voice telling me to wait. I stood unable to move in the direction I intended.
I released my loose grip and decided to stand in the chilling rain for a few minutes and ponder my hesitation. I stood on the edge of the deck while the rainfall beat down softly against the wooden slats. I tilted my head toward the night sky to feel the shivering warmth of the rain. Instead of seeking shelter I looked to the pouring rain for direction.
I felt so calm as I closed my eyes to feel a closer connection to the storm. I stayed motionless under the irregular rainfall for a few minutes before raw emotion emerged. Like a midnight fire raging in a blazing storm, I couldn’t extinguish the poetic spark wanting to spread throughout my soul. I wiped away the last raindrop from my eye and went inside to write. The words flowed so gracefully as my upper body slightly shook from the dampness of the rain soaked into my stretched out sweater. When I finally decided to stop, I realized I had written another poem.
I never had ambitions to write poetry, but it seemed to surface in the unguarded moments I searched for direction. I contemplated what the words represented and realized my inspiration to write came from a place I knew nothing about. The only thing I was sure of is that when inspiration came, I wasn’t going to waste it. I was even going to be bold enough to ask for it to find me.
I titled the poem Motionless Rainfall, and over the next three months, I wrote over twenty poems. Each one was distinct, but they all seemed to have an underlying message wrapped inside the familiar words.
With a vital work exam approaching, I decided to take a personal day to dig into the massive book I needed to learn to pass my test. The material was pretty dry, so I wanted to find a quiet place to study.
That morning I came up with a few coffee shops where I could find solitude to soak in a little knowledge. I wasn’t sure which one to choose, so I circled for a half an hour unable to make a final decision. I was driving around aimlessly before I noticed my car was rotating around my university campus. It took me a minute to realize what I was doing so I parked the car.
I looked at the young men and women heading to their classes in my rusty rearview mirror. I decided to grab my laptop bag and led myself to the closest entrance. I felt like an eighteen-year-old kid as I walked the dim hallway to the library. It was the same narrow path I walked as a young man and with each step, I felt the footprints I left behind. I made my way to the staircase located inside the library and walked to the fifth floor. I found the exact spot I sat twenty years ago and unzipped my bag. I had replaced my laptop with an industry textbook, but I couldn’t crack it open.
For some strange reason, I refused to turn the page. The nostalgic feeling of a place that once held freedom was so empowering I could only stare at the protective cover. I looked behind me and seen the encased clock that hung in the same position years before. I turned my freshly shaven head to look at the faces of the students buried in their textbooks. The climactic scene looked so familiar, but I felt completely different as I struggled to open my book.
I knew I wasn’t going to get anything done, so I decided not to fight the feeling and embrace the emotions calling to me from the past. I put my book back into my bag and marched through the campus soaking up the youthful potential. I was so caught up in the moment I didn’t even realize I was walking by the same place I wrote my first poem.
The moment was to perfect to let pass, so I laid my bag next to the closest bench I could find. I observed the people walking by as if I never left. I sat on the right side of that bench for almost three hours writing. I started three separate poems in the same place I wrote my first one but the piece I completed from start to finish I titled Returned Innocence.
I knew I wasn’t going to accomplish my goal of reading the first few chapters of my textbook so I decided to head home to see my family. I was a few short kilometers away when I noticed a park underneath a nearby bridge. I had been going to this park since I was a kid and drove by it every day on my way home from work, but this time I had a feeling to park the car again.
I wandered through walking trails in circles before I noticed a secluded area where I could rest my feet. I was looking for a comfortable bench but only found a few lonely rocks stacked randomly one on top of another. They leaned next to a small pond that was around three feet deep and barely larger than a child’s swimming pool.
To my right stood a miniature waterfall resting only six feet high. I sat and listened to the sounds of the water as it flowed down the shiny green rocks and crashed into the adjacent pond creating hundreds of little white bubbles. The sound of the water was so intense I couldn’t hear the fierce wind blowing against the mature trees behind me. The isolated bubbles would immediately disappear as they moved away from the base of the peaceful waterfall.
While I looked around to absorb the beauty of the landscape, I saw a stone cross standing approximately nine feet away. I couldn’t see if anything was on the front, so my curiosity guided me from the rocks. I moved toward the front of the cross anticipating a grand sign from God.
When I arrived, I only saw a memorial for the men and women who gave their lives during the great war. I couldn’t make out the words because the language I was never taught. I looked for a few minutes until I noticed another monument in my peripheral vision. Standing tall was another stone structure with hundreds of names of the men and women who gave their lives for freedom. I read over a dozen names engraved on the memorial before I felt my attention shift. I couldn’t help but think about all the unreleased passions left behind in the silent fields that once held their lifeless bodies. I could almost feel the buried dreams of these men and women who I had never meet.
I wanted to start my second book, but I couldn’t find the right words to release my passion from this same lonely field of dreams. I decided to reposition myself back to the base of the waterfall and close my eyes. With the back of my cupped hands resting on my knees, I took a deep breath and exhaled. I connected my two fingers to my thumb and took an indrawn breath through my upturned nostrils. I then rested my chin on my chest and asked God for the right direction as I exhaled again.
When my inhalation reached its peak, I felt the urge to hold it inside and silently counted one two three. In those three seconds, I heard a voice inside of myself answer the question. I listened to my voice say a combination of words I never uttered before. I immediately spoke the words over and over again in my mind. It was the first time in my life I said the words I believe in God and truly meant it. I knew I had a connection to something I couldn’t understand, but as the words arrived, I felt so much peace.
I couldn’t control the intensity building inside my body every time I internally said the words. It felt so overpowering that I decided to speak the words out loud. They flew out of my mouth with so much meaning. To hear myself say the words out loud was so different than when I heard them in my thoughts. When I released the words trapped inside, I felt so free. It was like someone lifted a weight I didn’t know existed. I stood up so fast my body felt raised from the earth under my feet.
I floated down the path toward my car with a smile emerging that could only be seen on the face of a child. The sounds of nature turned up their volume as I walked within the freedom of the structure. When I got to the bridge close to my car I stopped for a minute to reflect on what I said. I asked for direction in my writing, but I still couldn’t make the connection with the words I released.
Then I saw it. It wasn’t walking toward me or flying in the other direction but had its legs planted into the earth. It wasn’t a blackbird I saw, but an empty bench in the distance. I started to move towards it unaware of the path. I could feel the bench calling me from beyond the wrinkled water, but I had to maneuver around some rocks and weeds to find the way. I put one foot in front of the other and moved forward one step at a time.
Before long I saw myself sitting on the right side of the bench as memories of past experiences screened through my mind like a motion picture. The scenes were so vivid I reconnected each quiet moment one by one. The theatre of my mind played back the last year and a half of my life in only a few seconds. Every scene was like a piece of a puzzle, and each one had its purpose and its place. I could finally see the complex picture as I sat with my left arm wrapped around the bench. When I put the dramatic pieces together, I realized that my next book only had to be remembered.
As I made my way across two more bridges to get to my car, I noticed a combination of birds surrounded my feet. It was like I had bread crumbs in my pocket as the birds followed me along the path. They came in so many different sizes, and colors and each one made its distinct sound. They stood all around me as I waited patiently on the last bridge anticipating a sign from God. I wanted validation, but nothing was coming in the distant sky.
I still felt good about my decision until I reached the car. I quickly realized I was about to expose myself even further with this new book. The idea of sharing my personal experiences and relationship with God became fearful as I formulated a fascinating story of why it was a horrible idea. I sat behind the wheel with my two fingers extended next to my thumb and reached down to turn on the radio. My hand looked like a withered claw as I turned up the volume.
I moved the knob to the right and instantly heard something that shook me to my core. It floated throughout the car like a feeling asking for its time to be discovered. To my amazement, the song Blackbird by the Beatles was playing in the background. The questions surrounding my decision no longer existed because the existence of a spirit inside of a feeling freed me from my manufactured fear.
As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but question if this was the sign I was looking for when I stood on the bridge over wrinkled water.
I thought back to the moments I saw a blackbird along my journey and what it may have represented. Twice before I felt the unexpected presence of a blackbird right in front of my eyes, but this time its appearance was only a feeling inside of a song.
When the chorus ended, I wondered if I would have felt this experience as directional if the door to my cage wasn’t already cracked open. If my spirit wasn’t broken multiple times in the past could I have arrived at this moment of silent contemplation? Could I genuinely see the freedom in my words without the journey to obtain them? When I put two hands back on the wheel, I knew it was time to release the blackbird once again.
