Archive - May, 2010

Dare you to move

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Do you remember the movie “The Truman Show”? It was a story about a man (played by Jim Carrey) whose entire life was a 24 hour a day reality show. Everyone in his life was in on the plot. Everyone, that is, except for Truman. Even though everyone goes to great lengths to conceal from him what’s really going on, he begins to suspect that he is playing a part. A part that he would have not scripted for himself.

Does your life feel like this sometimes? Do you feel like you’re playing a part for everyone else? Does it leave you feeling empty inside? Did you ever stop to consider that even though you’re doing everything everyone else is expecting of you, perhaps God had something else in mind for you? Something that goes against what you’ve always been lead to believe? Can you move beyond religion and move towards faith? Can you imagine beyond the constraints of your current situation? Can you trust that God can make sense of something you can’t seem to envision? I can. Because God can see far beyond what makes sense from our limited perspective.

I dare you to follow your passions

I dare you to lead with your heart

I dare you to believe that dreams can come true

I dare you to move

“Dare You To Move” by Switchfoot

Welcome to the planet
Welcome to existence
Everyone’s here
Everyone’s here
Everybody’s watching you now
Everybody waits for you now
What happens next
What happens next

[Chorus]
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened before

Welcome to the fallout
Welcome to resistance
The tension is here
Tension is here
Between who you are and who you could be
Between how it is and how it should be

[Chorus]

Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?
Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here

I dare you to move
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened
Today never happened
Today never happened before

This post is part of the One Word at a Time blog carnival: Emptiness. For more stories about emptiness, please visit my friend Bridget Chumbley at One Word at a Time.

Honoring the price of freedom (by Billy Coffey)

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He sits across from me and there is silence, but it’s the sort of silence that comforts rather than makes you tick off the seconds until you can leave. It’s the same look with him, always the same look—a grizzled face worn by time and living, deep eyes that have seen too much, and a bulge of chewing tobacco in his left cheek.

The tobacco always makes me wonder. Not that he uses it; most every male here chews or dips or smokes, even some of the ladies. What makes me wonder is how it gets from the pouch to his mouth.

I stare down at his hands, now resting on the top of the table. His thumbs are gone. The pinkies and ring fingers of each hand are fused together, forming one large clump of smooth, pink flesh. Both second fingers are wrapped around his forefingers in a mangled cross-my-heart-hope-to-die way. His hands have been that way for thirty years, fused and mangled and scarred.

He’s never told me how they got that way, and I’ve never asked. Didn’t have to. As a child, I was told he’d jumped on a hand grenade to save his friends. He picked it up with both hands to throw it back, and it exploded.

He always kept his hands in his pockets when around me back then. I remember the first time he took them out and patted me on the shoulder. I was a kid, maybe eight, but I understood what that act meant. I honored it. I still do.

“He ain’t goin’ to Arlington this year,” he says to me. “He” being the President. The man sitting across from me won’t say his name. He says it hurts too much.

I say nothing. I’m not supposed to. There are conversations you are a part of and conversations you’re there only as a witness. I am a witness. That’s fine with me.

“It ain’t right, what he’s doin’. I know he don’t like the military none.” He points one mangled hand at me and says, “But you know what? I don’t give a damn. Us vets are used to part of this country hating us, calling us killers and worse. That’s their right.”

I offer a weak nod. It’s true. They have that right.

“But you know why they have that right?” he asks. “Because we gave it to ’em. We did. Not the politicians or the professors. We bled for it. Died for it. And then we come home like this,

(both hands now, in front of me)

and we don’t ask for nothin’. But it sure as hell would be nice if he’d postpone his vacation long enough to thank us for giving him a country to run.”

He spits into his bottle. It’s an angry spit. A sad spit. Then he settles back into his chair and sighs.

“Know what I think?”

I do. I always have. But I don’t say so, because he needs to say it and I need to hear it and a part of me thinks we all do.

“I think this country is the best there is. I think it was built by God himself to keep this world together. To be a place of freedom, of right. People don’t say that much anymore. They’d rather talk about how wrong we’ve been. And they’re right, you know. We’ve been wrong before. Lotsa times. But that don’t make the right less so. It’s us the world looks to when things go to hell. And when it does—and you know it will—who will they call to stand in the breach? Congress? The President? No. They call us.”

He spits once more.

