Dear younger me,
It’s been five years now. Since the night you turned 25. I wish you would have known then how much you are loved. But then again, would we be who we are today if not for that night? You were running from yourself. Running from the pain. Running from the one who loved you the most.

I know drinking and partying felt like the way out—to forget, to numb. Running into a strange man you didn’t know. Blacked out. Found down. But the strange man didn’t get you that night. No! You were rescued, saved, and taken in. The bartender who was smoking a cigarette outside saw you lying on the cold, hard, gravel. He stood up for you and brought you inside. You made it home that night—safe and alone.

Dear younger me, this is the night that changed everything. The night you knew God was looking out for you. The night He rescued you. Not just your physical body, but your soul. This was the night that began the journey of true self-worth. You, my dear, are so loved. You made it out. You put the bottle down. You stopped chasing men. You found the very thing you’ve been searching for all along. Freedom, love, and a savior.

My raw and fragile heart pulsed persistently, yet there was no life to its monotonous melody. Where once rhythm and rapture dwelled together, an endless void now stood.

The feeling described above, of downright defeat, falling to that dreaded place called rock bottom, this is the space where your life changes. I’ve encountered it many times, in a variety of forms, and yet each time I find myself there, I find a new refrain with the same answer, a new consolation from a source of boundless comfort, and a new, fuller way of being. It has been my great fortune in these darkest of depths to simultaneously come face to face with an overwhelmingly abundant reminder of the necessity and presence of love- the purest, deepest love imaginable. That which an infant feels, held in the warm embrace of a caring mother’s arms.

Weightless.

Safe.

Valued beyond price.

Cared for beyond measure.

The strength of the sentiment comes and goes as life progresses from those rock-bottom places, dwindling here and dominating there. I’ve had many moments that led me to encounter this old friend, many moments that crushed my spirit, broke my heart, swept the floor out from under my feet, and otherwise left me broken- with a brokenness too heavy for words. And yet, every time I’ve broken myself or been broken by the thousand shocks and stings of life, I’ve subsequently found a pathway to healing through, ironically enough, words.

My memory of hearing the most unexpected news that my brother was gay is less a movie of the moment and more akin to a snapshot. We sit there, frozen in this most unanticipated and yet fortuitous moment, and I’m unable to speak… at least with my voice. Rather, my eyes become the messengers of the full and broken heart within me. The tears that pour out say, “How could I have been so ignorant?”

“How could I unknowingly call my brother a sinner?”

“What does this mean for the vision of the world as I’d come to know it?”

“I’m not sure of all the answers, but I am sure that I love you, then, now, and always brother.”

How I wish I’d said that last line out loud, and perhaps I did. The unfortunate truth is that I can’t recall what I said, and I struggle to see beyond that still frame shot of us, sitting in the bed, knees inclined towards each other, my brothers head bowed in sorrow, shame, and a smidgen of relief, while my face stands awash with tears and a recognition of something- the faintest whisper of my fate. That I am a small drop in an infinite sea of love, and my only purpose is to be sharing that love with everyone I meet, engaging it, walking with it, glorifying it with every breath I have to spare while I’m on this circuital and short trip around the sun.

I became a disciple of love after that paradoxical moment- the one in which a simultaneous destruction/death of the “me that was” and the creation/birth the “me I was always meant to be” transpired. Ironically enough, in becoming a believer in love, I vowed to leave behind religion, and God as I knew him.

As I knew him then, God was cruel, illogical, petty, inconsistent, and could hold his own with those ancient Olympians and all their missteps, petty squabbles, and brutality. I’d waste no more time putting stock into developing a faith in and relationship with this figure. Rather, I’d invest my mind and heart in the service of love. The love that my brother deserved and deserves. The love that lets you know you’re welcome, no matter who you are. The love that cares not for the worst thing you’ve done. The love that in filling you up completely calls on you to share it with one and all. And so, I followed this quest of love, and I still seek to serve it- for no greater love is there than this, to give up one’s life for one’s friends.

I found the best pathway to do so was to spend my life returning the gift of a good teacher. See, after this life-changing moment, I was fortunate enough to have an English teacher who cared for me and gave me the tools of the written word to work through my new identity, my new life. Thus, I became a teacher, trying each and every day to give away that beautiful and life-changing boon to my students. To share the power of hope, love, and to make clear to them that words are an outstanding access point to these most beautifully human powers. I try to live as a testament and a reminder that when our words are made flesh, we change those broken parts and pieces into something even more authentically us.

