It’s been a little while since I’ve been here–and not because I’ve been without thoughts. Quite the contrary. I just can’t stop long enough to think about just one thing. This could go many directions. Let’s see where it takes me.

One of the things I often read in many books about Mother Teresa was that whoever she’d meet, she tried to make them a better version of themselves. If they were Hindu, she tried to make them a better Hindu. If they were Muslim, she tried to make them a better Muslim, etc.

For such a devout woman of faith–a Christian faith–this seems to be opposite of what many would preach, the opposite of the agenda.

Most people who believe in a specific religion believe theirs is the right one, the only one, the one that determines the fate of the afterlife. I cannot speak for other religions, but in Christian churches, this couldn’t be truer. I grew up in a Methodist church in my neighborhood, and throughout the years, the message was the same: accept Jesus, love your neighbors as yourself, tell others of their need of Jesus as their savior, and try to get as many people in church as possible. There was never any discussion or training on how to communicate with others who may not believe what you do, who question the existence of any possible deity, or were as different from you as could be. There was never the emphasis on loving THOSE neighbors. There wasn’t emphasis on loving anyone else or consciously doing the work true Christianity requires. It was always presented like this: everyone else is lost, and it’s our job to bring them to the truth to be found. And have nothing to do with them if they reject it. Man-made religion, full of agendas, totally misses the point. And as always, Mother Teresa had it right.

I am a Christian. I have been since I was a child. And I grew up (by choice) in church. But I always questioned the ideas behind evangelism–especially when the most important commandment is to love your neighbor.

It’s easy to love others you can relate to. It’s even easier to love others with whom you have much in common or share a religion or faith. “If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matthew 5:46-48) We are quick to forget to love our neighbors.

One of the reasons Christians treat others this way is out of fear. They do not talk to people with other beliefs because they are not fully equipped to participate in the conversation. They don’t know their own beliefs well enough to share them. Many just go to church, read the Scriptures the pastor says to read, interpret them the way they are told, then go back to their lazy lives the other six days of the week. Love is lost. Ignorance continues. And people turn back into themselves by Monday morning. They don’t know how to properly love because they haven’t been shown. They’re just told to push the agenda, all the while forgetting that Jesus is love, and love is the greatest of the commandments.

Christians are also so focused on the message of a need for a Savior that they skip love and go straight to the idea of Hell for all eternity. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never met a stranger who responds warmly to this message. I know I don’t. Speaking of being approached by a stranger…

I once had an old high school classmate, who I hadn’t seen in 20 years, approach me at a Walmart, telling me I am a sinner who needs saved, and he would like for me to visit his church. He had no idea I am the American Mary Poppins: Practically Perfect in Every Way. lol. Seriously. He didn’t ask me how I am doing. He didn’t show much kindness or any godly love. He didn’t know my beliefs or ask me anything about myself. He made assumptions, quick judgments, and continued his speech just to hear himself talk. I didn’t care that he was some sort of pastor now. I didn’t give a rat’s ass that he preaches at a church or actually went to seminary. He was very arrogant. And little did he know…I could give him a run for his money on Biblical knowledge. But I had nothing to prove. He certainly did.

He has an older brother who is gay, and he disowned him for it, and for that I had already made up my mind about him. He didn’t know his Bible that well if he had room to hate. You can’t expect to be taken seriously if you are talking out of both sides of your face. And if you are a pastor, you will be judged more strictly.

I’ve always said that I will not tell you why you should believe in God. I will simply tell you why I do. And I could tell you some wild stories that would cause you to question it if you don’t already believe. To God be the glory! Back to Mother Teresa

Every person Mother Teresa met, she treated them with respect. And those she helped along the way, she showed them the love of God and helped them to pass with dignity, knowing someone cared for them in their final hours. Love: the greatest commandment. She never stopped to decide if they were worthy. She never questioned what they believed before she served. She simply loved them. And she tried to help them become the best versions of themselves–even those who were at the ends of their lives. No strings. She simply loved.

Those are the actions of a true believer of Christ. Those are the actions of a humble person who may be very devout but also secure enough to not feel threatened by any other ideas. Those are the actions of a true servant, one I very much admire. We could all be more like this.

I’ve heard it said, we should leave the Earth better than when we found it. The same is true of others. We should leave them better than when we found them. That is a life-long challenge.

May God show us how to love ourselves so we may love others. May God humble us enough to love others without deciding whether they are worthy. May God bring our impurities to light and show us mercy as we navigate our way through all that separates us. May God give us all the wisdom to show without tell, love more in action, and leave others better than when we found them. Amen.

I just finished reading To Love and Be Loved: A Personal Portrait of Mother Teresa by Jim Towey, her former attorney and friend the last twelve years of her life. It was incredible. No matter your beliefs, you should pick up the book. I am not Catholic, but it moved me–even to tears a couple times.

The first mission work Mother Teresa did in the US (Bronx, NY) was setting up AIDS homes at the height of its power and destruction. Jim volunteered at these homes, and all he’d ever met were adults: prostitutes, drug addicts, and gay men…until one day.

There was an eight-year-old girl named Tina who was born with AIDS. Her mother was a prostitute and drug addict. Her father was also a drug addict who had already been taken by this disease. As a child, Tina contracted chicken pox–which she picked until she bled. Because she had AIDS, the pox were scratched into sores that wouldn’t heal due to her compromised immune system. Though she was in constant pain and agony, she was still a child and still had moments of happiness and times of playfulness. Sometimes in the night, while still asleep, she would scream she wants her mom. She would also say “Jesus loves me.” The author assumed someone had once taken her to church, but nothing was confirmed.

About six weeks into Tina’s stay, she was weaker than ever. Mother Teresa knew the little girl’s end was near, so she asked Jim to track down Tina’s mother to say her goodbyes. Jim sent a female friend (assistant) to get her. The woman found Tina’s mother, bought a Happy Meal from McDonald’s for the woman to give to her daughter, then took her to visit. She arrived in sunglasses and remained silent. After Tina enjoyed the Happy Meal, her mother climbed into bed with her, held her for a short time, then left…never to see her again.