“And you know what, son? It don’t matter if he’s there to lay that wreath and honor the fallen. Not one damn bit. Because whether he’s there or not, whether we’re hated or loved, when they call us, we’ll answer.”

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at his blog What I Learned Today and follow him on twitter at @BillyCoffey

Yes…but (Oswald Chambers)

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The following is taken from Oswald Chambers’s daily devotion, My Utmost for His Highest.

“Lord, I will follow Thee; but . . .” Luke 9:61

Supposing God tells you to do something which is an enormous test to your common sense, what are you going to do? Hang back? If you get into the habit of doing a thing in the physical domain, you will do it every time until you break the habit determinedly; and the same is true spiritually. Again and again you will get up to what Jesus Christ wants, and every time you will turn back when it comes to the point, until you abandon resolutely. “Yes, but – supposing I do obey God in this matter, what about . . . ?” “Yes, I will obey God if He will let me use my common sense, but don’t ask me to take a step in the dark.” Jesus Christ demands of the man who trusts Him the same reckless sporting spirit that the natural man exhibits. If a man is going to do anything worth while, there are times when he has to risk everything on his leap, and in the spiritual domain Jesus Christ demands that you risk everything you hold by common sense and leap into what He says, and immediately you do, you find that what He says fits on as solidly as common sense. At the bar of common sense Jesus Christ’s statements may seem mad; but bring them to the bar of faith, and you begin to find with awestruck spirit that they are the words of God. Trust entirely in God, and when He brings you to the venture, see that you take it. We act like pagans in a crisis, only one out of a crowd is daring enough to bank his faith in the character of God.

Twitter Update: The highly edited version

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I’m sort of re-thinking the weekly twitter update. I’m toying with the idea of actually writing about social media in general and Twitter specifically. I’m still undecided about that at the moment. But I do know that these posts have become really time consuming to write, so I’ve decided to start posting very edited versions of what I tweeted for the week. If you follow me on twitter (and why wouldn’t you?), you may remember that I posed the question: “What is the point of Twitter for you?” I got some very candid and interesting answers. Stay tuned for a post on that very soon. In the meantime…

The best of me (or not) on the twitter this week:

Bahamabob And the moral of the story? Write a few good books, then you can coast.

RT @Bahamabob: John Grisham’s A Time to Kill was rejected by 16 publishers before finding an agent who eventually rejected him as well

You know, when I get an email with the subject line: MUST SEE, I delete it. Because you’re not the boss of me…

Not that there’s anything wrong with that…

What’s up w/the comments about the Barbies in the box? It’s not like I dismembered them or anything http://bit.ly/am0IAR

Just saw someone wearing a shirt that said “werewolves beware” which would have been cute if not worn by a 40yo woman.

This year’s theme: You are special. Just like everyone else. Which coincidentally was last year’s theme.

On my way to 3rd grade awards ceremony at my girl’s school.

@WriteOnRideOn If “Ifs” were fifths, we’d all be drunk.

@duane_scott Singing. Practice for Sunday morning. We also pray together & make obscure pop culture references.

@sarahmsalter Yes. I am more experienced than you are, but immaturity can be timeless.

@CandySteele No. I only accept compliments about @billycoffey’s blog. @peterpollock is the complaint dept.

@MarketerMikeE And all the people said, “Amen”

@MarketerMikeE World famous? You must have me confused with another katdish. Oh, who am I kidding? There’s only one me.

Oh, you sneaky spammers! Best salutation of the day: Always yours, Mr. Cialis

RT @noveldoctor: The best moments in writing and life are the ones that bring unscripted smiles

“If it wasn’t for secretaries I wouldn’t have a step-mom.” – Andy #theoffice

Woke up this morning w/the final scene of #24 still fresh on my mind. I cain’t quit you, Jack Bauer!!!

Now if you’ll all excuse me. I’m a little verclempt…Talk amongst yourselves…#24

Jack Bauer is THE MAN! #24

Okay….when do they start filming the movie? #24

I repeat: GAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! #24

GAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! #24

RT @Iconic88: “Facebook is the people you went to school with. Twitter is the people you wished you went to school with. @twittelator”

So I ask you, lovely people: What’s the point if Twitter for you?

The response? “I don’t get Twitter. What’s the point of Twitter?” To which I said, the point is what you want the point to be.