In the way that I’ve written this note, I hope that it’s no surprise to you, that I have somehow found my way back to a relationship with the creator, the one who is, the one who is love, or as I call him now, God, Jesus, my friend and redeemer. The one who takes the broken pieces, holds them in love, and allows for new connections to form.

I also hope this strange twist makes you wonder: just how did you spend ten years in agnosticism and a more than robust skepticism of formalized religion to ultimately find yourself asking in earnest for the waters of baptism and rebirth in Christ? Well, I suppose that’s a life-changing moment for another story.

Fallen

How my heart hurt beloved,
How betrayed I felt,
By this hand, so cruelly dealt.
Do you know what that’s like?
When anger, disgust,
Bitter distrust
Seep in and threaten consumption?

My angelic brother
Banished to hell.
Like Lucifer
He was dropped, and he fell.
Yet, it was no pride in my brother that created this spell,
This damnation, his being cursed to live as a shell.
It was no fault of his own.
He desired no throne,
And still, it all just makes me groan
Because the word “fault” should not be a part of the conversation at all.

This denial of love,
Does not come from above.
Hatred only lurks within the human heart.
While they all beat the same,
We still insist on differing names,
Giving us reasons to blame.
Has this been there from the start?

This fear of what’s different,
What’s outside the box,
It’s a tale as old as time.
And now I ink my version down in rhyme.
These words on the page
Bring a sense of control.
A sense that this broken age
Could be something turned into a whole.

you are an overcomer.

and even in the midst of a thousand fiery foes,
you are a conqueror.

although your clothes are singed and ragged,
at your side you carry with you a sword made of the finest steel,
sharp enough to penetrate even the toughest of shields.

you are weary, but not asleep.
you are beaten, but not broken.
you are crushed down, but not destroyed.

the war is not yet over,
and your name has been called out
and written down as the victor
even before it began.

this is your time.
this is your place.

you will bear witness as the enemies fall all around you,
you will rise up above the ashes,
you will walk through the remnants of the slain.

woven tightly and deeply
into the very fibers of your being,

you were born to fight.
you were born to win.

It is hard to pinpoint one turning point in my life for a father of two beautiful, young children and a husband for almost 10 years of marriage. I have been blessed to be surrounded by many wonderful people who have helped me achieve many goals in my life. Meeting my wife, Elizabeth, was the absolute turning point in my life. Now it is not uncommon for any husband or wife to credit their spouse for good and bad. Sure, my wife is a big reason my dream of starting a family came to fruition and she has been a strong support for me to follow my dreams. But with all the wonderful achievements we have been able to accomplish, one precise decision allowed me to have a chance at all that I have accomplished and will be able to fulfill in my life.

As a child growing into a young adult, I had a wild imagination that, as I grew, became a constant voice in my head. I would always be told that I was “overthinking” things or “looking into” things too much. I began focusing on anxious thoughts that would keep me occupied for days, weeks, and months at a time. All the while, I was living the “best” years of my life, from what I was told. I pursued love quite a few times and was involved in many relationships throughout high school and college. One common problem was negatively “thinking too much” and worrying about the worst scenarios. In some cases, I felt that I was not deserving of happiness. Unfortunately, some of the people I dated, without relation to my negative thoughts, turned out not to be the right fit, to put it kindly.

These failed relationships only strengthened the thoughts of being unworthy of love or even worse being a terrible person. This continued into post-college life and for the most part, became an annoyance or obsession at times before I could move forward and focus on real life. As time passed, I moved out of my parent’s house and had a full-time job, but I had stayed single for the most part, fearing that I would somehow mess up my life before I met “the one”.

I worked with my wife at an oil company soon after graduating college and was involved in a long-term relationship, as was she at the time. Being a beautiful, kind person of the opposite sex, I kept her in mind when I moved on to another job and eventually separated from my relationship. I recruited Elizabeth to my new company, and we ended up working together for a few years before by chance, we were both single and attracted to one another.