The following day, Jim came to visit Tina, and upon looking for a game to play, at her request, she fell asleep. She died the next day.

I will save the details and his beautiful description of Tina’s departure for you to read yourself. It had me close to tears as I reread the passage.

What a sad situation. Devastating. Unfair. Seemingly hopeless. She was just a little girl. Eight years old. And born to die.

My face flooded with tears as I learned of this little girl, but maybe not for all the reasons you’d think.

Can you imagine what it was like to be that mother? You have a child that has no life expectancy due to your mistakes, struggles, demons, and hopelessness? Losing a child at any age, for any reason, no matter who you are, would be difficult to bear.

She was a prostitute and a drug addict. Which do you think came first? Why do you think she became a prostitute? A drug addict? Do you think she saw no other way out of whatever her life situation was and had no choice but to sell her body to survive? And maybe she started using drugs to cope with the fact she was a prostitute and could see no other way for her life? Or perhaps she was a drug addict and became a prostitute to afford her fix. We will never know.

And what type of life did she have as a little girl? Did she have parents? Was she taken care of? Was she cared for? Or was she neglected? Abused in some kind of way? Who did she come from? How far back did this vicious cycle occur? Again, we will never know.

It’s true. Most of us cannot relate to being drug addicts or prostitutes because we aren’t or haven’t been them. We can still relate, however. We can still put on their shoes and take a walk. In doing so, we may find we have more in common than we think.

Have you ever felt stuck in a situation? I have. Many times. And I couldn’t get out of my own way to see the door. Have you ever been addicted to or obsessed with anything? Shopping? Eating? Gambling? Drinking? Chasing other pleasures? I am sure we all have something we don’t do in moderation. Have you ever felt out of control? I certainly have. Many times. At the end of my 20’s I was drinking for any and every reason, but I thought I had it under control. Until I tried to stop. Then I realized I didn’t. And life was spiraling. But I also liked it because I could run and hide from myself and my feelings. Be numb. Not feel anything. Have you ever wanted to not feel things? I am sure you have. No one chooses pain. Have you ever felt hopeless? If not, you are lucky. I have felt this more times than I can count–for a lot of reasons. I think many can relate, though.

Do we make the best decisions when we feel down, depressed, weak, or hopeless? No. Do we run to anything we can to escape? Yes. And it can get way out of control. And we lose ourselves. And others. And reality changes. And we chase the high. We focus on it. We want to feel good, not knowing numbness isn’t the same thing.

And the next thing you know, you’ve contracted a deadly disease. And now you’re pregnant. And the father died. And you have no idea how you got here. But here you are. You give birth to a daughter. You love her very much–though to everyone else it doesn’t see that way. They see you for what you’ve done, not who you are. They don’t know anything else. They judge you. And you judge you. And you can’t forgive yourself. And you don’t think you deserve to. Because this is all your fault.

Your struggles and demons are louder than ever. And what you once used to numb the pain no longer works. And now you have a child who was born to die. And you will have to bury her because of your poor decisions. And you can’t handle it. More pain. More heartache. More struggles. And you can’t even deal with the things that first destroyed you. But you’re still going to use. You’re still going to sell yourself on the streets. You have to for survival. And although you don’t want to survive, you can’t live with yourself, so you have to keep trying to numb it. You would rather trade places with you child and end your suffering but you don’t have that choice. You continue to hate yourself. And the world hates you. And you think God hates you, too. You can’t understand unconditional love because you’ve never been shown it. You’ve never known the love of God because no one has directed you to it. You can’t forgive yourself because you’ve never been shown forgiveness. You can’t be merciful because you weren’t shown mercy. You live in complete darkness with no belief light exists. And the world damns you to Hell. And you damn yourself. And you don’t want to feel this if you don’t have to. So you’ll chase an escape you’ll never find, a peace you may never experience.

Many of us are lucky. We eventually find the light. Not everyone does. Some just sit and wait to die. What a sad existence. We can’t even call it survival.

No. Many of us aren’t drug addicts or prostitutes. But we can relate to their thoughts and feelings in different ways–maybe even with the same intensity. And what would we want if we were the mother? Understanding. Compassion. Mercy. Forgiveness. Unconditional love. All the things we aren’t giving. Because those things require conscious work. And often times we are too lazy to lace up their shoes, go for a walk, and lend an ear and a shoulder. We are too busy surfing the couch of judgment, justifying our thoughts and feelings, forgetting God will judge us with the same rod we use on others.

I am sure the woman is dead by now. I hope God healed her. I hope He forgave her. And I hope those nuns were able to be with her before she transitioned.

God bless the nuns who care for those we neglect, show love to those we’ve outcast, and lead them into the next life with the dignity, respect, and care they may have never been shown in this life.

Matthew 25:31-40 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

May God give us all the strength, bravery, and humility to take up our mats, walk to those in need, and offer them all of the things we’ve been shown and given. May God use us to realize we were the ones who were actually lost. Amen.

It’s been a while since I’ve spilled any thoughts anywhere. I am long overdue. I am hesitant to articulate anything these days–mostly because I am not sure what to expand upon. Yet here we are. My mind is full, and I don’t know where to go with it. My head is spinning. I am not sure if I can make sense of any of it, but I will try.

One thing I have forgotten is when you are around good people: people who are nice to you and treat you with respect and believe in you–it can bring out the best in you. The opposite is also true. If you are surrounded by ignorant assholes–it can–and probably will–bring out the absolute worst. The best and the worst. We’ve all been both of those people. And we’ve brought out both of these people in others. Some have a conscience. Some are capable of self-awareness. Most won’t think twice.