The other night at a dinner party people were talking about Facebook. I said I had a facebook account, but that I preferred Twitter.

@lainiegallagher You drive me crazy. You know that, right?

@KathleenOverby Oh, wait…Don’t tell him I said that.

@KathleenOverby Yes, but @billycoffey watches an obscene amount of television.

That last waffle iron tweet was meant for @PrairieLady . Literally makes no sense when talking to myself

@katdish I couldn’t use one. It would go right next to the waffle iron I never use.

And now, I’m back inside. Stupid nature…

Not sure I like the scented body lotion I’m wearing, but the wasp in my garage seems to.

But seriously…I really need to cut my fingernails…

Don’t you hate it when people tweet stuff like, “I really need to cut my fingernails?”

@redclaydiaries Only if your grampa is a shiny vampire.

@redclaydiaries I need 6 hours of sleep. No more. I can’t explain it.

And people gonna treat you better, you’re gonna find, yes you will, that you’re beautiful as you feel ~ Carol King

You’ve got to get up every morning w/a smile on your face & show the world all the love in your heart ~ Carol King

Special Barbies

As a sort of celebration for the release of Marcus Goodyear’s new book of poetry (to take a peek yourself, click here ), several bloggers were invited to participate a writing project. There’s also a contest going on over at Tweetspeak Poetry.

The topic? Barbies. Having played with Barbies myself and now a mom with a daughter of my own who also owned her fair share, I felt it was a topic I could run with. So, here’s my take on Barbies:

Although they’re all stored away in the attic now, my daughter has quite a large collection of Barbies. Do a Google image search of “Barbies” and you will likely find:

Princess Barbies

Doctor Barbies

Mermaid Barbies

High School Musical Barbies

Camp Rock Barbies

Movie Star Barbies

Hannah Montana Barbies

Surfer Barbies

Astronaut Barbies

Heck, there’s even a President Barbie (God help us.)

Each one looking so very special and unique sitting on the shelf in the toy aisle. Each acquisition a “must have” around Christmas and birthdays. Some sing a recorded song, some are dancing ballerinas. Some have a gorgeous Malibu tan, others come equipped with a stethoscope and a clipboard. Still others come bejeweled with lavish earrings and equally lavish evening gowns. A new Barbie takes center stage in the life of a little girl.

But you know what? When all is said and done; when little girls outgrow their love of all things Barbie. All those doctors, movie stars, princesses and presidents look very much the same…

When they’re all piled up lying naked in a box.

Feel free to draw your own analogies…

BINGO!

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A few weeks ago, one of the kids in my carpool shouted out, “BINGO!” This was soon followed by another shout of “BINGO!”. Which was immediately followed by a lecture from the original caller about how a school bus was NOT a car, therefore did not constitute a BINGO.

If you haven’t figured it out, BINGO is a car game wherein you shout BINGO every time you spot a yellow car—sort of like a less violent version of Slug Bug. And do you know what? There aren’t many yellow cars being driven on the streets of my town. White, black, silver, tan, blue? Awash in them–so much so that I don’t even consciously recognize one from the other. Before my introduction to BINGO, a yellow car, while rare, would also blend into the background; just another vehicle in the never-ending sea of traffic.

But a funny thing has happened since that first game of BINGO. I notice yellow cars. I actively seek them out. Spotting a yellow car is a reward unto itself—even when I’m driving alone.

The game of BINGO, in some small way, gave me back the gift of noticing; of awareness. It reminded me how easily I can allow my world to take on a numbing sameness. In order to spot the rare, beautiful or unique, I need to be actively seeking it out.

In the mundane drudgery of life when oftentimes one day looks just like the day before, it’s easy to miss the yellow. I want to be more aware. I want to shout BINGO! each day and bring attention to the good in this world that is so often overlooked.

Now, go find you some BINGO! moments. They’re out there if you take the time to pay attention.

Grieving a love gone wrong (by Louise Gallagher)

Back in February I wrote a post for the blog carnival entitled Patiently. It was a fictional account of a victim of domestic violence. Today, I am grateful to have a guest blogger who not only knows first hand what it is to live that nightmare, but was able to escape from it.

Louise Gallagher has moved through Calgary’s corporate hallways to not-for-profit fund-raising and communications. The author of The Dandelion Spirit, A true-life fairytale of love, lies and letting-go, published in 2006, she is the producer/writer of At The Heart of Centre Stage, a one hour documentary for Global Television and numerous other video productions. In addition, Louise’s articles have been published in print and online and she has had several articles aired on CBC Radio.

