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Luke Warm

Smoking and Drinking

In my family smoking and drinking were thought to be among the most deadliest sins one could participate in; weed and dark liquor in particular. Post the crack epidemic, I now understand the sentiments and obsessive weariness. Nonetheless life’s other perverted delights recused us from public shame casted down by family elders. If you weren’t smoking or drinking, you were presumably innocent. I was presumably innocent; a self-proclaimed anomaly. And a first class citizen imported from the honorable hood of heaven. I was not like the others, let me tell it.

Truly convinced of my “otherness” I proudly welcomed my royal status; lording it over others with my witty one liners, rash judgments, and unfounded but convincing arguments. I was increasingly more preoccupied with other people’s inhibitions than my own deplorable behavior and thought life. I lived with a false sense of security as I compared apples to oranges. However, a life of faith is marked by endurance, not comparison. And my battle against sin should never start or primarily remain outside of the walls of my own heart.

The problem is that I considered sin more of a universal problem and less as an internal sore leeched on to my soul, decaying me spiritually. So anytime I confessed my sin, my underlining purpose was to be relatable, not accountable. I am attracted to character formation because it carries with it just enough guilt to appease my Christian ideology of sin and faith without truly grabbing my affections or urging me to wholeheartedly change. I have the closest proximity to my sin. Indeed I am the most affected by it, so I should be the most grieved by it.

But I have had dozens of encounters with people who were more grieved by my sin than I was. More grieved. My sin only hurt me when others knew about it. I was apathetic to poison but sensitive to exposure. I knew not what true sorrow felt like. Because I had only the tiniest glimpse of the depth of my brokenness. Blindness is not only an inability to see what lies right in front of you. Blindness is also developing amnesia the moment you’re not staring into a mirror.

Continually being confronted by sins I hadn’t brought to my Father weakened our intimacy and inflated my pride. In pride I rejected honest rebuke; and inadvertently turned away from God’s chosen and easier path to lead me back home. A road with a few pebbles and debrief; in contrast to the fog filled forest I chose to wander within. And with no conviction or desperation nudging me back home, I was astray.

How far does a dog need to stray to be considered a “stray dog”?

I say this cautiously, and with more intuition and experience than it may sound; I wish smoking and drinking were my biggest vices. Surprisingly, they are child’s play in light of the infectious disease I had been festering.

Don’t I Look Good?

Similar to a shapeshifter, I let my environment dictate my appearance. I could change at an instant, whatever “suited” the moment. Hypocrisy is fashionable. Lamentably trendy. And just like many leaders today; I only cared about how I looked. Oh the stories I could makeup. Is my face beat? Because it resembled a kaleidoscope. Deception is an art. Almost beautiful. But no one knew who I really was; Not even me.

Nothing was overt or deliberate; not my faith nor my sin. I built a lair in a cave because I loved the shade. From afar it appeared that I was saving Gotham in the dark. But heroes don’t “save the day” at night. That was a bar!

There are many reasons people say they don’t believe in God. But a professing Christian’s hypocrisy will undoubtedly consistently be among the highest rated reasons sited for people’s disbelieve in God. On a surface level at least, it is something that makes him unattractive or unappealing. Whether I like it or not, my life is an argument for what I claim to be true. And acting incongruent to what I believe, makes others believe me less. Actions have implications. But I have always been assured of a position that my actions and character didn’t attest to.

Character is a barometer of your faithfulness and a lens by which others look through to peek at your soul. I fear knowing the number of eyes that have looked through the distorted lens of my character, and witnessed my profound proclamations of faith stained by something repulsive, yet true about me.

One aspect of God’s judgment that makes me tremble is the pending conversation we are scheduled to have where He reveals the times I have made it harder for people to see Him. If someone walks away from me even more disinterested in seeing the Lord primarily due to my character; then I play a part in their spiritual blindness. I’m not responsible for it, but I am accountable for those interactions. They mean something in heaven. How differently would I act if I remembered that what I do matters in heaven?

Prayer Means I Am Hungry

Actions do matter in heaven, but so do words. Words are pulled from the belly of the brain. Most of them have been meditated on and digested for years. Prayer is a diet and all it takes is an appetite to partake in it. So when I open my mouth figuratively and physically, and pour out my heart to the Lord, I am bringing my dish to His potluck; ready to feast. How incredible is it to share that with the one who intricately deciphered what aging would look like every second of my life. If prayer is showing up to God’s dinner table if you will, then I have been grossly starved and out of practice. I have been fasting from prayer.