I’ve always said who I am depends on you. And while that is true, it should not be so. Who I am should depend on me. The same goes for you.

Mother Teresa spoke of authenticity and perseverance in her poem “Do It Anyway.” Perhaps you know it. If not, I suggest you look it up and take a read. She makes many good points. Despite how others treat you, be yourself. Your authentic self. Your best self. Forgive. Be kind. Succeed. Be honest and frank. Build. Be happy. Do good. Give the world the best you’ve got. “You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; it was never between you and them anyway.” It had nothing to do with the other person. Ever. It was all you.

Now I am not sure if it is because I am getting older and becoming more sensitive, watching society become more and more desensitized to sin, or witnessing the state of the world descend to Hell at record speeds–or all of these, but I feel a closeness to God I haven’t in a while–or maybe ever. In a world that’s more confused than ever, I have never been so certain of the truth. And I’ve never felt so in need of daily repentance, thankful for forgiveness, or wanting God’s mercy. I’ve never been so frightened.

Fear can be a good thing if it’s the right fear. Proverbs 1:7 says “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; only fools despise wisdom and discipline.” I obey God when I fear him. And when I am a fool, I don’t. But I always come back. Eventually. And He always forgives and accepts me. And as I watch the world crash and burn, I’ve never felt so much need for that closeness.

Every generation thinks the end is near. And depending on the way time works in Heaven; they’ve all been right. But it’s closer than ever. Like a snowball down a mountain; it’s going faster and faster and getting bigger and bigger. And I fear more and more to get my life right and my relationship with God in check. I feel a sense of urgency to work on my spiritual health the way gym rats work on their physical health.

I watch as the scriptures unfold. Frightened. Thankful. Self-aware. And as I see just how out of control everything is, I finally get it. God is in control. He has the final say. And all I can do is my part. Because it was never about them anyway. It was about me and God. And that I can control.

“As Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately. “Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and the end of the age?” Jesus answered: “Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, “I am the Messiah,” and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains. Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase in wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.” (Matthew 24:4-14.)

May the fear of God rise within us, the mercy of God overcome us, and the forgiveness of God humble us. May we put on the shoes of our neighbors and go for a walk. May we do good and be good despite ourselves. Amen.

I didn’t know her name until she’d already transitioned. She was the second person to be found in her apartment unresponsive in four months. The first was a ninety-two-year-old man whose death seemed fairer.

She was twenty-five and a psych nurse at Children’s. She obviously knew what it was to feel great pain. To struggle. To want it all to disappear. And sadly, she did.

I am not sure of her struggles, her stresses, her demons, or the pain that plagued her heart and soul–and ultimately took her life. She was in graduate school to become a nurse practitioner. Her friends said she was smart. So did her obituary. I knew nothing of her. But she must’ve had a great heart. She was a nurse. A nurse who worked with children. Children who weren’t much younger than she. Children with whom she had much in common. Children she wanted to help. Children who probably helped her along the way.

When I saw two young women looking around the complex for her, I thought nothing of it. When the police arrived, I realized I was in a place I was already familiar. I didn’t want to be there. And I hope never to be again. It was July 29th when they showed up in search. I was on my balcony with my mother. I offered my help which was declined until dark.

By 10pm, the fire department was beating down her door. They found her barking dog and lifeless body. She’d been gone since early that morning, I read. No one knew.

A week later, her family came to get the last of her life here. I saw her uncle removing her license plate. He looked at me and said hello. I said hello back. My heart ached, and I wanted to say something–anything–but I wasn’t sure what good it would do. I never knew her. And I didn’t want to lead on that I knew what he was doing. What they were all doing. I wasn’t sure of the circumstances of her death–not that it mattered. I was afraid to say something. I was afraid to try to offer comfort.

When I went back upstairs, I passed her father in the hallway. There were two totes of her things. They were clear. One was her clothes. The other was stuffed animals. Stuffed animals. Because she was a damned kid.

I’d like to say what people always say, that she had so much more life to live. But did she? Didn’t God already know what she would do? Were we the last to know? Could anyone have stopped her? Were there any magical words that could have saved her? We will never know. But people will think she had so much more to live for. So much left to experience.

Age doesn’t discriminate. Mental illness is illness. Pain and suffering know no age. Sure. Twenty-five can be young–to a person who’s had an easy life, a great childhood, and no significant struggles or traumas. But to those of us who’ve lived well beyond our years–twenty-five could feel like too much for too long. By the time I was that age, my life was Hell, and I was over it.

M, They just took your car two weeks ago. I thought of you every day until then. I am sorry I never knew you. I’m sorry I wasn’t a friendly neighbor. I was trying to navigate my way through my own hell without drowning in the lies of the enemy.

Just like Billy said, “only the good die young.” I believe she was good. She was certainly young. And her life was a lesson to me.

Death always brings about self-awareness and thoughts of your own mortality. But if you already reside there, it brings more curiosity about the latest victim. Then comes the comparison of your life with theirs. You put their shoes on and go for a walk. Only they’re never coming back for theirs. They’ve passed them on. Just like the pain they escape. It multiplied.

To her family, if you see this, I am sorry for your loss. I’m sorry there are no words to ease that pain, fill that void, or bring her back. I am sorry I never offered her more than a nod, but she was trying to quickly pass with her feisty dog. May God be with you.

In four months, I really learned that you have no idea what goes on behind closed doors, especially ones only five feet away from you. As I walked by, they could have both been taking their last breaths. I hope those transitions were smooth.

I think the reason we hurt when someone passes away is because part of our heart dies with them. But maybe it isn’t so. Perhaps death isn’t the world’s way of taking part of your heart. Maybe it’s saying “here. Take this back. Someone else needs it.” And the true sadness is we don’t know it. And we wouldn’t know what to do with it, anyway.

