XXXI: Three Year Honeymoon

I finally found the batteries. They were stored somewhere in one of the kitchen drawers.

This is what happens when you move from one place to another in your life.

The past three weeks have been mind-blowing. Time has sped up, seasons have changed, rain has fallen, sun has shined, and we have relocated from our apartment into a house.

True. Story.

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XXXI: Broken Judgemental Hearts

Tonight, with the internet finally running, I was planning on giving some details into the moving process that Darco and I just went through over the past week. However, something took place this evening that gripped my heart to the point that even the joys of moving cannot trump such an event.

I am an awkward individual. How I walk, talk, and even write, so please bare with me if something just seems…well…awkward.

This is new territory for me.

Darco and I were visiting with a family member of whom we love dearly. It’d be months since we had seen them, and Darco took some time to ensure that they saw our new living arrangement. When I got home from work (and later running), we chatted, ate, and just had a fun time sharing stories of the oddities that we conclude are indeed our lives.

Towards the end of the evening, they began to prepare to leave. It was about that time that Darco looked at them, and simply asked, “Well, aren’t you going to tell him?” I, stuffing myself with food, was curious as to what the conversation was about. I noted that they were holding a artistic illustration of a name that I assumed was associated with them.

They started to giggle.
They started to avoid.
They stated, “He’ll make fun of me”.
They said, “He won’t like it”.

It was about that time, thank you education world, that I started putting the pieces together. Our loved one is holding onto a drawing of someone’s specific name. They’re laughing, making comments such as, “But, we’re not yet, so I can’t say it…”

That’s when something came out along the lines of, “She’s not my girlfriend…officially…yet.”

In one unique way, or another…a child (younger than me) who I love dearly, frankly (to put into awkward, politically correct terminology) came out of the closet tonight.

My heart shattered.

Not because of the desire of the wanted love, relationship, etc…
Not because I was so disappointed in their “LIFE CHOICES”…

Because they were afraid of my reaction.
Because, somewhere, they were afraid of judgement.
Because I go to church. Because I’m the Christian. Because somewhere, somehow there’s this disillusion that I’m inherently going to condemn anyone who is gay, anyone who is a Democrat, anyone who votes wrong, anyone…well…period.

I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I’m spiteful.

That reaction, that reaction is exactly why I struggled in college. I didn’t want to be grouped, I didn’t want to be identified as “judgemental”. I look at Christ and the only judgement I see from Him tends to be towards religious hypocrites. If I’m to be Christ-like then how on earth could I justify that kind of condemnation towards a soul that I love dearly?

It makes no sense.

It’s an everyday reality.

This is what makes my blood boil. When Christian’s cause more damage for God’s kingdom compared to the glory that we’re to bring God. It makes me angry, a righteous zeal towards the religious elite. These are those moments when I’m happy that I’m divorced, that I’m a failure, that I’ve caused so much pain for my God. Because I’m able to look at the rest of the world and realize there isn’t a inch of my body that could justifiably be placed higher than any other human.

My life is forced humility. How could I dare bring myself to judge? What has that young child witnessed that’d cause them to ‘joke’ about being looked at differently because of a choice they’ve made? Where does it say Jesus would do that?!?! Where would it say my loving, caring Father would treat His own in that nature!?!?

Show me in the red text.
Show me the verse.
Show me where my God gave up.
Show me when my Savior told me to condemn those who are looking for hope.

Until I see that…
Until I hear His voice saying that…

I will love those closest to me. I will care for those who fear the rejection. I will house the lost.

I. Was. No. Different.



I’m “adulting”…

Last weekend, between sighting in rifles for deer season, Darco, MC, Jim, and myself started to embark on an adventure I never thought would happen.

We began the moving process.


It’s gorgeous. The basement has the drywall completed, along with the painting. Tiling is being installed right now.

Stepping outside with MC, I noticed a noise I never imagined hearing in isolation again…

As it turns out, after final calculations, there are a grand total of 62 miles…62…miles…of running trails around the lake that our house sits on.

Our. House.


I don’t know if Darco has had this sensation, but each time I’m at the house I have to remind myself that I’m not visiting. This isn’t a friends house. It’s a strange, almost sobering, sensation of accepting this gift. Believe me, any reader here knows this, this is a gift.

We’ll be completely moved in over the weekend.

God is good. In ways I’ll never understand, but each day I lock the front door, it’ll be s gentle reminder of what God does.


XXXI: Cheers Old Friend

I’ll be the first to admit that death really isn’t my thing. I’m the person who has the horrible reaction, awful timing, and is frequently thinking about what food will be served after the service has concluded.

Horrible human, right?

Death is just that; it’s death. Personally it’s merely a gateway from this fragment of life into something eternal. Therefore, it isn’t the easiest thing to accept, fret, or even try to stir emotions over.

Again, horrible human, right?

While sitting with friends this afternoon, enjoying lunch with colleagues of our house church, I received a notification on Facebook. The obituary for an old friend. I’ll confess; it stirred my emotions over the time of our existence, friendship, and overall presence in unison on the earth. Continue reading


It’s the moments you lose touch with your humanity.
Merely animal instincts drive the movement. The natural transition of flow, dating through the history of man.

Reach. Grab. Pull. Push.
Reach. Grab. Pull. Push.

I confess, after an unplanned, surprisingly stressful day, the last thing I wanted to do was run. Really, I wanted to eat pizza and sleep.

However, with 40 minutes of sunlight left, temperatures dropping from 60℉ to 50℉ in no time flat, I decided to start moving.

At first it was just a walk. Feeling the cool air, trying to breathe, trying to push away the past of the day.

That turned into a light jog. Slowly downhill, pondering if “pushing it” would be ideal…

I started to lift my legs, stretching them out as if they were wings of Mercury.

Anger; it started seething through me. I could feel blood boiling, air pushing out through my teeth, jaw clenched. Only word uttered:


Arms locked into their rhythmic, piston drive. I had already forgotten that two hills were cleared.

I could see my legs, lifting, stretching…higher and farther. Fear of my own history racing through my soul, pushing me to new heights.


Sling-shot symmetry courses through my feet. They’re in unison curving around the two 90° corners; leading the final sprint of asphalt.


There’s no fear left. There’s no thought process. Breathing locomotion takes over the mind, as the body runs itself.


The end is near.


The road ends.


Finish alone.





Staring at the sapphire sky, I allow a final breath. Acknowledging the journey’s end. A lifetime of thought, comprised into four minutes and 57 seconds, lasting a duration of one American mile.


It’s been four long years. Four years since I saw my mile time drop below five minutes.

I almost cried telling MC tonight.


…now just one more minute to go…

XXXI: Old Friend

Hello old friend.

Life slows down for no one; this is the concept that I’ve learned to embrace over the past week, month, and year. Interestingly enough, this time a year ago I was asked by an administrator if I’d stay, as a sub, for a teacher-in-service day at the school that I had been a substitute teacher in for a few weeks. Continue reading