There was only one thing I wanted to do before I propelled myself back into the past. To portray my connection to God, I was going to have to dig up emotions I wasn’t sure I had the strength to recapture. I decided to start preparing my book on New Year’s Day, but I wanted a fresh start. I felt my new connection to God had transformed my life, so I decided to get baptized again before I wrote the first word. With my son’s baptism scheduled for New Year’s Eve, our reverend stopped in to go over the details. I figured it was the perfect time to present my desire, but she said it wasn’t possible.
I was a little shocked as she explained why she couldn’t honor my request. Already being baptized as a child, the church wouldn’t grant my wish. She could see the disappointment in my eyes as I stared at her with a look of disbelief. She told me that although I couldn’t get baptist for the second time, I did have the opportunity to reaffirm my connection to God during my son’s baptism in a few short weeks.
After she left, I asked my wife if I could take a walk to clear my head. I had images of dunking my bald head in a pool of holy water, but as I walked up the steep hill by my house, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Although I was disappointed, I started to think about the underlying reason for my request. I wanted to prove to God that I was worthy of his love and to strengthen the connection to my words. I was grateful for his inspiration and guidance, and I wanted to meet God halfway.
When I got to the top of the hill, I stared into the hundreds of wavy trees circling the cul de sac. Each one stood dozens of feet above the loose soil, and each one had a strength to stand tall despite the prevailing winds swaying them back and forth. It wasn’t their enormous size or their position in the forest that kept them steady. It was their connection to the earth and the depth of their roots that prevented them from falling.
Although I could only see their twisted branches, I realized their true power existed below the surface. Their real connection to the earth that gave them birth was unseen. I stood staring into the neighboring forest with an understanding that I didn’t need a visible display of my faith because the roots I planted reached beyond what I could see.
When I arrived at the church on New Year’s Eve, I had a different perspective on what was about to take place. I watched the wet cross written on my son’s forehead knowing he would never remember this moment.
He didn’t make a sound as our reverend marked him with the sign of God. We already had a name picked out but decided after my grandfather’s passing to change his middle name. Not only did I want to honor my grandfather by using his name, but I also wanted my son’s chosen name to symbolize that even in death we all can be reborn.
I stood beside my family and reaffirmed my connection to God. I read the words presented to me with an understanding that my job was far from done. My son didn’t decide to get baptized today, but maybe one day he will choose to take the journey to find God for himself.
Maybe one day he will see the light inside of him that has been waiting for the moment to reveal itself. My job as his father is not to show him the light but give him the opportunity to find it for himself.
The path may not be expected, but if you dare to take the first step through the cage, you will find the courage to rise. On my journey to find a better part of myself, I noticed something within myself I didn’t know existed. I saw freedom and strength to fly with the wind and not against it. I discovered something higher than myself that exists within myself. I unearthed my true connection to God.
Check back in next Sunday for Chapter 12 – In The Moment
Preview
THE DAY IS June 6, 2018. I decided to write the closing chapter of this book on the two-year anniversary of a day that transformed my life. The time is 4:32 am. I stand beside my aunt’s newly constructed boathouse overlooking a wooded landscape I thought would present a sudden sunrise to help me discover the words to…
August 12, 2018
Blackbird – Chapter 10
AFTER MY GRANDFATHER’S passing, my life looked completely different. The love I found within my passion became lost in an external world surrounded by shadows of lonely dreams. The business idea my brother and I were building hit a dead end. The small business I was trying to grow was only producing modest results. My book wasn’t selling as I had envisioned. The invisible world I was desperately trying to create behind the illusions of reality were becoming a distant memory. I no longer felt the secret hope of a prophetic dream planted in the past.
The present fact of failure and disappointment was so intense I couldn’t recapture the moment I felt the freedom of a fire started in my soul. My circumstances were drowning my ambitions to the point where I couldn’t even find the strength to smile. The impossible dream I crafted was gasping for fresh air as my short quick breaths intensified. I was sinking fast, and my dirty thoughts were digging up my inhibitions and seeking to bury the better part of myself.
[image error]I continued to write looking for inspiration, but I couldn’t find anything. I felt like a robot as I aimlessly tapped the keys. There was no love in words I forced onto the blank screen. I was still getting up at five o’clock to write but struggled to even get off the couch to pour my coffee.
Most mornings I would find something on social media to divert my attention because I didn’t want to face the harsh reality of failure. I felt so guilty when I rolled over in shameful defeat it controlled my whole day. I knew in my heart if I kept fighting I would regain my inner strength, but I couldn’t resist the regression.
My early morning writing sessions turned into a revolving door of guilt and depression. The pain I felt for not having the force to rise up and fight my infernal demons was transferring to every part of my life. The blame for not providing a better experience for my family was resurfacing like an empty box that housed my fear of failure.
My ambitions of becoming a successful author seemed like a ridiculous idea. Every part of my reality was pulling me back to the path the others told me I must follow. I could hear the authoritative voices whispering in my direction urging me to stop pretending I can do the impossible.
In my suspended state of surrender, I decided to dive back into the world of sales and start a new career. I had a family that needed my support, so I decided to shelf everything I was working on and accepted a role with a local company looking to expand.
I was excited about the idea of learning a new industry and quickly dove into my work. I was starting at the bottom with no experience in what I was selling so the first couple of months were pretty stressful. Unlike my previous sales roles, I would now have to transact all my business over the phone. I was familiar with selling to clients face to face but communicating without physical interaction was challenging.
I remember sitting in my little cubical staring at the double computer screen correctly positioned on my ergonomically designed desk. I tried to make sense of all the new information and procedures but selling without looking into the eyes of my prospect was not a natural feeling.
I never worked in an office setting before, so the structure was unfamiliar. I had the freedom to schedule calls and follow-ups with prospective clients, but it was all constructed from my partially enclosed workspace.
Surrounded by three permanently positioned walls, I heard the others speaking as if my existence was unknown. I was listening to conversations taking place all around my disillusion, and each one was distinctively different. Strangers sheltered my cubical as the voice I portrayed on the other end of my headset mirrored my discomfort. The deadlines and commitments on the whiteboard were real, and I needed to run with the wind of a new target.
Each cubical had only one way in and one way out. The other three walls were mine to decorate. Some workstations had industry information plastered on the walls and others had pictures of families and weekend passions. The walls surrounding my workstation were empty as I contemplated what images I should place.
There were distinct markings visible from the last person to sit in the same chair, but my station was bare. I could feel the repetitive movement of people walking beside my desk as I voluntarily moved to the other side of my station. The cold breeze from the passers-by pushed down on my shoulders, but I refused to look up. My only intention was to fit in and prove I was worth something.
Three months had passed, and I was feeling more and more comfortable in my new surroundings. There was still a lot I had to learn, but I was slowly putting together the pieces. I even decorated my cubical with some industry knowledge that could help my day to day interactions.
With my wife’s due date approaching, I found it extremely difficult to remain focused on my work. Every day that passed, I was growing anxious. Whenever my phone rang, I anticipated jumping out of my chair and heading toward the exit.
The morning my son was scheduled to arrive I couldn’t get comfortable. The indirect steam from my morning coffee couldn’t keep me warm as I connected my restless fingers loosely around my industry stamped coffee mug. With a multitude of clients to contact that morning, I plugged in my headset unsure of where to start. I looked down at the incoherent notes handwritten on the loosely disconnected paper and tried to make sense of the thoughts of yesterday.
As I was about to punch my number into the sales queue, my headset vibrated between the four corners of my desk. I immediately wondered what problem or issue I was going to have to face before I tasted my morning coffee. I turned up the volume and heard my wife on the other end in an incredibly calm voice tell me the time was now, and I should return home.
I instinctively jumped from my swivel chair and made my way through the congested parking lot. I could see the freshly paved intersection I needed to reach as I pushed my feet down on the dry pavement.
I had my car parked in the adjacent lot across the street, so I frantically pressed the recessed button to get the light to turn green. It felt like I was standing on the other side for an eternity as the cars flew by in a panic unknowing of my destination.
When I finally reached my vehicle, I put my keys back into the ignition and threw it in reverse. I pressed on the gas so hard my tires screeched as I flew through the parking lot that held the smell of my newly painted tracks. I wasn’t headed to the hospital to meet my wife but driving back home so we could make the trip together.
I had such a nervous feeling as I drove through the landscape that enclosed the morning traffic racing to get to their decorated cubicles. I put two hands on the wheel and weaved in and out of traffic like a seasoned race car driver approaching his final lap.
I only had one destination, but the distraction of my worry was taking over the wheel. I couldn’t feel the joy of meeting my unborn child. I was even thinking about the clients that I would be unable to contact that morning and the amount of work awaiting my return.
I hadn’t talked to God for over three months before I slowed my acceleration to accommodate the red light already halting the other vehicles. When my car came to a complete stop, I sat with the others and rested my head against the closed window. I stared at the broken clouds above as my right hand tapped on my knee waiting for the colors to change.