Because I had thought about her being the one for me for quite some time while it was developing into a relationship, I had struggling thoughts of why this would not work and how I was almost living a lie, and once she got to know me, it would be over. Due to these thoughts eating at me and exhausting me, I started to almost test Elizabeth with little thoughts and facts to see if she would still be interested in me. This became an unhealthy outlet as I felt that if I spit out every negative thought I had and she happened to stay, it exonerated me from the anxiety and further thoughts. Sadly, this was not true. My thoughts would put me on trial day in and day out. I would be finding reasons that I was not worthy, or a horrible person. Despite facts, I would question myself and past decisions to the point that I was on the witness stand of my trial. My life would seem to pass me by as I was going through my personal court trial with memories and examples of why I could be horrible or not. My hell would subside after days until the next thought brought me to another “trial”.

Finally, my bride-to-be brought up OCD and how it can be treated through therapy and medication. I was skeptical as my brother would wash his hands repeatedly, which I considered the classic OCD characteristic, other than tapping objects and counting. I figured I was an anxious person and how could anything change my thought process, even medication? I was embarrassed to share my deep, dark secrets with a stranger. What if they judged me?

Well, my new addiction of spitting out what came to my mind to Elizabeth created an inevitable problem with our relationship. She strongly encouraged me to try therapy and I trusted her opinion. I also wanted to do whatever I could to make myself and our relationship better. Taking the plunge, like a roller coaster, I was riding the highs and lows of diving into my now-diagnosed OCD. Understanding this was a process, I kept up with for years and even expanded to medication with the encouragement of my therapist and none other than my now fiancé. No relationship is easy or perfect and just because I was getting help didn’t mean the problem was over or the damage was repaired.

The journey of living a better life began at that time and continues to this day as I have improved amazingly since but always must keep working to improve and battle through any hard times. I was able to focus on the things that mattered in my life, and it saw my career develop and some dreams followed. Ultimately none of my ambitions or family could have been achieved without the strong push to take care of myself. I have the confidence in myself to achieve anything and more importantly, pass it along to my children so that they never have to feel alone in their thoughts.

I have learned to understand past negative thoughts and anxiety while trying to prevent or prepare for future ones. My family is my life and a better me makes them better as well. Every person has their conflicts in life, but it is hard to understand that help can be achieved. If I had not met my wife, I would not have taken the step towards helping myself. As a result, I would not have my beautiful children and wife, not to mention the happiness I have found in all things in life. I could not imagine continuing to live on the path I had set for myself before therapy and medication.

The Secret
By MAlink

Dear Diary,
For the first 16 years of my life, I shared a secret with people I didn’t even know. I didn’t know that I was the secret. I am the oldest of eight kids, and until today, I believe we all shared the same parents.
Today, the man I had always believed was my father introduced me to his boss as his stepson. Until then, I had always thought, as did my other siblings, that we all had the same father. It’s not just knowing who your father isn’t but being the only one not knowing who he is. I never told my sisters and brothers about what our father, their father, had said. He had said it with such ease that the word stepson rolled easily out of his mouth you would have thought that I knew the secret, but I didn’t. Was this just a slip of his tongue, anxious to introduce me to his boss that he just misspoke?

It wasn’t until I got home and saw my brother and sisters that, for the first time in my life, I felt apart from them. They had no idea that I had been changed from a full-fledged brother to a half-brother in just a few words spoken to a total stranger.
I refuse to believe that what my now stepfather did was intentional. Although, he had no conversation with me about me before announcing it to the world. If he had done that, it would be mean and without reason, with no consideration for my feelings.
Over the years, there have been many instances that made me much more aware of how much I didn’t know about who I was.