May God give peace to the lost, comfort to the found, and wisdom to everyone who asks. May He put kind words in our hearts, bravery in our lips, and helping hands at the end of our wrists. May God use us where the angels stop and bless us by blessing others. Amen.

Death and dying is always a good reminder for everyone. It has a way of putting things into perspective, reminding people that this, too, shall pass. And eventually, all of it will.

I went to Lakeview Cemetery in Cleveland today to shoot the many statues and admire the pretentiousness of the dead. Perhaps it is lost on me–considering the length of time some have been residing there, but I am sure that even in the 1860’s these things were expensive. Was it a cultural thing or a status symbol to spend a lot of money on the final resting place? Did people believe back then that those who leave do in fact stay there? Why are these places so nice? I may never know.

There were many statues of angels, crosses, Jesus, and several other people from the Bible. There was also a man sitting on a bench, playing a guitar, and a young girl sitting on a bench, reading a book. Her name was Jean Louise. I wish we could have spoken. I have questions.

It’s crazy to me that people spent so much time and money wanting to be remembered. I don’t see much of this (statues and stones) constructed in today’s world. Either way–it led me to these thoughts.

People spent much time and money planning their burials and sites. I wonder if they spent as much to be remembered in the lives with whom they interacted before moving in there. What’s the point of being remembered only at a grave? If you have to spend a lot to seem important then were you? Do you only want to be remembered by strangers because of an elaborate headstone or mausoleum? Would you rather be remembered more in death than in life? Once all your people are gone, if you haven’t touched many other lives, your memory will die with them. And all that’s left are strangers taking pictures of the last place your body touched the ground.

These thoughts are lost on many. Society hasn’t changed. Most people are more concerned about their images, egos, and fake personas than they are about the state of their souls, the reasons they were put on earth, and how they could be much more fulfilled serving people other than themselves.

I was in awe with the layout of so many people’s plots. It was so peaceful. Maybe that’s what they were going for. Jean Louise was in front of a large pond. Those swans probably never knew her. Neither did those fish.

What did these people do before they got there? What am I doing? What are you doing?

Going to church and being involved in political nonsense won’t do it. Spending a lot of money on material things won’t do it. Being nice only to your people or people who kiss your ass won’t do it. No one cares if you go to church and act better than or above those not in your tiny circle. People will remember you and soon forget you for this. No one cares if you have nice things. People won’t remember you because of them. No one cares if you’re only nice to the few you know. How were you to those you didn’t? Those fake personas pass with the person, and all that’s left is the truth. I don’t know about you, but I prefer the truth. That’s why I have enemies.

I am confident in very little, but I am confident in this: when I go, I will be missed. I will be remembered fondly by people who knew me. People I hardly knew will speak kindly. Strangers will remember me for things I’ve done for them. I will never tell what I’ve done. You should never let the left hand know what the right hand is doing. (Matthew 6:3) There is much more work to be done, however.

You are supposed to “store up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-20) I’m not sure if this is the sort of thing you seek out or if the opportunities just come, but I know if you pray for them, they will.

When I was in undergrad, I would pray every morning before I got out of my car to go to class. I would ask God to put someone in my path who needed help. Those were the fastest prayers ever answered. Every time I asked, God put someone in my path before I made it to class. But perhaps I was also looking for those things. It’s one of those which came first, the chicken or the egg questions that will go unanswered. Or it could be both. Maybe if I wasn’t genuine in that prayer and not looking for opportunities, I would not have found any. Or maybe they would not have been presented had I not been. I will never know. And it doesn’t matter. Either way, I need to get back to that place.

What are you doing? Who are you serving? What will you be remembered for? What do you want to be remembered for? Do these things align?

May God shed light on what’s dark within us, show us grace and mercy, forgive us of these things, and give us strength to change them. Amen.

I once read part of a book of letters Mother Teresa had written to the Priests and God. It was hard to read. The circumstances were difficult as well as her deep, dark thoughts and feelings. It was sad to know she could relate to the rest of us but it was also comforting in a way.

One of the strongest, most faithful women of our time had her doubts, too. She doubted herself, her work, and the will of God as she thought it was so. Often times she had no idea where she could care for people or where the provisions for food and water would come, but she pressed on, blindly.

When things did not go smoothly or the way she imagined, Mother Teresa would question everything–just like we all do. She would take on the weight of the (Third) World as she saw fit since she cared for the homeless, lost, dying.

I recall one of her worries was running out of food. (In this case, a large bag of rice.) Never mind that at the end of the day, there wasn’t always something for her to eat. She wasn’t much bothered by that. She was more concerned about those in her care. She was in a state of panic and doubt. She had one job: to care for the rejected and see they die with dignity. What an admirable purpose! Talk about storing up for yourselves treasures in Heaven!

She would clean these people, feed them, and give them a place to rest. She said they’d usually die in the night. That sounds like an easy set of tasks–right?? Until the provisions aren’t there at a comfortable time. Until your thoughts and feelings creep in, and you forget you aren’t really the one in charge. You’re just doing the work. You have no control or power over anything. You just have a job to do. And you have to figure out how to do it. And without having all the answers or plans, you do the next thing–whatever your circumstances allow. All while saying goodbye to so many people you never knew. Admirable but sad. I don’t know that I could ever do it. I would be in constant tears.

Let’s think about this for a minute, though. She was taking care of the poor, homeless, and dying. She was treating them with dignity and preparing them to pass into the next life. Without her or others like her, these people would have gone all their lives without anyone caring for them, without anyone showing them the love of God. They would’ve passed in pain, dirty, starving in the streets. But she gave them basic human needs and made them comfortable and ready for the next life–which I believe was Heaven. What a sad but infinitely rewarding job! I bet when Mother Teresa passed away, there were so many people at the pearly gates waiting to thank her for caring for them. I bet the streets of gold were flooded with tears of happiness.