I wasn’t shaking but felt like screaming at the light to turn green. My short quick breaths started to sync to the clinking sound of the indicator as I waited to move forward. I felt like exploding as the indicator seemed to get louder and louder.
I grabbed the wheel so hard my stiff fingers felt numb as I squeezed and released my grip a dozen times. I felt so debilitated as the vehicles formed an inconsistent perpendicular line.
I desperately wanted to savor this moment with my family, and I didn’t want to show up at my doorstep with a look of worry in my eyes. I decided to look at the broken sky ask God to release the impressions that were restricting the excitement I felt around the arrival of my son.
I drove underneath three more sets of lights before I had the urge to change the radio station, so I didn’t hesitate and reached. With my curved finger extended I noticed a transmitted light reflecting from the ring my late grandfather gave to me as a young man.
My hand stayed suspended in the air for a few seconds as the momentary glare took my attention away from the road I was traveling.
I couldn’t decide which button to press but asked God to bring me a song that could lift my soul back to a place of freedom and perspective. I was anticipating the lasting words of a timeless song as I turned the station but only found a radio ad for something I can’t even remember.
I kept pressing buttons at random but found more industry paid ads. I was about six minutes from my house when I had the urge to change the channel one last time. I was searching for the perfect song, but on my final attempt, I got nothing.
I crossed the bridge overlooking the park close to my home and decided to stop searching. Soon as I stop looking, a song vibrated throughout the car. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. To my amazement the song Forever Young promptly made its way inside my heart once again. My relationship to the song was changing right before my eyes.
I felt reborn as the song floated throughout the car. Death no longer surrounded my connection to the song because the birth of my son was my only thought as tears of joy trickled down my face.
It was such an exhilarating experience to cry and laugh simultaneously. I could feel my grandfather passing a symbolic torch from another world. The words that seemed to come from my grandfather months before now became my words. I could feel his ashes giving my words life, and a chance to start again.
When I pulled up to the driveway, my whole demeanor changed. I rose up from the car seat and took off the disposable mask that did not serve me. I wanted to make sure I was fully present to enjoy the birth of my son from beginning to end.
With a family member watching our daughter I checked to see if my wife had everything she needed to make the trip. With the prepacked bags already prepared, I opened the door once again.
I didn’t have time to eat breakfast that morning so when I saw the shiny red apple sitting outside of the interwoven reddish basket, I reached my steady hand and unleashed the juice of another glorious day. I knew I was ready to continue my journey.
We arrived at the hospital and prepared for a long day, but my son had other plans. He was ready to present himself to the world, and he didn’t want to waste any more precious time. From the moment I got the call from my wife to the arrival of my son, it was only a little under three hours.
Holding him in my arms for the first time was so freeing. All I could feel was love, and nothing else mattered. No worry or nervousness. Not a hint of fear or doubt. As I looked into his watery eyes, all I could see was perfection. I knew the only limitations he would have from that moment would be the ones given from the world around him.
I was searching for a better part of myself, but as I stared in a trance-like state into his eyes, I realized I was looking for something I already had. I was trying to become someone I once was.
The peace I was searching for reflected from the unseeing eyes of my son. He had in his possession the greatest gifts in life, just as I did when my mother held me in her arms. What I was seeking I found within the gentle eyes of my child.
My daughter and I headed home after supper to give my wife some time to recover. I could tell my little girl was tired because she asked me to snuggle on the couch and create a story about a beautiful princess. I never had the chance to experience too many moments like that at bedtime, but with my wife unavailable she looked to me for comfort.
She rested her head on my chest, and I proceeded to tell her the grandest story of a fairy princess who granted wishes to all the children in the land. Each child would stand in front of her enchanted wand as she waved it in a complete circle and touched their outstretched hand. I got so wrapped up in the story I didn’t even realize she fell asleep.
I tactfully repositioned her body and sat beside her feet to watch her sleep. I sat on the left side of the couch imagining what dreams lie deep inside her heart. I tucked her into bed and moved my way back to the living room to position myself in front of my laptop.
I hadn’t written anything significant in months, but as I pictured myself holding my son, I instinctively had the urge to express my love. I looked to my right and stared out into the landscape resting outside my window. It was dark, but I could see the rain gently blowing against the glass as the light from my laptop revealed each drop. It was as if the perfect storm was inviting me to come and join, so I went to stand underneath the drizzle.
As the cold summer rain flowed uncontrollably underneath my feet, I stood in a moment of silent reflection. Reluctantly I resisted my son’s arrival, but his representation provided another moment of poetic contemplation. His innocence and peacefulness gave me a strength underneath a weakness in my thinking.
I was only standing for a couple of minutes before the words flowed uncontrollably from my invisible pen. I flashed back to all the moments in my life that led to this one. Each one had significance but the only moment that truly mattered was the one I was experiencing. I closed my eyes for a moment and then the moment was gone.
My sole intention was to release a combination of words I could feel growing inside of my thoughts. The last time I had written anything with feeling was the poem I wrote for my late grandfather, so when I finished, I knew I had the perfect title for the piece I had written. I titled the poem, Forever Young in honor of my father and my son.
It was the one title that could bring them together and realize the dream I had for them to meet. Through my words, I felt connected to the space between inevitable death and continuous birth.
Check back in next Sunday for Chapter 11 – I believe in God
Preview
WHEN I RETURNED to the office a few days later, my whole outlook changed. My inbox was full of requests for quotes and other administrative tasks, but I wasn’t weakened to see the work that awaited me. I moved along and replied to each…
August 5, 2018
Blackbird – Chapter 9
IT WAS EASTER Monday when my grandfather was checked in to the local hospital. It seemed like one of his routine visits, so I kept checking in on his progress to see what the medical staff had to say. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and he was doing so well my aunt and grandmother showed up with his things that Wednesday to return him home.
However, when they arrived that morning, his condition had changed dramatically. The cancerous cells he continuously fought for so many years was taking over his aging body. The candle of hope they witnessed the day before was flickering underneath the quick breath of father time.
An unmistakable look of overwhelming fear greeted me outside his room when I finally got to the hospital that afternoon. More than a dozen family members were restlessly waiting for their chance to see my grandfather.
[image error]Before I got to the curtained doorway, I could sense this wasn’t going to be a casual visit. I immediately filtered my way through the stricken crowd to find my place bedside. With my grandmother uncomfortably sitting to his right I reached out to grab his free hand and let him know I was with him.
In such an exhausted state he could barely keep his proud head tilted long enough for me to look into his hazel green eyes and reassure him everything was ok. I squeezed his hand and released my nervous grip a dozen times before he seen my familiar face. When he peered in my direction, I could see the look of worry accompanying his charming smile. I tried so hard to mask my widespread fear as our eyes meet.
When I looked around the bedroom and observed the tears forming in the eyes of the others, I knew the bag they packed might never return to the home we intended. I tried to project as much positive energy into the room as I could muster but the fictional character I was portraying couldn’t hide the hint of red behind my glassy eyes.
I finally let go of my grandfather’s hand and went into the cluttered hallway to find out more information. The unspoken words I found on the other side of the dingy curtain was like a horror story, and we all were supporting actors.
It was uncertain if he was going to leave under his own will. I looked for definitive answers but as I moved up and down the hallway all I found was confusion. From sons, daughters, grandchildren, and friends they all had a distinct look of fear and sadness. Hours before I was preparing to sit with him at his kitchen table, but now I found myself questioning why I didn’t see him earlier.
I felt so helpless as I walked back into the room to grab his hand once again. I squeezed it even harder as I fought off my emotions. My jaw was clenched so tight it felt wired shut as I tried to speak. My first born son was only months away from entering this world to carry on my grandfather’s name. There had to be some way to share my sons birth with him before his spirit flew from his body. All we could do now was wait until the morning when the cancer team made their final judgment.
When I arrived that morning, I didn’t find salvation but the outcome I feared as my head laid lifeless the night before. He wasn’t making it home this time, and the only option given to us was palliative care. The peaceful easy feeling I once had was now a distant memory. I became lost in my thoughts as I wondered the endless hallway looking for some sort of meaning behind this prognosis.
We decided to move him to a more private room so he could feel more comfortable. The flock of family members surrounding him was starting to grow, and every thought of desolation silently filtered throughout the fifth floor. When they moved him to his new room and placed him into his bed, I couldn’t help but think if this is where I would watch him take his dying breath.
As the impure thought passed through my closed mind, his eyes suddenly opened and he made a gesture like he wanted to rise. We rushed to his side to help him from the slightly elevated bed. The feeling of desperate hope that encapsulated the room was invigorating. The light that was flickering moments before was now glowing in the eyes of a man who always knew how to fight.