There was a time when my uncle threatened to cut me with his pocket knife and my grandmother had to intervene to stop him; he yelled out at me, “I know who your father is.” My grandmother quickly shut the conversation down. There were other times when I was with my mother, people had walked up to us and asked if I was the son of, and before they had a chance to complete their question she would quickly and sternly interrupt them and give them my stepfather’s name instead. Their expression, when corrected by my mother, was one of confusion. They were part of a secret and didn’t know it.
The family dynamics never changed. I was still the big brother and saw no need to include them in the secret.
I was never close with my stepfather, even before I knew I was a secret. Knowing that he was not my real father made no significant change in my relationship with my brothers and sisters. But I did better understand why there had always been a feeling of distance I had always felt between me and my stepfather. I didn’t mind it however, he was not a good father. So it was no surprise that his death brought no great sorrow for me as his stepson. He had served in the military, and as with the military custom, the oldest living son is presented with the ceremonial flag. Up until my younger brother, his oldest son, accepted the flag, I thought no one in the family knew my secret. I watched for a reaction from the family as the flag was presented to my younger brother as to why he got the flag and not me. They knew. Everybody knew that I was not his son, I was not the big brother. There was no reaction from the family. It was as if the secret had been finally revealed.
You would think that the secret ended that day. That the mystery of who I was had been answered. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am 73 years old today and I carry the secret with me always.

By the time I had found out my birth father’s name, he had died. My mother also died shortly after his death, not, ever speaking to me about my father. My oldest living Aunt at the time, on her deathbed, told me his name. Like her, my other relatives who knew the when why, and where of the secret took it to their graves.
My birth certificate does not list my father’s name, as if I never had one. I cannot say not knowing my father has had any impact on my life, but being part of a mystery most certainly has.

Boom, boom, boom.
My heart took the lead,
Beating so hard it shook my wary voice when I went to speak.
My worst fears came true,
And suddenly this man became a man I thought I knew.
It’d been right all along,
This nagging inner voice telling me something was really wrong.
The voice that told my body to be on high alert,
To stop eating, stop sleeping,
Preparing for the impending hurt.
The pain that came wasn’t only about the betrayal, but also what all the lies that came to light had unearthed.
In the weeks and months that followed,
I was forced to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart,
And to reflect on the feelings and thoughts I had long since swallowed.
I had realized that the greatest betrayal I had suffered was not done by another at all.
It was me who caused the most hurt to myself,
It was me who orchestrated my own downfall.
I made up excuses, called myself crazy, and self-abandoned.
I kept quiet and told myself that what I already knew couldn’t have possibly happened.
As I sat in my grief,
I decided to allow it to change me.
I allowed it to seep into my veins,
Shake me to my core.
I invited it to lift the chains to my heart and show me all the wounds I had not healed before.
I wanted it to unleash the floodgates and bring the rain,
Wash out what no longer served me,
Wash out what could no longer remain.
If I were to heal from this,
I must heal from it all.
Everything that ever led me to believe I was unworthy,
Everything that ever made me believe that to be loved, I had to make myself small.
The decision to dive deep within,
To face the darkest parts of myself,
So much to uncover, not knowing where to begin, only knowing that my pain was demanding to be felt.
This decision alone unlocked the understanding and acceptance I’ve always searched for and made me finally see,
That to be truly seen and fully loved by another means I first need to truly see and love me.
And so I began,
I became my own best friend.
I indulged in things that awakened my soul,
Things like singing, dancing, and writing,
And I focused on the things only I could control.
I focused on changing the self-stories I lived by,
From discouraging and negative to ones that came from love and light.
I focused on holding myself in times of worry, sadness, and doubt,
Rather than running away from it all or giving that power to somebody else.
I now observe my thoughts as thoughts and acknowledge my feelings for what they are,
I connect peacefully with nature, and when my mind does wander, I don’t let it go far.
Now all the tears I cry,
Give water to the lush garden I’ve planted inside my mind.
Through the pain, I chose love instead of bitterness,
Love for myself and for others,
Trading resentment for forgiveness.
It’s been a journey, and it still is,
Learning to trust myself enough to get through all of life’s challenges.
Through it all,
I’ve come to know,
That it truly is a gift to feel such deep pain, love, loss, and sorrow.
I now more often choose to live my life through love instead of fear,
And when I choose this way,
My decisions become much more clear.
So now I thank life for giving me the gift of grief,
For it has taught me to always let my heart take the lead.