Louise seeks to inspire everyone to make a difference, in their own lives and in their communities through creative expression in everything they do.

Grieving a Love Gone Wrong

When someone dies, we grieve. The process is well-documented, the steps clearly defined though seldom straight-forward. We each journey through the process at our own speed, in our own time. But, regardless of our pace, we must go through each step to come to that place where we can be at peace with only the memories of the one we loved to warm our hearts, as we learn to accept that they have gone forever as we move on.

We start with disbelief. It cannot be true. They cannot be gone. We are in denial. And then we move into anger. How could they have left us! Why me? Why them? Why now? Why? Why? Why? Anger gives way to bargaining, trying to find some way to reach peace with the inevitable truth that is edging away at the darkness, trying to bring light to the endless night we seem to have slipped into with their passing.

We’re angry they left us, angry they won’t come back. And angry there is nothing that can bring them back — though we keep searching for a way to make the pain of their going, go away. Until, finally, sadness invades our minds like fog drifting upon a river in the grey on grey world of a winter’s dawn as we wade through the pain of the truth seeping into our hearts with chilling clarity. We will never see or feel or hear them again.

As the truth settles in we learn to accept. They are not coming back. Sad, but true. But we have our memories. Those beautiful, jewel encased visions of who this person was and what they meant to our lives. And so we slip from the waters of despair into the memory banks and photo albums of their loving faces frozen in time, etching their images upon the page with our fingers lovingly caressing their smiles as we point and laugh and tell stories about them.

Remembering when. Remembering how. Remembering them. We hold their memory lovingly in our hearts and feel the breath of life return once again to our peace of mind. Knowing that whenever we need to, to have them near all we have to do is open a photo album, slip into our hearts and there they’ll be, forever and a day. And so we grieve as their memory turns into a poem of love we will cherish forevermore.

There is no poetry when grieving a psychopath

Grieving a love gone wrong hurts. Especially when the one we loved has been untrue. Has lied and deceived and manipulated to get what they want. In those memories, there is no place where it is safe to trace their image upon the pages of our mind as we carefully gather mementos in the book of love we are writing in their passing. For, no matter where we roam, the lies, the deceit, the cruelty and desperation we felt in loving them tinges our minds with the ashen silt descending from the volcano that erupted in their passing through our lives.

Where once love blossomed on every branch and flower strewn vistas of happily-ever-after cast a sweet heady aroma of bliss upon our minds, burnt out memories lie etched in stark relief upon the black and grey landscape of our dreams. We are not safe to grieve wrapped in the memories of their love and so must find a way to release the tears without falling into the river of despair as anger and hatred and revulsion invade.

And so we grieve

In anger we turn the pain of having loved a phantom onto ourselves. We search for answers to their duplicity in our own naiveté. We blame ourselves, we find solace in trying to keep alive the image of what we wanted so desperately for him or her to be. We attach ourselves to the belief we love him as reality rises with our racing hearts pounding out the truth in a mind-numbing tattoo. He is the lie. Until finally, like Vesuvius erupting, the anger boils over the top and we are free to vent our tears and pain and fears and anger.

We were betrayed. Not because of anything we did. Not because of who we were, or how we looked or behaved, but simply because the abuser was who he or she was. We were betrayed not because we deserved it, but simply because we lost track of what we truly deserve when he betrayed our truth, our faith, our hope in love. We were betrayed because he chose to betray us and we were not expecting betrayal. We were expecting the love we gave in such breathless wonder to be returned with equal honesty. We were expecting to be cherished as we cherished him. But we didn’t know that upon that first sweet hello, we were targeted for betrayal. And betrayal is hard to grieve.

I grieve for the woman who was abused

When the man who promised to love me ‘til death do us part and who took the death part way too seriously was arrested and I was set free, I wanted to mourn the relationship that was too good to be true. I wanted to grieve the man with whom I’d fallen in love. But he did not exist.

How could I mourn a dream? How could I grieve a figment of my imagination? Where was the substance to the chimera of his being in my life?

When first I was set free, I tried to mourn the man I thought he was and ended up grieving for the woman who was betrayed. Me.