Can you imagine living a life like these people? Rejected by society. Left for dead. Having absolutely no one. This isn’t just a Third World problem. These people exist everywhere. The needs just vary from place to place. It’s a sad thing to think some people go their entire lives without another person caring for them or showing them the love of God. We probably all know someone. Or we are that someone.

Mother Teresa talked about the poverty of the Western World being so much different than that of the East. People here suffer from spiritual poverty–which is much worse. She considered her job easier than someone who’d care for the poor of the West, as she fulfilled basic needs and gave people dignity. (What does God’s love look like here? I think we all know in our own ways.) Back to Mother Teresa–

There were many of those times of worry for her, times where she had so many in her care and nothing to feed them for dinner. She had no idea what, where, or how provisions would show up, but she pressed on. She knew her purpose and did it to the best of her ability with what she was given. And when she stopped relying on herself or what she could see or think, God would show up, and her worries faded. Her faith was strengthened and restored, and her confidence in God’s will for her life would be made clear again.

Blindly. She went on blindly. This was God’s calling for her life. And she did it without abandon. (What strength!) She knew what she was supposed to do–often times without a clue as to how it would be done or when, and it all worked out. She kept the faith despite many obstacles. And what a reward!! Not only for those in her care but also for herself. I imagine that day of her soul’s departure was a beautiful one.

It’s hard to imagine such determination to fulfill one’s calling. It’s hard to imagine the emotions that came with those times of despair–especially when your life’s work is caring for others until they reach the ends of their lives. It’s hard to imagine the strength it takes to continue on when you can’t see in front of you.

It would have been easier to give up.

And we all do that, don’t we? Times get tough, and we become discouraged. Sometimes we run and hide like children (even if only momentarily). We pout or self-destruct. We go through a mix of emotions and deal with them in the western way.

And if we are lucky, we come back to that place we once knew, where life made sense, and our direction was clear. God makes himself visible to us once again, and we go back to a place of confidence and faith. But we had to get through times of blindness, darkness, hopelessness, and despair. All to be spiritually strengthened. The growing was painful, but faith is blind. That’s why it is faith. If we could see the future, believing would be easy. And if it were easy, everyone would do it. But just like Mother Teresa, we must hold onto the truth as we know it and move forward despite ourselves.

“Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of things we cannot see.” (Hebrews 11:1) I am sure of very little and can see even less. But like Mother Teresa, that shouldn’t stop me, “for we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)

I’ve been in the desert for 42 years, trying to find my place. I don’t know the point but I believe there is one. I am sure of it. I hope for it. I cannot see it. And while I continue on without a clue, I will write. It is one of very few things that makes me feel alive, that makes all of this struggle and pain worth it. And hopefully one day, this pain is turned into something beautiful, and I find my purpose within it.

May God give us all the strength and courage to move forward despite ourselves. May He remind us that faith is blind, His love and forgiveness is ever-present, and there is a time and purpose for everything under Heaven. (Ecclesiastes 3:1) Amen.

It’s difficult to remain joyful in a world full of distractions, ignorance, and evil. Like every generation, the world is closer to the end than ever before. Evil is more prevalent, and the devil’s work is being done at all-time record speeds. People are self-centered, greedy, full of pride, anger, and malice. They are full of themselves, judgmental, gossips, and refuse to see past the ends of their noses. Freedom of speech is exercised more than silence, and people proudly display their ignorance and small-world views. The good ole boys remain strong; everyone else is less than. People are too busy judging others by their shoes to put them on and go for a walk.

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. And it’s not because I haven’t had anything to say, any deep thoughts or ideas. I just needed to step back and observe for a while. And now my mind is full, my heart is void, and my soul aches. I need to organize the chaos, control my thoughts, and purge the noise.

Lately there have been a few blessings: answered prayers and miracles for immediate needs. They were a good distraction from my own trials and tribulations. If only I made it a habit to pray for myself the way I do for loved ones. I’ve gone silent with my own petitions because I’ve felt as though I’ve been wandering the desert for 42 years. It’s hot, there is no pool, and I don’t love it. I hope to be rescued soon.

This is another time I wished I could sit on a park bench with Mother Teresa and ask for all the wisdom and advice. I have so many questions. I often wonder if she’d have answers for a woman of the Western World. It’s hard to say. She would probably tell me to do good, anyway, focus on the truth as I know it to be (sometimes I question what that may be), and remember who has the final say.

I’ve done everything I can think of to change what I don’t like, but nothing works out. I am not a patient person and am growing weary. As I type this, I realize the one thing I can certainly control in all of life’s unpredictability and bullshit is my attitude. That is a difficult task for anyone. Sometimes I ace the test and sometimes I fail. If only it were as easy as school always came to me. (I really miss school, too. If I were rich, I’d go back just for the challenge of it all.)

I miss all my people. I don’t see nearly enough of them–and there are many! (I am blessed with so many friends.) I see my best friend most weekends and my therapist (who I very much admire, appreciate, and look up to) every week. These have been my only consistent lifelines for a while. And it’s hard to remember who you are, what you are capable of, and how much you are loved when you’re subjected to all the wrong people and don’t make time for yours.

I may not pray for myself, but in times of desperation, I reach out to several trusted people and ask for prayers. I know they have me covered, and although I’m still stranded, I believe God hears them. I just wish He heard my silent cries.

The enemy has a way of making you forget how loved you are (by God–and lots of other people, in my case) by isolating you during times of torture and despair. He keeps you too busy to reach out to others who can save you from yourself. He blinds you from seeing the beauty, positivity, and light.

In a recent conversation with my favorite Professor of all time, I was telling him of my struggles and feelings of despair. I explained my surroundings and how they are affecting me. I told him I have nowhere to escape. He said to me “You are loved. Escape to love.” I asked him what that means. He said “Look around you. Find it in the people, places, and things you know.”

I had to think about that for a while. And once I came down from being emotionally charged, it made sense. So here I am, escaping to love.