It seemed like a medical miracle as he sat up with a smile directed towards my grandmother. We were all in shock as he found his plate of cold hospital food and lifted the fork to his quivering lips. We were so excited because maybe he would defy the odds once again and come out of this like he always did before. It took a lot out of him to even lift his hand to find nourishment but watching him stand up in the valley of the shadow of death gave me hope.
When he lied back down to rest, and the room cleared I decided to mirror his strength. I was going to use the knowledge I had been bestowed to give him a little more time on this earth. I knew his earthly body couldn’t fight much longer, but I desperately wanted my grandfather to meet my unborn son. With everyone standing outside the room I sat next to his bed with only one purpose.
I was going to try and move a mountain and watch him rise from the impossible. I gently grabbed his right hand, closed my eyes and asked God to hear my prayer. I visualized the doctor walking into the room tapping his clipboard with his pen giving us good news. I imagined my grandfather bouncing my newborn son on his knees while he kissed the top of his head. I visualized sitting at his kitchen table eating a feed of flipper pie. I projected myself into every scene like it was a reality. I could see my family looking in my direction, but could only feel the seed I was purposely planting.
The sun soon fell behind the clouds, and we decided to take shifts. Unsure of what the night would bring I asked if I could have the first shift by myself. I planned on spending the night in another imaginary world where the detailed picture I was painting would find this one. My mother didn’t want me to be alone, so she decided to come back in a few hours to sit with me.
I sat alone with my grandfather and searched for a reason to believe. I turned on the Montreal Canadians game to try and drown out the silence that was starting to become extremely frightening. I pushed my face into the bottom of his wrinkled sheets and rubbed my check up against his feet to feel the warmth of his body.
As I grabbed his foot with my right hand, I heard a voice. It was my grandfather asking for the score of the game. I quickly released my grip and lifted my head. I laughed in his direction and told him it was looking good.
Watching Montreal games with my grandfather was one of my fondest memories as a kid. I would sit at the right hand of my grandfather and consume hours of hockey. If we couldn’t find his favorite team on the English station, we would turn down the volume and watch them on the French channel. We sat with our arms around each other chatting about the game and our chances of victory. I felt like a child again sitting beside the only man I have ever called dad.
I had the foresight to know that this was a scene I would remember for the rest of my life so tried not to think about the morning and appreciate the magical time of the moment. He was getting tired and asked if he could lie back down. As I tucked him into his bed, I looked him in his eyes and told him I loved him. I had no idea that would be the last time he would ever hear me say those words in this world.
Over the next couple of days, his condition worsened, and his breathing was fading fast. I wasn’t getting much sleep as each day seemed like an eternity. That Saturday night I tossed and turned on the couch for hours waiting for my phone to vibrate to the sound of the call I was afraid to answer. With only a couple hours of broken sleep, I kissed my daughter on her forehead and decided to jump in my car and head to the hospital.
It was a little after four o’clock in the morning, and I couldn’t see a car in sight as I drove through the city at a frantic pace. My vehicle was shaking from the acceleration, but the landscape seemed so calm and peaceful as it anticipated the Sunday morning drivers passing through its beauty.
I was almost halfway to the hospital before I realized I was driving in silence. For some strange reason, my radio was turned off. Listening to music when I was behind the wheel was automatic so for it to be turned off made absolutely no sense. I quickly pushed the power button, and a song started to play that grabbed my heart from the inside.
The song was Forever Young by Rod Stewart. I could almost hear my grandfathers calming voice surrounding the interior of the car as my blinding tears immediately overcame the silence. I felt such a connection to the song that I slowed my acceleration and peacefully watched the natural landscape flying through my impending pain. His last days were upon him, but I could feel him reaching to me from the space between.
The song was still playing in the back of my mind as I arrived and watched him struggle to breathe. He hadn’t said a mortal word in days, but as I gazed through his human body, I knew he was with me. I couldn’t hear him, but I felt his presence through the lasting words of a timeless song.
As the day turned into night, it was becoming apparent that time was running out. My eyes were a heavy blue as I tried to get a little sleep. I found a quiet place next to my mom down the corridor and moved around a few chairs to get comfortable. I constructed a makeshift bench and extended my arms in a perfect letter V as I fell into a dream like a state where I could find solitude.
I drifted away from the reality of the inevitable when I quickly felt my foot shaking. It wasn’t a dream but my cousin grabbing my leg to tell me it was time. I kicked away the bottom half of the bench and rushed into my grandfather’s room. I heard him struggling to take his final breath as I stood over his frail body. He wanted to stay, but his body was unwilling. The others stood sobbing, but I was permanently emotionless. I couldn’t feel any tears approaching because I was so focused on his short quick breaths. I wondered if he knew this was the end?
I was imagining watching my grandfather take his final breath for days, but as It was released, I felt nothing. It was as If my heart flew away as I stood motionless over his dead body. I felt so stiff I could barely bend my knees to sit next to him and say my final goodbye. My temperature was dropping as I held his hand one last time to say thank you for his wisdom and fatherly advice. It was the first time I ever felt a body without a soul. I whispered my final words into the wind of change and the face of time. I realized the flesh I was touching was not my grandfather at all. It was only the human vessel his spirit used to experience this world.
When I exited the cold dark room for the last time, I felt something inside of me change. I felt numb as we drove away from the hospital parking lot. I was struggling to find meaning in his death and the purpose of my journey. The path I was following didn’t have the power it once possessed. It was as if my dreams left my body the moment I released my father’s guiding hand.
When we arrived at my grandmother’s house to discuss the funeral arrangements I had so many mixed emotions. I wanted to cry, but nothing was coming. I just watched my family put together his obituary with a list of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. When my name came up, there was a question where it should go. On paper, I was his grandson, but in my heart, he was the only father I’ve ever known. I am the man I am today because of the kindness and love he brought to his family and all those who crossed his path. The fact that he told people he had eight children always meant so much to me.
From the times, we would push our tiny little fishing boat into the pond by my aunt’s house to the basketball net he cemented in our backyard. He was always there when I needed him, but I couldn’t shake the fact that when he needed me, I couldn’t lift him from the hand of death. I was looking for a light in his passing, but I became more confused by my concept of God.
We spent the remainder of the day at the funeral home getting everything together for the wake. I’ve never arranged a funeral, so I just sat back with a glazed over look still trying to inject some meaning to his death.
When my wife and daughter went to bed that night, I sat outside for over an hour reliving the events of such a painful day. My thoughts were flying through the air as I contemplated its deeper meaning. There were no benches situated on my deck, so I sat on the loosely connected wooden slats resting on the ground. There was a battle raging in my mind as my emotions and thoughts fought for territory.
With my knees resting an inch away from my face I decided to lay my weary head and wash away my thoughts with three long deep breaths. As the last breath was released, the battle was over. I sat with my arms wrapped around my legs in a tightly packed ball. My body started to shake as the emotions unavailable earlier in the day made their way to the surface.
My knees became damp as I refused to look up and face the reality of the new day presented. I asked God for help as I lifted my head and looked at the vaulted sky. With nothing coming from above I told my grandfather I needed him to tell me he was still with me. I then placed my head back on my bended knee and instantly had an instinct to write. I had no idea what to compose, but as I went to search for my laptop, I felt I should write something to be read at his funeral.
It was after midnight, and I had no idea where to start when I decided to sit and let the words find me. The only light shining in my living room was coming from the blank page on the screen. I remembered the last time I thought I heard my grandfather speak to me from another world, so I broke the silence and fastened my loosely connected headphones. I was looking for light through the darkness, so I found the beat and became lost in the rock and roll.
I put the song Forever Young on repeat to free my soul and feel the melodies behind my descriptive words. I drifted away into the world my grandfather now called home. I wanted him to know I believed his life had a more significant meaning than the cold dark place that housed his body. I asked him to lean on me if there was anything he wanted to say before he lost his voice.
Then in an instant, I felt the urge to type. I had no idea what to write, but as I punched the keys, I found the poetic words I thought I lost as a young man. I was writing for an hour, but it felt like ten minutes. I looked back at the screen and read what I had written. I realized I had written a poem as though it came from my grandfather’s strained voice. It was the first poem I wrote in almost twenty years, but I didn’t feel the words were mine. I titled the poem The Love of Family.
The day of the funeral was an experience I don’t wish upon my dearest enemy. Having to lift my grandfather up the concrete steps of the church was tremulous. I couldn’t feel the entire weight of the casket because each beloved child held their share of the burden.
When we place him on the movable base, we all made our way to the room situated in the back of the church. It was the same inconspicuous room I sat with my reverend a short while ago to ask her my questions about God. I had told her I didn’t want anyone to know I wrote the piece and to sign it anonymous. I wanted it read as if my grandfather was present and still with us. She wanted my family to hear the poem before she read it at the ceremony, so we weren’t surprised by an anonymous reading.