Chasing Rainbows after a Storm

January. The month in which almost everyone starts fresh, starts anew. A month of beginnings, declarations, and (sometimes) empty promises. My birthday month, which for me, means a good bit of happiness. Most social media feeds are filled with posts about people choosing a word that they are going to live up to for the year.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I didn’t make a formal declaration, but I promised myself that I would find my voice that year. A friend lovingly told me only a few months before that because of my personality, people were going to take advantage of me. I resolved to put an end to that.
What I didn’t know was that the events of the next eight weeks would literally define what it feels like to stand up for yourself and find your voice.
In my area of the country, January is one of those months where the promises of Spring collide with even colder temps to the point where one begins to wonder if we will ever thaw out. That January, I wasn’t looking for any and every sign of Spring. I was looking for and learning how to deal with a stalker.
The details are long and not really relevant, as the ending is and will always be the same: I was stalked by someone I considered a friend. I didn’t even realize right away that I was being stalked. And not only was I being stalked- I was being lied to, manipulated by, and isolated from our common acquaintances. Thankfully, the only physical toll that I experienced was a nice deep panic attack and the loss of sleep for a few nights. I am very lucky and grateful that it wasn’t much, much worse. However, the physical toll wasn’t the only one that I experienced. This affected me mentally, emotionally, and socially. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, afraid that this person would just pop up in my space. In all honesty, I felt more anxious when I was avoiding the person than I did while they were stalking me. It took me speaking up for myself, saying enough is enough, and asking for help from more than one person for it to end. I will forever be indebted to those who helped me end that situation, and for their swift and firm response. However, it took awhile for me to stop thinking that those who helped me saw me as weak because of that situation.
Throughout all of this, I learned that I don’t have to shoulder things alone. It’s ok to need help and to ask for it when it’s needed. I learned that finding my voice is a wonderful and powerful thing, but alas, with great power comes great responsibility. I had to choose my words and actions very carefully. When I spoke up and asked for help, I was initially presented with two options. I thought about it and chose the option that I would want that person to choose if our roles had been reversed. It seemed like the right thing to do. And once it was all over, that meant that as much as I wanted to follow the trends of putting this person who wronged me on blast on social media, I had to make another choice: Blast them and spend ten years in a court fight over libel allegations, or I could choose peace. I chose peace. Peace for myself, peace for everyone else this person victimized (and yes there were a few others), peace for everyone who helped me put an end to this situation. And hopefully, peace for the other person. That sounds strange, but honestly, unless that person has found or finds peace, someone else out there will be going through what I went through or worse. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Choosing peace has helped me to see that you can go through the storm and come out the other side stronger, wiser, and better. You can let your voice be heard and be listened to. You can point out when wrongdoing is taking place, and enact change. Positive outcomes can come from negative beginnings, if you just have the courage to speak up and ask for help.
I would be lying if I said that in those harrowing moments I didn’t wish for something horrible to happen to that person because that would be what society has deemed appropriate justice. However, I eventually came to realize that Karma works on its own timeline. It will happen when it happens, not when I want it to happen. In the meantime, I will choose to be peaceful and hope that the other person has found peace as well.

Two years, two years, the battle I fought,

For a piece of my heart, a treasure I sought.

She left home as my little girl, pure and bright,

Now she’s a shadow, a flicker of light.

I only know her now through the posts that she shares,

Once, social media felt like a snare.

My heart aches as the days drift away,

Yet, with time’s gentle passage, I find less dismay.

I’ve seen her siblings be embraced by their baby sister,

Approaching two, she laughs and sings,

Unaware of the pain that her absence still brings.

Three children laugh, their laughter like song,

Their pieces together, where they all belong.

Yet deep in my heart, a truth I still see,

No matter the joy, I will always be missing a piece of me.

A piece of my soul was swept away,

Two years, two years,

He stole a piece that day.

I used to feel undesirable, like I was the end slice. I was passed by like those who blow right through the yellow light. Time and time again the ones who set my heart of fire, never saw me as the one that they desired.
“I’m unloveable, inadequate, who would ever want me?” Those were the words of my personal truth that were more deep-seated than the deepest sea.

On Valentines Day especially, I thought I would like a teddy bear, a rose, and hearing an, “I love you.” It’d be nice to add my name to a waiting list as a party of two.

Then, one day reality hit. I changed my thoughts, my ways, and rewrote the script. How could I expect to be loved by someone else if I did not even learn to love myself? I became my own lover. No, not like that. Get your minds out of the gutter. I just realized that self-pity was wack.

I’m my own Valentine. I don’t need a man to wine and dine. I take myself out, knowing that no matter what I do. I deserve to see and experience things I’ve always wanted to. I don’t need a better half, for I am whole. Keep your empty words, and trinkets. I’m worth more than gold.