I have one of the largest support systems anyone could dream of. If I decided I needed to escape my personal hell and run to a friend, I could call several and have somewhere to go almost immediately. Making friends has never been a challenge for me. When I was doing comedy on a frequent basis, I had dozens of people show up for me every week. The first time I ever took a comedy stage, I had 38 people come out. And one show I was headlining, 265 of the 270 tickets were bought by people who knew and adored me.

I have had some unimaginable kindnesses bestowed upon me over the years. When I was 22, I tore my knee and was off work for 3 months. I didn’t have money to pay my car payments, and a dear friend who received an inheritance wrote me a check to pay off my Cadillac and let me pay her back in payments once I was working again. And that was her idea. I would never ask anyone for anything.

Another time I had lung surgery, and my friend who was a nurse on another floor of that hospital came to see me that night. I was alone in CCU, high on lots of pain meds, and a little scared. She walked right in, brushed and braided my hair (to get it out of my face and away from me) and fed me my dinner: soup broth, Italian ice, and Jello. It was my left lung and I’m left-handed so I couldn’t feed myself. She was angry those nurses didn’t ask or even think about it.

I had a very dear friend (God rest her soul) take me to the ER on several occasions early in the morning because I had injuries that kept me from being able to walk. She was often times my rock, my prayer warrior, my second mother, my spiritual guide, and one of very few people I was comfortable with being myself as I figured out who that was.

When I lost one of my jobs (due to no fault of my own), a friend gave me money to keep up with appointments, got me gas cards to drive to interviews, and gift cards for the grocery store so I would have what I needed. This friend is one of my favorite people of all time, one I cannot imagine my life without. I love and appreciate her more than I can put into words. My adoration for her is a good place to escape as she has made my life infinitely better by merely existing.

I have had crazy generosities bestowed upon me–not only by my friends and family and chosen family, but their friends as well. I’m not about materialistic things, but I recognize that is the love language of many, and I am humbled to have been thought of throughout my life.

It’s nice to be wanted. It’s great to be needed. It’s indescribable to be loved and adored the way I have been for 42 years. It’s humbling beyond every standing ovation I’ve ever had.

When I think of these things, along with the goodness of my people, the adversities shrink. The problems fade with the sunset. The people who don’t matter go back to their rightful place in my life, and I am not bothered by any of it. Some days are easier than others.

I’ve had so many great memories with so many people that if I were to think about it all day long, every single day, nothing could bother me. No one could get to me. I would be untouchable to the devil. And that’s where I need to be. Just like my professor said, I need to escape to love, to people, places, and things I know. And that will bring me to a place of gratitude. And when you’re in such a place, I imagine it is much easier to endure the wait for the page to turn and the chapter to end.

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–If anything is praisworthy–think about such things.” Philipians 4:8

It’s good to be back. Happy Sunday, Friends. May God help us all escape to love. Amen.

I planned to write this post earlier in the week–before everything I had to say would become past tense. There aren’t words to describe my sadness or express the pain I feel from this loss. It hurts more than words. I never imagined it. I still don’t believe it.

I wanted to tell you about someone who’s played such a significant role in my life for the past 28 years. I wanted her to know how much I loved her and exactly how much impact she has had on me. And I was hoping, while in the hospital, she would read it and know. But there just wasn’t enough time. Time ran out, and all I got to do was sit by her bed, hold her hand, and tell her I loved her and would see her later. It’s just not fair. I hope she knows.

I met Linda and her daughters (we are close in age) in the early 90’s when I was in 7th grade. She was my Sunday School teacher. She welcomed all the kids to her house and strangely, seemed to enjoy it. She had a swimming pool and would often have everyone over. She also had baptisms at her house. Talk about someone who let God use all of her and everything she had for His glory–but we will get to that later.

Linda was a fun-loving, gentle-spirited, peaceful, sweet soul. She greeted everyone as if they were the most important people in the world. And when you spoke to her, you had her full attention, and she genuinely cared. She always offered advice, wisdom, and prayers. And she’d even throw the word of God in there. She always looked on the bright side and tried to get you to see the direction of the light, and if you couldn’t, she would pray over you. And her prayers were really something. She didn’t use fancy words or have some deep, loud voice (obviously), but her voice was as peaceful and gentle as they get. And she would pray with such faith and confidence in what she asked God that you couldn’t help but feel better. She prayed as though she took on the burden with you and helped you carry it. You always knew you weren’t alone in your battles. She would always help you “take up your cross.”

Her house was a place of peace, a refuge, a place I’d often run to when my world was too much for me. (It was too much a lot of the time.) And she was always welcoming. There were times I was there more than her girls. lol. She’d greet you with a smile, tell you to have a seat on the dark green couch, and offer you a drink. And if you were there long enough, she’d ask you to stay for dinner.

Linda never judged me like a lot of other people at church (because I was quiet) and she never involved herself in gossip, church politics, or that holier-than-thou nonsense you’ll get with most people who attend church regularly. She was as real and genuine as they come. She was one of the only people who kept me believing that good people do exist. She had no agenda. And she was always respectful of my wishes not to be touched or hugged or anything. And that was a big deal to me when I was younger. It still is, but I’m a lot better about it now.

Sometimes when she had everyone over to swim, I would stay just to talk to her. I knew that whenever I was around her, we were most certainly in the presence of God. And I needed that. She would ask me lots of questions, encourage me, and always say a prayer. Now that I think about it, these last 28 years with me were a part-time job for her. lol. But that’s the way she was with everyone. If you needed her, you could count on her. If you were in any sort of need, and she could help, she most certainly would. I could write pages and pages of the many ways she’s been there for me and all the things she’s done. I am going to save a lot of that for later.