After she read the poem and we all made our way to the casket I took my grandmother aside and told her I was the author, but the words were not mine. The rest of the family would soon find out I was the author, but as I stood in front of the church, I knew I didn’t write it alone.
Arriving at the burial site and watching his body descend into the muddy earth was a somber experience. I felt buried in sadness and disappear with every inch he fell below the exposed surface. We were all given single flowers to place over his sealed casket, and when I set mine beside the others, I felt a piece of myself covered in the same dirt. I didn’t say a word to my wife on the drive home because I thought I had nothing else to give. The dreams and artistic ambitions that gave me so much lingering hope were no longer present. I couldn’t feel the same spark that lifted my childish imagination. I started to question God and the power of my faith. I wondered if this was the end of my journey as I asked God to show me a sign that the path I was following was more than inevitable death.
Check back in next Sunday for Chapter – Resurrected Dreams
Preview
AFTER MY GRANDFATHER’S passing, my life looked completely different. The love I found within my passion became lost in an external world surrounded by shadows of lonely dreams. The business idea my brother and I were building hit a dead end. The small business I was trying to grow was…
July 29, 2018
Blackbird – Chapter 8
AFTER THE CHRISTMAS celebrations ended and the last few fireworks released into the night sky we attempted to get back to our routine. I was working on a couple of projects for my small business and trying to get my book into the hands of anyone that would read the words that ignited my passion. I sold copies to family and friends and even a few books online, but my goal of selling a half a million copies seemed unreachable at the pace I was going. I asked my mom to come over one Sunday morning to watch my daughter as I felt I needed to take a long walk and clear my head.
Parallel to our home was a beautiful walking trail I had been traveling daily to explore my oneness with nature. The whispering wind that circled the landscape had a particular way of providing clarity when impurity was obscuring my thoughts. It was a form of walking meditation I was trying to incorporate to provide more focus and awareness to my surroundings.
[image error]The curved path stretched across the small city for kilometers with numerous narrow roads branching from the primary trail. I started taking a few of these rugged paths because I was curious about where the trajectory might lead me. Occasionally they would bring me to the human-made suburban structures and other times they would reveal the simplicity of creation.
It was almost a month since I released my book and I was struggling to find anyone to even read my work let alone make enough income to feel validated for the time I put into its creation. I couldn’t feed my family selling a few books a week. The enormous weight of the real world was taking its toll on my creative sanity.
I was so far away from my dream as I walked the downward trail questioning my next move. I put whatever I could summon into my belief of earthly heaven, but all I could feel was a walking hell. I was only traveling for a few minutes, but I felt so tired as I lifted my heavy boots.
I saw a nearby bench in the distance, so I turned toward it hoping to rest my cold feet underneath its comfort. It laid between a rickety bridge and another trodden path that branched out towards the street. It looked so welcoming as I searched for the strength to lift my weary feet three more steps.
When I got closer, I reached out my arm and grabbed the wooden back to brace myself and sit on the right side of the bench. I took a deep breath with my bony elbows resting on my wobbly knees. My claw-like hands moved up and down my wrinkled forehead as the grinding of my teeth became the only sound I could hear. The path the others wanted me to follow was widening with every thought of failure laughing its way to the surface of my soul.
My violent hands became forceful while l scratched the top of my head so hard the marks would have been visible from the gloomy sky above. I had such a feeling of anger boiling over that I slapped my hands on my knees and looked at the clouds. I shook my head in frustration as I exhaled.
Then out of nowhere, I saw him. Sitting on the top of a lamp post directly over the bridge lay a blackbird. I wasn’t frightened when I saw him, I was angry. It was almost like he was sitting there mocking me. He didn’t make a sound, but I could feel discontent as my voice echoed through the thick trees. I internally screamed at the bird to fly away, but he continued to mock me with his lack of movement.
I was so full of rage as he flapped his dirty feathers. I waved my left hand in the air and yelled at him profusely to go away. I continued to scream at the unresponsive bird, but he remained fixed to his post. If the path I was following had the power to move mountains, I figured repositioning a simple bird was possible. I wanted to test the ability of my mind and forcefully get him to fly to the adjacent lamp post to my left. I wanted to prove to myself that the path I was following was the way. If I could get the bird to move with a thought, it would validate the outrageous claims that I had control over my physical environment.
I attempted to visualize the bird flying to the nearby lamp post and even tried to get inside of his head to demand him to relocate. It seems ridiculous, but I was so fed up with the lack of movement in my own life I was willing to try anything to regain my faith. I sat with my sunken eyes closed for what seemed like an eternity, but each time I looked up, he remained stationed at his post.
I decided my attempts were futile and in another moment of self-defeat, I looked in his direction and softly yelled the words I give up.
As soon as the words released from my mouth, he took flight. He didn’t reposition himself to the lamp post I ask him to occupy but flew up the path that held my footprints. When this happened, I immediately stood up from the bench and started to follow him. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but my only instinct was to move forward.
As I walked the path towards my primary dwelling, my bitterness seemed to disappear as my feet found the footprints I left behind. I couldn’t look up from the thin layer of snow as I purposely placed my boots into each imprint. It almost became a game as I marched one by one. With each forward step, I grew dissident. The beauty of the landscape surrounding my actions and the passion behind the dream placed inside my heart was too vital for me to give up just yet. I decided to push forward and see where this mysterious road would take me.
Then out of nowhere, I heard him. Resting on a lamp post a hundred feet away from the bridge over troubled water stood the same blackbird. He wasn’t silent anymore but echoed a series of loud caws in my direction. I immediately froze in my footprints unable to move in any direction. All I could do was stare at the mixture of sounds vibrating down into my being. Every time I thought he would fly away, he got louder.
Every time I tried to move his improvised song invited me to listen. I stood in disbelief as I watched him for over a minute. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was this the same blackbird I yelled at moments before?
I took a breath and listened to his musical voice calling to me from above. It wasn’t the direction I asked him to move, but as I exhaled, I felt connected to his presence. When I stopped forcing his movement, I was free to experience his song.
I felt reborn again as I opened the back door to my home. I jumped back into my work and looked for any direction that could bring me closer to my goals.
Over the next month I would open every door I could get my hand through. I figured if I opened enough doors I would eventually find the right direction, but my bank account was taking a beating.
We were moving into a little two-bedroom apartment close to my family as the house we were renting was in the process of being sold. I only had a couple of clients I was working with at the time, so I decided to ramp up my small business. I spent a week sending out emails to potential clients and prospects trying to bring in enough cash to keep my dream alive.
I remember getting an email back from a potential client one day in response to an email. She was looking to start her own business but had given up on the idea before my email found its way into her inbox. She was currently unemployed and taking care of her sick father after her mothers passing. She knocked on every door and put out hundreds of resumes but couldn’t find any work. Her email response was a series of explanations of why she couldn’t get a break in life.
As I read her lengthy email, I couldn’t help but notice all the negative I am statements that infected her words. I decided to take off my business attire and find a way to change her thinking. I crafted a detailed email to send back to give her hope and let her know she wasn’t alone. I wanted her to see that life can be great once she had faith good things were possible.
Later that night I was checking my email to see if I had any bites from potential clients, but the only email highlighted was from the same women. She was so grateful for my encouraging words and told me she was putting her situation in Gods hands.
At the end of the email, she asked me a question that shocked me. She asked if I was a Christian. I stood up from the kitchen table a little confused because I didn’t make any references to Jesus in my email. Her question seemed odd to me. I emailed her back and told her I wasn’t a Christian, but I did believe in a power that connects us all. I even sent her a copy of my book.
I woke up the next morning and grabbed my phone to see if any prospects had responded to my proposal, but the only message waiting for me was from the same women again. She had read my book cover to cover and explained to me how much of a blessing it was for her. As I read the email, she told me how my words helped her face the anxiety that was driving her fear of failure and the nervous feelings that existed in her life.
It was only one person, but the encouraging words she expressed precisely represented what I envisioned my book would become. A piece of literature that could lift someone from a life they thought was already written and find a better part of themselves.
I felt so alive as I read her words. She even told me she was offered a temporary position the day after she read my book and was starting her new job that week.
I read her email over and over, and each time I felt resurrected. When I looked in the mirror, I could see the reflection of the man I wanted to become. I intended to lift her spirits but what she gave me in return was immeasurable.
This personalized email gave me proof that my purpose and my words could help someone searching for hope in a world surrounded by anguish. It was the first time I was able to empower a complete stranger to find the strength to look beyond what they see and encounter a place where expectation became a friend and not an enemy.