“Oh, just one?” the host asks in a tone of voice as sad as he or she thinks I should be. “Just one” is plenty. A party of one is still a party; and, I can enjoy just being with me.

Remember these words when you too are down about not having a hand to hold. It truly is a choice whether or not you create your own solace in solitude, or a prison where you feel lonely and left out in the cold.

A gem that hasn’t been claimed or adorned, is still a gem nonetheless. Self love is a daily choice. It’s not easy, like Britney, I too must confess.

The reality of life is that many won’t always catch your vibes and want you by their side. However, there will be those who reciprocate and draw nearer. Overall, what matters most is that the one who knows your worth is the one looking back at you in the mirror.

I have the keys to the lock of your house,
I’m having a drink in your kitchen,
I sip comfortably in my alone time,
I hear you enter,
I enter too.

I’m in the dark of your bedroom,
I’m the thing under your bed,
I’m the towel in your bathroom,
I’m the one who drinks your blood.

I’m the one who follows you,
I’m the reason it feels cold in your home,
I’m the reason you feel like you’re being watched,
I’m the reason you feel insecure,

I’m begging you to notice me.

Your journey through life was difficult, yet full of love, strength and hope.
The choice to hold on forever or let go was never in my power to decide..
You happened to be my gift, so delicately intertwined with strength and love.
Some pieces of me left with you on that fateful day, and some of you will forever remain in me.

Now, I write to mend my brokenness and find the courage to breathe again after you stopped.
That, sweet mom, seems almost impossible some days.
I have been given a burden that exceeds my strength and understanding.
How can I leave you behind when you never once left me?

This is our parting as mom and daughter, or at least how we always knew it.
Instead of walking side by side in this life, I now trust you to watch over my life while I live in the legacy of yours.
Death, love, and finality all have completely new meanings to me.
June the 9th will forever be etched in stone to create a final chapter to such a beautiful story.

Many days I feel the need to lay down my shield and surrender to the pain of grief.
Grief is not really a stage or stages for me, It is life’s harshest reality manifested into emotion- the loss of someone you love.
I will never be the same.
It is life-changing, but do I really want to be?

It feels like pain.
It feels like agony.
It feels like an aching hurt.
But, most of all, it feels so bad that it almost feels good. At least I am feeling at all.

The day you died mom, I found a new part of me called grief which carries a rawness of emotions all entangled with love, loss, and heartbreak.
Pain has silenced me on many occasions throughout this journey, and my sincere hope is for you to know I miss you and pray I am making you proud!

I cherish the words you left me in my letter; “Keep me in your heart and our love will last forever.”
Mom, my life has changed completely in a moment, but I choose to believe that the beauty of love does not have to be seen to be felt.
Peace will come, hope will endure, comfort will be found and love will remain.

I understood you to be my security. I understood that you wanted me. I understood that life without me was void of all possibilities. You said you loved me, unlike others. When you gave me visions for the future, you helped me see all your potential. I knew what was normal for me was not normal for others, yet I did not understand why. When the negatives came, I knew it to be my fault, for I had no other knowledge. I questioned how I could have made this happen. My perfection was not good enough to deliver the future you desired. Upon realizing what the future had to hold with my marred life, you tossed me aside.

Disfigured in disgrace, I got up again and was ready to move forward when blow after blow you knocked me down. Again, I realize my responsibility in not delivering your future to you. I look at my open hands and wonder why did God make perfection with a flaw. Perhaps you did, perhaps I did. You made something so perfect on the outside, but when you look into the center, everyone can see the imperfections, the damage, the hole.

What is left to do from here? The flaw is unmendable. It is now a part of the perfection you created, and like a crack in a windshield, the shattering is starting to spread across the entirety of the being of who I am. I wonder if others can now see the flaw in my perfection, as I can no longer hide the shattering. I should have been able to stop the disfiguring. I should have been able to be strong enough to stop the shattering. I should have been able to be more, but alas, the flaw has overcome me, and all that is left is a disgraced life. Others will be affected by the flaw, not the perfection. Others will have to see the weakness instead of the strength. Others will see a future so twisted by the past that they have to look away. Thank you for my flaw. We shall live together in harmony forever.