When I graduated high school, she asked me if she could have a party for me. That was such a nice and generous offer, but I declined. I felt weird about that. I didn’t understand why she wanted to do that. But she was just being herself. Instead, she and the girls took me to lunch at Fa-Rays one Sunday after church. I wasn’t comfortable with that, either, but you gotta let people be themselves–even if that means letting them buy you lunch. It was an extremely hot day, so I just ordered a salad. I didn’t even care if we ate. I just enjoyed spending my time with them.

Later that Summer, she asked me what I’d planned to do from there. I remember the night like it was yesterday. Morgan and all her friends had been swimming, and I was the last one left in the pool. They had all gone out front for some reason. The sun was almost completely down, and it was a peaceful evening. And I wasn’t at all expecting a serious conversation–especially one I had no answers for. I had no plan or a clue, and she was there in true Linda fashion, showing care and concern and offering encouragement. I went onto college a few times, and the rest is history.

Linda invited me to all the holiday/family gatherings with her entire extended family, and before I knew it, I was considered and treated like part of them. I remember a Thanksgiving (1999) at her mother’s house where I was warned that everyone naps. They sure did–on the dog bed in the middle of the living room! lol.

There were Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters, weddings, baby showers, and family dinners. There were times I went over just to watch them make a mess of the living room while decorating the tree or wrapping presents. I just loved to be there and with them. I didn’t care about the details.

Every semester before classes start, we would talk about it, and she would assure me I would get through it. And she was always right. And every Sunday for years, we would go to lunch after church, often times just she and I cause the girls were at work. We ate so much Parasson’s and Pizza Hut that I’d swear we became Italian. lol. And thanks to the employees at Pizza Hut, we never spent a dime. We gave it all in tips.

There were always calls and visits and lunches or dinners. There were always Christmas cards and presents. (I saved every one of them, too.) There were always happy birthday wishes (our bdays are one day apart.)There were always visits just to catch up. And I loved every minute of it.

Linda encouraged me in my writing. She took genuine interest in my education and always wanted to hear all about it. And when I took writing classes, she insisted on reading my work and discussing it. I was always excited for her to read things and anxiously awaited her thoughts.

When I graduated college, she and the ladies from our “old lady” Sunday School class threw me a party at a nearby restaurant. They learned of my love for sewing (and that my grandma got me a sewing machine) and bought me everything you could ever want or need. And there was a cake! I can’t remember what the cake was called, but it was from Reeves and was delicious as always.

When I went to grad school, we continued lunches and dinners but not every week like before. And true to herself, Linda took genuine interest in me, my studies, and everything else going on in my life.

I could go on forever with the memories, but that won’t make any of you possibly understand how wonderful she was, how much pain I feel for losing her, or how much darker this world is without her. If you knew her, you were one of the lucky ones.

Linda, I wish you had gotten to see this before you went home. I hope you knew how much I loved you and how much you meant to me and how much I appreciated every single thing you ever did for me. I will never forget any of it. We had some really good times! (I will be writing stories about much of it.) And laughter. So much laughter. Thank you for your unconditional love and unending support and encouragement in all things. Thank you for taking me to the doctor at 5am when I tore my knee and again when I broke my foot. Thank you for coming to a comedy show once (and not shaming me for that craziness. lol.) Thank you for always welcoming me, caring, and offering wisdom and encouragement. Thank you for the many prayers. Thank you for the smiles. Thank you for being a constant source of peace and light in my life. Thank you for your strong faith and your example. It was easy to believe in a loving God because of you.

I know you weren’t confident in much but I know you could say one thing with full confidence when you arrived: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7) Thank you for 28 years of memories, sweet lady. And thank you for my second family.

And if you could, ask God to wrap his arms around us tightly. This pain is almost unbearable.

I’m sorry we didn’t get any more time. I just heard from you a few days ago. I never imagined that would be the last. I’m glad I got to stop by a month ago and visit. I enjoyed the excitement you had when you told me you finally finished reading my favorite book, To Kill A Mockingbird.

I’m glad you’re no longer suffering and are finally where you’ve worked towards since I’ve known you. I have no doubt you have some of the greatest rewards in Heaven.

I will do my best to live a life that even resembles a fraction of yours. I will try to smile more, look in the direction of the light, and always remember where it comes from. And I’ll do my best to be there for the family the way you’ve been there for me. I will try to be nicer to strangers and people, in general.

And if you could, tell my grandma I said hello and I miss her. You two will get along just fine. Your birthdays are a day apart, too.

You were the absolute best, and my world will never be the same. Until we meet again, sweet lady!

Love always, Erica.

The last place I’d have ever expected to see a frog was in a rose bush. And not just in the bush but actually in one of the flowers. It was just hanging out, perfectly still on the petals. Being that I am a woman of significant size, one of my first thoughts was wondering how the rose was holding the frog and not falling towards earth or even bending a little. Granted, the frog was the size of the tip of my pinky, but still, that weight is significantly more than that of a rose petal. Neither seemed to mind.

That frog wasn’t worried it wouldn’t hold, and the rose didn’t seem to struggle. They had a very odd and unpredictable relationship.

I tried to touch the frog without actually touching it to see if it would move. I got the brilliant idea to blow on it and see what would happen. It jumped slightly, and I almost pissed my pants. I thought for sure if I did that again, it would jump in my mouth, and I’d vomit all over my best friend’s front yard. That didn’t stop me from doing it again like the overgrown child I am. I guess you could say I’m a slow learner in some ways. lol. (Thank God I found the sense to stop bothering the little frog.)

I can’t help but wonder how the frog got in there. Obviously, the stems are thorn-covered, painful, and dangerous if you fall in naked. (Another bush, another story, another time. lol) Aside from feeling perplexed about it’s arrival, since it was in a flower at the top of the bush a little over 3 feet high, I can’t help but wonder why the frog chose that place of all places. Was it worried about potential lawn mowers? Other prey of the wild? (What eats tiny frogs?) Was it trying to outsmart everyone and everything? I know I’d never look for a frog in a rose? Did it just want to rest in a place that had a good view? Was it drawn to the beauty and delicacy of the rose but intimidated by its thorns? Was it just wanting a soft, safe place to hide from the world until it built up enough strength and fear to come out? Did it just land there accidentally and decide to stay? Did it just need to rest a while?