The question she asked about being a Christain stuck with me. I didn’t think I was a Christian. I wasn’t even sure what being a Christian meant so I decided to go back to the source. I now had a whole new set of unanswered questions floating around in my mind. That Sunday I attended a Christian church to see what I could find. I even scheduled a meeting with my reverend to discuss my ideas about God and what it meant to be a Christian.
When I meet her at my church, I had a list of questions at the forefront of my mind. As I walked through the doors of the church, it was empty. When she went back to her car, I stood looking at the altar and realized it was the first time I was ever alone in the church. It felt strange to look at the abandoned seats. With only myself and the closest person I could find to God, I asked my questions and presented my thoughts.
We sat in the back of the church for over an hour discussing what Jesus represented. I was a little nervous as I explained to her my new beliefs because it was miles from the God taught in Sunday school. I was unsure how she was going to react to my thoughts and my questions, but I felt connected to her willingness to listen.
As we were about to leave the empty church, she said something I believe sparked my desire to write this book. She said a person’s connection to God is never the same for everyone. It is on the journey to find God that he will reveal himself.
As I drove off, I couldn’t help but think back to the first day I heard a voice inside myself ask the question that changed my life. I flashed back to all the moments since then when I felt a connection to something I couldn’t understand.
Was that the day I started my journey to find God? Was the decision I made to follow my passions a decision to let God into my life? In the moments when I felt lingering doubt and fear was it God that brought me out of the dark? Was every moment from that day leading me to the realization that God was closer than the threatening clouds where the others said he was resting?
I’m not sure if I believe everything the church represents, but I’m convinced it can provide answers when you are willing to look through the stained glass windows. When I looked beyond religion, I was able to feel a connected relationship to a childlike belief in a divine power.
I was still looking for a way to incorporate my passion into some financial gain so I could continue this journey. With my brother off work resting his back, I discussed with him a new idea to shed light on other unknown artists.
There were a ton of musicians, photographers, and other creatives around our hometown, so we decided to develop a website to share their passion for the arts. My brother would take care of the social media, and I would write featured articles and share their stories.
Over the next two months, my brother and I attempted to find other artists that shared our love. We launched our website, and I wrote over a dozen articles on the talented men and women that comprised our city. We did interviews and made some connections, but after a few short months, we were still relatively unknown. It felt like the next road to connect my writing to a broader audience, but we were struggling to find support for our idea.
We continued to push through because I could see an opportunity to not only follow my passion but bring together all artists to share ideas, creations, and experiences.
My brother and I were texting back and forth one day tossing around plans to grow the idea when I got a call from my mom. My grandfather was back in the hospital and although there wasn’t a significant concern I had a sinking feeling as I hung up the phone. The laughter that I brought to my last visit may not be my only objective this time around.
Check back in next Sunday for Chapter 9 – Personal Crosses
Preview
IT WAS EASTER Monday when my grandfather was checked in to the local hospital. It seemed like one of his routine visits, so I kept checking in on his progress to see what the medical staff had to say. Nothing looked…
July 22, 2018
Blackbird – Chapter 7
I CONTINUED TO inspect these liberal ideas as I prepared for the release of my first book. I even dusted off the bible my mother gave me for my confirmation to see if I could find any more information to validate these theoretical claims. I was hesitant to tell anyone about what I was researching because I was afraid of what they may think. I didn’t want to be labeled some born again Christian.
As I dug further and further into the alternative suggestions, the distorted pieces started to fit. I still wasn’t sure how they lined up, but as I configured the detached fragments around the edges, I couldn’t help but look further toward the center of the distinct impression. The deceptive illusion on the outside of the unsealed box was showing a glorified depiction of a man, but the pieces on the inside were showing a different picture I could only comprehend with my new mind.
[image error]I was searching for definitive answers but struggling to make sense of what existed outside of the dirty window I was conditioned to leave closed. I wanted to reach through and explore the warm rain on my upturned palm but was afraid to unlock the stained window and feel pure intention pass through my reversible inhibition.
I thought back to the last time I felt the refreshing rainfall on my extended hand as I was looking for an answer. I didn’t struggle or fight with the question but just asked the question and let the silence guide my search.
Within this idea of silence my exploration of different meditation techniques expanded into my structured routine. I even went to a meditation class to see if I could gain any insight on how to better enhance its benefits. To be in complete silence can be an extremely frightening place to experience when you first close your eyes.
There is nowhere to hide when you decide to go into the silence. It’s only you and your innermost thoughts. If your distorted reflection shows weakness, you will not want to stay long. You will devise a dramatic story to tell yourself it has no benefit because the unilateral pain is to difficult to explore. That’s why so many of us use external distractions like television, social media, and drugs to combat the silence that has no sympathy.
When I first started to practice the art of meditation, I didn’t last a single minute. My unwanted thoughts would rage back and forth creating a feeling of anxiety that would force me to get off the uneven floor. Sitting in complete silence is not as comfortable as it sounds when you are trying to escape from yourself.
Every morning I would try again, but each time I would fail. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. My confusion was interrupting the silence as I heard the short quick breaths coming from my nostrils like the increased heartbeat of a frightened child afraid to look under his bed.
When I decided to focus on my breathing and not my thoughts, I found a connection to the space between the confusion. When my breath was the focus, I got lost in the freedom of its simplicity.
I desperately wanted to tell someone what I thought I found but I couldn’t get the nerve to express my new-found beliefs.
As my brother was about to turn twenty-one, I was struggling to figure out what to get him for a gift. I came up with a couple of good ideas but couldn’t decide between an inspirational book or an old Beatles vinyl record I found. One could give him specialized knowledge, and the other could lift his rebellious spirit.
As I debated which one he needed more, I realized the gift I started to open might have the ability to empower him when he realized it’s already in his possession. I decided I wouldn’t place his present in a closed box, but I would give him the available knowledge to open the voluntary box.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to articulate my new beliefs in God when I picked him up that morning. I just told him I wanted to go for a long drive and talk about life. My hometown has a ton of history and spectacular landscapes, so I had the perfect destination in mind as we headed east. I recently found a historic lighthouse overlooking the limitless ocean where I would sit for hours to write and explore the depths of my soul.
As we drove down the winding road, I could feel the sudden wind blowing against the car as the sound of crashing waves expanded towards the shore. I knew we were getting close, but I had no idea how I was going to approach him with my new impression of God. I even slowed my acceleration to give me time to open the intimate conversation.
I wasn’t even sure what I found, but I knew I needed to explore the information, and I needed to verbalize this insane idea that we are all connected to God. I could see the unmanned lighthouse approaching as I felt my heart going boom boom boom. I instinctively looked down at my phone in the consul and asked my brother to put on my favorite tune by Peter Gabriel.
I can honestly say that Solsbury Hill is my favorite song of all time and its been that way for as long as I can remember. I have always felt an emotional connection to the song but until recently I never actively listened to the lyrics. The words touched me differently lately, so I asked my brother to crank the volume and listen to the song for himself. I believed the lyrics held a hidden meaning I was beginning to understand.
We drove the rest of the way in silence as the words floated throughout the car. Each word that pounded from the vibrating speakers provided me with united strength. We arrived at the lighthouse, and the infinite ocean was upon us. I felt an inherent connection as I step out of the machine. I was ready to speak the truth I was afraid to free.
Over the next nine minutes, I proceeded to tell my brother my interpretation of the song and everything I was reading around a person’s connection to God. I explained in detail how I believed our thoughts and beliefs, the words we use to describe ourselves and our imagination might be our everyday conversation with God.
As I let him into my mind, I could see his squinting eyes glaze over as the expression on his face mirrored the image of skepticism I was desperately avoiding. I tried to answer his numerous questions to the best of my knowledge but to be honest, I was still trying to put the pieces together.
We decided to take a walk so I could show him the quiet place I contemplated these ideas and listened to the brand-new sounds catching fire in my mind.
As we stood looking at the body of water, I asked him if he ever talked to God. He responded with a quick no. I then asked him if he ever listened to God. This time his response was delayed as he couldn’t understand the question. I then told him that I believe our conversation with God is never one-sided because when you call his name, I think he always answers. It may not be the way you think, but if you look without sight, you will feel an answer.
When we pulled up to his house, I could see there was a burning question he wanted to ask me. It had nothing to do with our previous conversation but about his distant relationship with his father. He was having a hard time letting go of the resentment building after his parent’s separation. There were no visible tears, but I could tell it was a huge weight that was holding him down.
When he asked me how he should approach his father I wasn’t sure how to respond. I sat for a moment before a word flashed before my mind. It was the same familiar word that was continually appearing as I explored the concept of God. I told him that forgiveness might be the only path to free himself from the unnecessary pain he was experiencing. The act of forgiving was not for his father but more for himself. The freedom of the action would not only release his suffering but build a new relationship that wouldn’t exist holding on to the past.