I grieved for the woman who believed in Prince Charming and awoke to her worst nightmare raging in the night. I grieved for the woman who believed no one could willingly, knowingly, consciously create such evil and who had to awaken to the truth. Someone could and that someone was once a man I loved. A man who was untrue.

I grieved the woman whose hungry heart led her into his unholy arms. I grieved the woman who had to give up on believing in herself in order to keep believing in him. And I grieved the woman who almost lost her life because she could not believe she deserved to live. I grieved for that woman who was me who was so wounded, battered and bruised upon the road of life she thought she had no choice but to follow her magical thinking into the nightmare of his lies. She was betrayed and lost her way.

I grieved the past. I grieved the woman-child who believed she deserved to be abused.

In my prayers, I let him go

I did not grieve for him.

I prayed for him. I prayed for him a miracle, for only a miracle will set him free. And in my prayers, I let him go.

And focus on me.

When first I stumbled off that road to hell I could not feel my heart within me, could not feel the warmth of the sun upon my face. I could not feel. In grieving, I shifted my focus from memories of him to memories of me. My life, my joy, my sorrow, my pain, my elation. In grieving, I mourned what happened to me and rejoice in the wonder, the beauty, the joy of being alive today. In living, I create my poem of love that says, this is my one and only life. And I am the one and only me that I can be living it up for all I’m worth in the rapture of now.

Becoming all that I am meant to be

In letting go of him, I catch hold of me and wrap myself up in my loving arms. For I am the wondrous, incredible, miraculous being who has been given this gift of her life to live it in freedom. In freedom, I know that whatever lies I believed, from childhood through to this moment, there is only one lie that could hurt me now – to believe that I am not worthy of love.

He was my worst nightmare. But in his passing, I have been given the gift of truth that has saved my life – I am an awesome human being, worthy of love.

In love with me and my life, I accept all of me. Beauty and the beast. Joy and sorrow. Tears and laughter. Pain and ecstasy. Perfectly human in all my imperfections.

I am not less than, greater than, other than. I am me. And as me, I have the gift of embracing all that I am meant to be when I accept, without equivocation, my truth. I deserve to live my beautiful life without fear of being anyone other than who I am.

To read more from Louise Gallagher, please visit her at Recover your Joy.

If you are a victim of domestic violence, please know that this is not the life God intended for you. Please visit lovefraud.com. There is a better life for you.

The Obligatory Lost Post (Sort of)

I watched Lost Sunday night. For the first time. Ever.

Watched the special programming leading up to the finale, then the final episode. Watching the ending of this epic story, I felt a sense of regret for having not been a part of this six year phenomenon. And while there is no way I can truly appreciate all the relationships, sub-plots and layers of the show, I’d like to make an observation or two—not so much about the show itself, but more about the reactions from its long time fans.

Twitter was awash in #LOST hashtags Sunday night. Everything from “Beautiful, perfect ending” to “the only thing missing was the Bobby Ewing shower scene” to a simple and frustrated “WTF #Lost?”

Much more conversations ensued the following day: on Twitter, Facebook, blogs and presumably television and radio. Much of it centering around what it all meant: What was real? What did the church scene in the end represent? Where were some of the missing players and what did that mean? In my brief observation, there were as many theories as there were conversations and I got the feeling that many people just wanted some concrete, definitive answers to questions they felt were left unanswered.

It seems to me, to a certain extent, that we’ve become a society of mental couch potatoes. Millions of fans fall in love with a show which is wrapped in layers of mystery and then many cry foul when everything is not neatly explained away in the end.

There’s just something profoundly sad in that.

Our children are no longer taught how to learn, they’re taught how to test. College students understand that advancing their professor’s agenda is the recommended approach to their learning experience. We’re losing the ability to think for ourselves; to fill in the blanks with our own interpretations; our own truths.

I really think it’s okay to draw your own conclusions and to write your own narrative in the end. After all, it’s just a story.

I love the artist Seal. One of the reasons I love his music is that he never prints the lyrics to any of his songs on his CDs. When asked why, he said he wanted the songs to mean whatever the listener thought they should mean to them. I think that’s fantastic.

Of course, self interpreted lyrics aren’t always beneficial. I remember when I was in high school and the senior captain for the dance squad choreographed an entire dance routine to Grease’s song “You’re the One that I Want”. Which turned out to be unintentionally hilarious, because when John Travolta sang “I’ve got chills they’re multiplying” she thought he was singing “I’ve got shoes they’re both a-flying!” Again, fantastic!