And what about the rose? How do you think it felt to hold such a heavy load? Do you think the rose was surprised to make such a new and different friend? Do you think it felt like a failure because its prickles couldn’t keep the frog out? Or was it happy to have a different inhabitant appreciate its cool, light, soft, safe petals? Did the rose understand the needs of the frog? Did it feel a duty to shelter the frog for a time? Did it feel it’d been given a special assignment by God?

The rose stood tall, unwavering, undisturbed as though nothing was there. The frog was grateful. The friendship was none like I’d ever seen but it worked. The frog respected the rose and refrained from movement. The rose respected the frog and kept it safe until its departure.

My friendship with the person in whose yard they were found is a lot like this frog and rose. I am grateful for the reminder and in awe of it.

Sometimes we are the frogs. Sometimes we are the roses. And we should appreciate both at every turn.

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Hebrews 13:2.

May God give us many chances to be the rose and humble us enough to remind us we are frogs. Amen.

What does it mean to be brave? I bet if you asked 100 different people, you’d get 100 different answers. And from the answers, you could tell a lot (or a little) about the person who gave it/them. Some might say bravery is serving in the military and sacrificing your liberties (and possibly life) for the country. Another person might say bravery is going on a blind date. And another might say its wearing white after Labor Day. Is that still a thing?

I think that’s all brave. And I wouldn’t do any of it. Well–maybe wear the white–but only because I often times lose track of days and months. You know how it is. For the first three months of a new year, you write the previous year on everything. And by the time you get in the habit, the year is coming to an end, and you gotta start dating shit for the next year. I know that can’t just be me.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines brave as “ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage.”

The 100 people above would define danger, pain, and courage differently as well.

Bravery is the dear friend who’s losing her life to pancreatic cancer but is as joyful as ever and stronger in her faith, not at all fearing the passing of this life or the beginning of the next.

Bravery is the friend who has a neurological disease that’s slowly robbing her of all functions and killing her slowly but she still greets everyone with a smile from her wheelchair.

Bravery is the friend who moved across the country from everyone and everything she knows to start a new life in search of peace, happiness, and unity with people of like minds and experiences.

Bravery is the friend who got rid of everything she owned, packed her car, and decided where ever she stopped, she’d plant new roots and start over.

Bravery is the friend who lives halfway around the world with 3 of her 4 children, fighting her soon-to-be ex husband for her life, all the while trying to stay sane and faithful in her own living hell as her mother’s body is overtaken by pancreatic cancer 12 plane hours away.

Bravery is the friend who moved away from everything and everyone she knows to get off drugs, stay off them, and enjoy the family she ran from.

Bravery is the man who pretends to hold it together for his wife as he watches her deteriorate from cancer.

Bravery is the friend who moved across the world to start college and pursue her dreams while her family is at war with each other.

Bravery is the friend who told his family he is gay and will not be marrying any woman in this life.

Bravery is the friend who hides his marriage from his employers who’d fire him for being gay.

Bravery is the friend who moves to a closet in the Bible-thumping south to be near his mother.

Bravery is the woman who admitted defeat and let her husband run around until they could go their separate ways.

Bravery is the friend who doesn’t tell an acquaintance who’s mourning the loss of her boyfriend that her beloved tried to rape her.

Bravery is the friend who put her job on the line to protect the truth from the lies of the powers that be.

Bravery is the friend who quit drinking and risked death in detox to enjoy his baby boy.

Bravery is learning how to live sober and having and feeling emotions.

Bravery is the friend who found a way to tell her mother she’s bisexual and has found happiness with another woman.

Bravery is the friend who buried one twin newborn while learning to care for the other.

Bravery is the friend who found new love after her newlywed husband passed away.

Bravery is the friend who can function as she mourns the loss of her only son who saved people from drowning in a boat accident on Lake Erie.

Bravery is the friend who cares for her elderly parents alone while the rest of her family is absorbed in their own lives.

Bravery is the friend who’s 57, never married, and hasn’t given up on love.

Bravery is the friend who has been abused, bullied, and mistreated all her life but refuses to be consumed by hatred.

Bravery is the friend who always wears a smile despite working with and for power-hungry assholes with control issues who don’t actually wear the pants in their families.

Bravery is the friend who risked the best friendship she ever had to admit the truth of her love and adoration, slightly hopeful, only to be completely destroyed by what she believed was her biggest fear.

Bravery is the best friend who didn’t feel the same but didn’t want to lose her or have anything change.

Bravery is the friend who freely discusses her mental health issues to ease the comfort of those who silently struggle.

Bravery is the friend in her early 40’s with 3 young children, 2 of which are extremely autistic.

Bravery is the friend who sits in a courtroom with her son who watches the fate of a man who sexually abused him.

Bravery is the friend who raised a daughter with no mother of her own.

Bravery is the girl who was impregnated by her father in high school.

Bravery is the 400 lb friend who blocks out the silent judgment and criticism in the gym everyday.

Bravery is the friend who continues to put one foot in front of the other while every part of her world burns to the ground.

Bravery is the friend who doesn’t worry where he, his wife, and their 6 kids will live once his landlord sells their home.

Bravery is the friend who chooses life and unbearable pain over death.

Bravery is any motherfucker who crosses me! ha!

Seriously–bravery: there’s a lot of it going on. In a world full of opinions, judgments, and make believe, it is brave to be exactly who you are, say what you feel, and do whatever makes you happy. We’ve all got this one life, and without the risks, what is there?

Be brave. Take some risks. Get hurt. Admire the wounds. And be proud of yourself. Life is hard, but it’s all we’ve got.