His father’s decisions may have been wrongheaded but to judge any person was misguided. Forgiving his father would not only free himself from chronic pain but create a new beginning where he could appreciate a new relationship with his father.
With Christmas right around the corner, I felt such a strong spirit of togetherness. It’s wasn’t only my favorite time of year, but this Christmas was uncommon as it was the first time in ten years we had the opportunity to celebrate with our families.
I decided to cease my attempts to find a publisher and self-publish my work. I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task to reach my lofty goals without the backing of a legit publisher, but I couldn’t wait a lifetime for someone to take a chance on my book. I was going to release my private thoughts and let the chips fall where they may.
When the author copy of my book arrived at my front door, I turned into a spoiled child as I ripped open the sealed package in anticipation of what was inside. My book laid right beside the mangled brown wrapping paper as I thought back to all the early mornings and long hours I put into my dream of writing a book.
I snatched it from the crowded kitchen table with my right hand and went to sit in front of our newly decorated Christmas tree. I could smell the forced air floating from the inside of each chapter as I used my thumb to fan out the pages like a child’s cartoon comic book. I rubbed my sweaty fingers over the glossy cover to make sure it was real.
As I placed it under the artificial Christmas tree, I flashed back to all the unguarded moments over the last six months that lead to its sobering realization. My finished book was in my hand, and I could touch, smell and feel my unspoken thoughts.
I sat in front of the green tree for over an hour as I randomly took the book in my hand to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I knew it wouldn’t exist without one thought and one decision. I could touch the printed pages because of a creative idea that originated in an invisible world I could only feel.
I placed the book back under the tree for the third time as my attention shifted to the tiny star sitting high above the store-bought ornaments we randomly set the night before. We only unboxed the tree a few days back, and no gifts were under the loosely separated branches. The only thing I could see when I looked under the pre-lit tree was my unwrapped book.
I looked at the light once more and felt a sense of sudden hope shining through each branch that I purposely positioned. The significance of the season and the symbols of Christmas started to take on a new meaning as I gazed upon the fixed star. Like the three wise men who were inspired to follow the Christmas star, my new-found hope and rediscovered passion became the distant star I was following.
Was my love for writing a gift from God? As I stared with an intense curiosity into the light, I thought of all the great treasures that God left under the tree of life. I thought of all the civilized people around the world putting up their own Christmas tree unaware of the gifts God has placed underneath their hearts.
When I rose from the base of the tree and reflected on its significance, I decided I was going to release my book Christmas Day. Everything was ready, but until that moment I wasn’t sure the actual date. There were only a few people that read the final draft, so my hesitation to pick a day stemmed from my fear of how it would be received. I had a big piece of my soul and new beliefs wrapped inside the pages so exposing myself like a newborn child was a horrifying thought.
I sat in front of my computer a couple of days before Christmas and looked at the publish button like it was a doorway into my soul. I placed the three corners of the arrow over the button as my index finger tapped uncontrollably and synced to the vibration of my right foot. All I had to do was click on a controlled mouse, but the fear of opening this door made my stomach turn.
I stepped away and went to the kitchen sink to splash some cold water on my face. I had my right hand placed on my left as the icy water filled my connected hands. I tossed each cupful into my face and aggressively wiped my eyes. I did this a dozen times before I stepped back in front of the computer. I dug deep inside of myself and looked my weakness dead in its eye. I turned into another and dug up the better part of myself. I hit that button and stood back with my arms behind my back as my ego stood behind me in disbelief. It was written, it was done.
While my wife and I prepared ourselves for Christmas Eve service, I found the freshly pressed shirt she put out for me. I hadn’t been to church on Christmas Eve in many years, but when I put my arm one by one into the sleeves and covered my naked chest, I felt the cover of warmth.
My entire family was present as we anticipated the celebration waiting for us after the service. The last time I attended church, I only saw around twenty-four patrons in the pews, but on the eve of the birth of Jesus Christ, it was full of faithful participants. I felt so much peace as I watched my family interact with each other inside of spontaneous laughter and love.
As my reverend started to speak and we moved to our seats, I saw a sign I never noticed before. I am pretty sure it was hanging there since I was a kid but my new found eyes couldn’t look away. I stared in the direction of the printed words as if someone started to speak them into my idle thoughts.
Directly above me stood a sequence of words that seemed like they fell from the cross. He that receiveth you receiveth me. How did I not see these words the last time I stood in the same place. The entire congregation disappeared as I contemplated these biblical words. I then looked to my right, and another sign shifted my attention. He that receiveth me, receiveth him that sent me. I tapped my brother on his shoulder and pointed to the banners to watch him read the words. When he looked back in my direction, all I could do was smile. He saw the same words uncovered on either side of the cross.
Waking up Christmas morning was so different than years past. Not only was my daughter old enough to enjoy the gifts Santa Claus left under the tree but we were about to spend the day with our families. She laid sound asleep on her bed as we stood above her waiting for the moment she decided to open her eyes.
I couldn’t wait any longer to see the joy on her face, so I leaned down and softly whispered in her ear. It took her a few minutes to comprehend the words I was muttering but when she realized the gifts were waiting she rushed to discover the goodies perfectly placed.
She wasn’t sure where to start so she grabbed the biggest box and ripped it open with pure emotion. I had such a feeling of satisfaction when I watched her eyes light up as she realized Santa was real. The wish list she wrote to him a few weeks prior was now a reality. With each gift she opened her belief in this imaginary figure was confirmed.
My wife also had a special gift she wanted to give to me that morning. We decided a couple of months ago to try for our second child. As we opened the last couple of gifts, she said that there was one gift left for me. I looked around the base of the tree, but couldn’t find anything.
She didn’t want our daughter to hear her words, so she whispered the gift into my ear. The seed we decided to plant months before was now a reality. Our new child was resting comfortably. It was only the size of a poppy seed, but as I placed my hand on my wife’s stomach, I could feel its presence. I couldn’t see its face and its name I didn’t know, but the gift of my unborn child was the most magnificent Christmas present.
We decided before we moved home we would try for our second child but to hear the news on Christmas morning was perfect. I felt so complete as I went about my day. The most significant day of the year was the same day I became a father once again. The tree of life gave me another gift on a day designed for birth.
Check back in next Sunday for Chapter 8 – Reimagined Journey
Preview
AFTER THE CHRISTMAS celebrations ended and the last few fireworks released into the night sky we attempted to get back to our routine. I was working on a couple of projects for my small business and trying to get my book into the hands of anyone that would read the words that ignited my passion. I sold copies to family…
July 14, 2018
Blackbird – Chapter 6
WHEN THE STABLE aircraft was making its final descent through the broken clouds, I observed the rocky landscape surrounding the calmness of the ocean. With each measured kilometer dropped I could almost hear the harmonic waves pushing up against the shore. It’s only desire was to move forward and gracefully flow as intended without resistance.
It was such a serene scene I didn’t even realize how I close I was to returning home. Once the plane found the movable bridge, I could see the others stand up in an outright panic itching to get off the mechanical bird. Each one frantically looked for their luggage and pushed their way to the front as if sudden flames engulfed the plane. Since we had a child and two small animals, we decided to wait patiently for the others, not to disturb their journey home.
[image error]With only a handful of passengers waiting we moved toward the cockpit. I looked upon the same inner doorway I entered hours before. As I walked through in the opposite direction, I couldn’t feel the resistance that accompanied my previous thoughts. I walked gracefully up the widened corridor and left my worries behind the clouds of yesterday.
We soon found ourselves standing at the top of the escalator about to make our way to the ground floor. I just had to take one step onto the endless staircase to bring me to my intended destination. The stairs circled in a continuous motion from the bottom to the top as each successive level revealed itself. I tried to put my inside foot on the next available step but soon as I hesitated the next step approached.
I would let three steps slide under my foot before I felt comfortable enough to place both feet down and let the energy in motion guide me to the level desired. I could see my family waiting at the bottom as the continuous movement of each step elevated my anticipation. I desperately wanted to embrace my family but kept two feet firmly planted on the staircase to absorb the warm smiles growing.
The preliminary steps disappeared and made their way back to the top to find the next passenger looking to make their journey down. Although I hesitated to place both feet on this endless staircase, I realized what I desperately wanted to hold couldn’t be touched from the top. I had to go to the bottom to find what I was looking for first.
After the long strenuous flight, it was awesome to embrace our families. From parents, grandparents, bothers, and sisters, each one holding their distinct glow of comfort and unconditional love. My daughter was so excited she ran back and forth to each one unsure who might have the yummiest candy.