So, what do you think? Are you okay with the Lost ending, or are you frustrated? Inquiring minds want to know…

Time for Class (by Billy Coffey)

image courtesy of photobucket.com

image courtesy of photobucket.com

Graduation took place here at the college over the weekend. Always a joyous and exciting time for all involved. For me, it means a couple months of relative peace and quiet (both of which are most welcomed). Parents, too, seem ecstatic. Not only have their little ones finally graduated, the weight of having to support them through college has now been thrown off their shoulders with gusto.

But graduation is all about the students. They’re the stars of the show. Four years of late nights and early classes, of endless tests and papers and reading assignments measured in feet rather than pages, is now gone. They’ve proved their worth and endured their hardships. They’re free. The world awaits.

This sort of sentiment was echoed last week by a student so thrilled to just get on with it that she screamed:

“I passed my exam and now I’m getting ready to start looking for a teaching job. I CAN’T WAIT TO START REAL LIFE!!”

I didn’t see this girl. Just heard her. And I likely would have at least tried to get a glimpse to see if I knew her or not, but I didn’t. Couldn’t, actually. I was too paralyzed by laughter to move.

I can’t fault her for saying something like that. Ignorance and youth is a potent combination. Mix them together and you can have all manner of explosions, everything from deeds that really shouldn’t be done to words that elicit guffaws from those older and more experienced. People like that student just don’t know any better. I know this to be true. I was young once. You should’ve heard the things I used to say.

What she’s falling for is the same thing I once did. The same thing we all have done.

She thinks the hard part is over.

It isn’t, of course. For her and the rest of those who stepped upon the stage as students and stepped off as alumni, the real hard part has yet to have happened.

School, the real school, is just starting. And so are the exams.

It’ll start when the teaching job she tries to find isn’t there because of cutbacks and a bad economy. If she’s lucky, she’ll get an aide’s position or substitute. If she’s unlucky, she’ll end up working at the Gap in the mall, making a little over minimum wage with no benefits and school loans to repay.

Another one will come when she gets married and has to learn that love is a complicated thing sometimes. It’s work and it hurts and very often you have no idea at all what you’re doing, yet you feel like you have to anyway.

And kids. Kids are exams of immense pressure and importance. Ones you think you have to not only pass, but ace. But that won’t happen. We all fail those exams from time to time.

Those are just the easy ones, too. Work and love and children are at least tests she’ll be able to somewhat prepare for. She may not know when they’ll be coming, but she may know they will someday.

Most of the other ones are not so accommodating. They’re the pop quizzes of life, the ones you can’t study for and can’t see coming. There will be a lot of those for her, too.

I wouldn’t have told her any of this if I had seen her. Sometimes you have to let someone enjoy the moment, no matter how fleeting that moment may be. And I wouldn’t want to discourage her, either. Because real life truly is exciting and beautiful and wonderful and good despite it all.

She’ll graduate one day, just as we all will. She’ll get her final grade of pass or fail and then step onto the grand stage of this world and step off into the lands of the next.

From now until then, I think, is the greatest exam of all. One that began over the weekend and will continue on until her last breath and God calls, “Pencil down.” It’s a test not of knowledge, but perseverance.

A test to fight the good fight.

To let go and to hang on.

To believe when she doesn’t want to.

And to answer without fail the bell that signals the start of class every day.

 

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at his blog What I Learned Today and follow him on twitter at @BillyCoffey

I have never been unloved

And neither have you…

 Never been Unloved (by Michael W. Smith)

I have been unfaithful
I have been unworthy
I have been unrighteous
And I have been unmerciful

I have been unreachable
I have been unteachable
I have been unwilling
And I have been undesirable

And sometimes I have unwise
I’ve been undone by what I’m unsure of
But because of You
And all that You went through
I know that I have never been unloved

I have been unbroken
I have been unmended
I have been uneasy
And I’ve been unapproachable

I’ve been unemotional
I’ve been unexceptional
I’ve been undecided
And I have been unqualified

Unaware
I have been unfair
I’ve been unfit for blessings from above
But even I can see
The sacrifice You made for me
To show that I have never been unloved

It’s because of You
And all that You went through
I know that I have never been unloved

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