After I grabbed my airtight bags and made my way to the parking lot, I caught a genuine feeling of excitement as a new chapter in our lives was about to be written. The easterly rainfall tapped me on the shoulders as I waited for the others to follow me through the door. Unknowingly I dropped my baggage on the concrete sidewalk and tilted my head toward the dull sky. For a split second, I could feel the quiet rainfall on my moistened skin. As I exhaled, I knew I wasn’t alone. My family soon made their way to my temporary location, and we headed to our new residence.
We were grateful that a family friend was letting us stay at his rental house until we figured out our next move. There was no loud music playing on the radio as we found the open highway, but I could intuitively feel the warm sounds of a song flapping around my mind.
As we arrived at the front door, our family helped bring in our luggage, and we spent time reconnecting and reminiscing.
With the night sky approaching and the last member made their way home my wife and I looked at each other in utter shock. We couldn’t believe that our journey was complete, and we were standing on native soil.
We still needed to find work, new possessions and make daycare arrangements among dozens of other small details. The last couple of months we spent preparing to make our journey home but now that we arrived there were so many mixed emotions.
My wife and I developed a lengthy to-do list that seemed like it was a never-ending story. As we sat in our new surroundings, I could feel the tide changing again. The overwhelming opposition wanted reinsurance, but I refused to let my face show the worry I thought was left in the clouds. The brief honeymoon was ending, and the real world was staring us in the face. All the fears that sat with me at the kitchen table months before followed me home even though I stood miles from where they originated.
My wife was fortunate enough to get offered a job and although it wasn’t exactly the opportunity she was hoping for she decided to give it a shot. We spent a few weeks gathering all the essentials that we needed and started to shuffle through the fifty boxes stacked in the basement. Some things we found easily and others we had to dig to the bottom to wrap our hands around.
After tossing out a few resumes and attending a few interviews, I had a couple of different sales roles offered to me. It was about half what I was making at my last position, but I was grateful for the opportunity. We sat down and talked about the offers and the possibility of me going away for training. My wife could sense it wasn’t the direction I wanted to take even though I made every indication I would do what was needed.
I had a small consulting business, and some savings tucked away but questioned if it would be enough to sustain the extra expenses that were accumulating. As we discussed the different scenarios, my wife reminded me of the decision I made when I stared into the hypnotic sunrise months before.
We all have days when we question ourselves, she said, but we can get through this because we are stronger, so write, and we will find a way.
Coming from my wife, this seemed so out of the ordinary. The only time she ever gave me this type of inspiration and motivation is when she could see I was struggling. Most days she battled her own disease-ridden demons bordering her personality and peace. However, the days when I needed to fight my demons she always seemed to find inner strength.
During that first month, I was not only able to spend my days playing dress up with my daughter but put the finishing touches on my book. I got the interior layout finished, developed some marketing material and sent the last tweaks to the editor. I spent hours every morning before sunrise sending my book to anyone that would read it.
I contacted and forwarded my book to hundreds of influencers and publishers through their websites and social media pages. I was desperately searching for support, but only a couple of people even respond to my requests. I thought back to all the countless articles I consumed explaining the difficulties of trying to get published and recognized as a first-time author.
I was trying to stay positive, but the lack of responses weighed heavily on my ambitions. I checked my email every morning, but the empty inbox was extremely discouraging. I continued reading and listening to any piece of inspirational material that could lift my simulated hope, but it was sinking fast. One minute I was full of creative inspiration and the next I was fighting depression.
As I was making supper one night, I decided to reach deep into my phone and find anything that could bring my faith back to surface. I randomly click on videos with no real intention but to find an authentic voice that could resurrect my dream. Doubt was digging hard into my restless soul trying to unearth my weaknesses.
With every swift blow of its sickening blade, I could feel my heart sinking to the bottom. All the love that I found trapped itself on the other side of my reoccurring depression. I felt like I was sitting in the middle of a shallow ocean on a rowboat without any oars to help guide my forward progression. I was reaching my hand into the polluted water on both sides of the leaky boat trying to push the water behind me. I was working so hard to move the vessel, but my arms were getting tired as I inched toward the shore. I was searching for a sheltered beach to bring me peace but could only see the distance against the wind.
When I finally placed the frozen chicken nuggets in the oven and the interview I was watching ended, another video emerged on my phone. It was a man reading from a book by David Allen called the Power of I am. I didn’t pay much attention to it at first, but as I turned on the stainless-steel oven, I heard the narrator say a combination of words that instantly caught my attention. I am is the name of God immediately stamped its impression into my conscious mind.
Over the last few months, I heard about the importance of the words I am when describing a potential state you wanted to experience. I was even using this idea when I envisioned the person I wanted to become. Before that moment God never entered into the equation. I listened to the first chapter and then immediately put on the second and third chapters.
I was so intrigued I completely forgot about the frozen entre I just put under the heated elements. I rushed to find the oven mitt and pulled out the charred nuggets. When my daughter asked what we were having for supper, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I was staring at a pan of indigestible food and trying to comprehend what I heard.
Was I announcing the presence of God within me when I used these two words? For thirty-seven years I never felt connected to God in any way other than watching my favorite athletes thanking God in a few post-game interviews.
As the narrator quoted scripture, I started to hear some of the same things I had been researching. I was trying to incorporate these same philosophical concepts into my own life but had no idea these theories existed in an outdated book I had hiding in my sock drawer.
The bible was never a book I thought about picking up at my local bookstore, but with God presented to me in this light, I began to question everything. Was I missing a big piece of the puzzle? Was the image of God given to me as a child completely wrong? Does the spirit of God really exist in my thoughts and the words I speak?
After I tucked my family safely in their beds, I listened to the final chapters. The central ideas around my connection to God consumed my thoughts as I stayed up until the late hours reading and listening to others who expressed this same belief.
Later in the week, I got an unexpected phone call from my mom. My grandmother had called her earlier that day because she got a call from our reverend requesting our family take part in Sunday service. Included in the request was a scripture reading from someone in our family.
Over the years I had given numerous readings at weddings and special occasions, so my grandmother requested I join the family. As my mom asked me to be the one to read that Sunday a smile accompanied my look of disbelief. I only attended church once in thirteen years, and I just visited that one time because I told my grandparents I would have my daughter baptized in the name of the Lord. Thirteen years is a long time, but the timing of this request seemed to perfect to pass up.
That Sunday as I walked the staircase I could hear the church bells ringing in my ears. Although I wasn’t a religious man, I walked through the door with an open mind that didn’t exist a few days before. My family and I sat in the pews as I looked over my reading for the third time.
When I walked to the podium, I got a little nervous and frightened by the eyes of the crowd piercing into my soul. It’s like they knew I didn’t belong. I can’t recall the exact reading but remember the ease that each word rolled off my tongue. When I rejoined my family, I sat with my hands on my knees with a quiet expression of curiosity growing behind my newly discovered eyes.
I continued to explore this relationship with God over the next few weeks before I got another phone call from my mom. The news wasn’t so perfect this time as my grandfather was rushed to the hospital after he had some complications with his medications. I knew my grandfather wasn’t doing well over the last year and it was a contributing factor in my desire to move home.
I visited him many times over the years at the hospital, so when I made my way up to see him, I wasn’t overly concerned. My only objective was to see him smile, so I spent the next couple of hours joking around with the family sitting nearby and reminiscing about when I was a kid. My father left when I was a toddler, so my grandfather raised me as his son and taught me so much about the importance of family and how to be a loving father. We never had a lot growing up, but the love of family was never lacking. Looking in from the outside I knew his body was preparing for departure, but I could still see the light inside of him that resembled a newborn child as he smiled from ear to ear.
As I cracked a few more jokes at my grandfather’s expense, I noticed an older woman walking through the room holding a frayed bible. She immediately caught my attention, so I asked her who she was looking for that day. She was the reverend on duty visiting sick patients around the hospital. My grandfather’s name was next on the list, and she wanted to check in to see how he was doing. My grandfather and I chatted with her for a few minutes before she made her way to the fifth floor.
When she left, I couldn’t help thinking about the ideas that were flying around in my mind, so I instinctively got up from the swivel chair and followed her to the elevator. When I finally tracked her down and placed my hand on her shoulder, I asked her the question that was burning a hole in my mind. I asked her to explain what the words I am that I am meant to her.
She looked at me with an amused grin and purposely stayed silent as the surprised look on her face became expressive. She didn’t hesitate and replied. I am is the name of God my son. We talked for three long minutes before I headed back to check on my old man. When I walked back into the room and seen the innocent smile still resting on his wrinkled face, I fully realized that I am grateful I could experience this moment with my grandfather.
Check back in next Sunday for Chapter 6 – Tree of Life
Preview
I CONTINUED TO inspect these liberal ideas as I prepared for the release of my first book. I even dusted off the bible my mother gave me for my confirmation to see if I could find any more information to validate these theoretical claims. I was hesitant to tell anyone about what I was researching because I was…