Whenever I think about prayerlessness in my own life, I am soothed by the excuse that it is forgetfulness, laziness even. But discovery and honesty exposes something deeper and more heart revealing. Most of the time it is a reluctant, arrogant, fight for dominance in my life. Prayerlessness is an ungrateful heart. Like a picky, self indulgent, hard headed toddler, I am refusing food. Better yet, when I choose not to pray I am refusing to eat with God. Though I am tempted to view myself as innocently being negligent to pray; the truth is that I intentionally do not do it. Hardly ever. It is a weird medium where I am always thinking about God and am keenly aware of Him often. But I do not sit at His table.

Prayer is an opportunity to see God at work up close: Refusing to pray prevents me from learning and believing things about my Father’s work and His character.

Prayer is God’s grace to us so that we won’t feel alone. He beckons us to use it more. When you pray, it is almost like you’re sitting in heaven, because Jesus is present. Who wouldn’t want to sit in heaven? But if I am doing nothing to reduce distance, then I am actively pursuing distance from heaven. It sounds stupid because it is.

And I labor this point because a Holy Spirit-Filled relationship with Jesus has passion and rhythm. Prayerlessness stagnates and restricts our relationship to a shallow unamusing story. The lack of prayer makes my life spiritually uninteresting and awkward. Uninteresting and awkward because I begin to live for someone I know nothing about. What good is it to be incredibly brilliant, incredibly talented, and not be incredibly prayerful?

Like a gun without bullets is useless, so is a believer’s life without prayer. A vessel meant for combat and resolution, but no power to carry any part of the mission out. It is bullets that do the real damage. Prayer has the same nature of reinforcement. You’d consider a gun to be empty if it is missing bullets. A believer’s life is empty without prayer. I spent years mostly empty because of a less than casual prayer life.

My Father Is Watching Me

Yet, even when I am not, God is still present. Sometimes the moment I acknowledge that my son hurt himself, he joyously resumes playing; usually with more excitement than he had before he hurt himself. In those moments the problem isn’t the pain. The problem is that he doesn’t realize I am watching him; even if the whole time I am looking right at him. He completely shifts his focus toward how he feels. At which point he starts to feel alone in his pain because he forgets that I care about how he feels and his hurt, hurts me too. This is despair. When we feel like our Father has disappeared.

It rarely feels like it, but the engineer of fatherhood is focused on me. And He isn’t waiting by watching with disapproval. He’s waiting for me to look back at Him. He sits with anticipation: Waiting for us to catch one another in a mesmerized gaze, smiling. He looks at me with the face and demeanor of a concerned and loving father. He will not stop watching and waiting for me because I am His son and He wants me to see that He sees me.

Mature Believer

I used to think that a mature believer was someone who eloquently paraded around theological discussion with others and with God. Contrary to worldly interpretations of success, a mature believer is someone who is burdened and continually brings those burdens to God for rest. Not out of shame but out of reliance, out of surrender, out of weakness. Imagine that. In the Kingdom of God weakness is the greatest form of human strength.

So, my attitude and posture while entering prayer cannot only be “Help me do better”. My attitude and posture while entering prayer must also be, “I need more grace”.

Habits and practices while good and many times God honoring pursuits; in and of themselves are proven folly if they are not the outpouring of a life submitted to God— Where God is the goal.

It is more holy to admit that even my conscious choices to fight to be Godly are inadequate to clean myself up. My greatest boast is that I know God and He knows me. My greatest boast is my neediness for my creator. My greatest boast is my frailty, my vulnerability, my inability and my weakness. This does not sound sexy, eloquent, or manly. But it is necessary if I want to be close to the Lord. Because intimacy is formed in dependence. This is not orienting myself around shame. This is a healthy understanding of what it truly means to follow the Lord. This points to the blessings and the promises that God is sure to fulfill at the end of the rainbow of following the Lord. The Gold is God and I want my pot of Gold. So my hope is that The Almighty continues to not only form my character in my fight against sin but also gives me the grace to experience more of Him. Then and only then will I be strengthened to endure through suffering that brings him glory.

My life’s venture is to turn away from living vaguely in the grey with less surety about where my allegiance lies moment to moment. Today I live with more honest contemplation. I am hot and soothing to the soul. I am planted by a refreshingly cool stream of water; a stream that carries with it components of life giving agents and nutrients. I am grounded and girded by wisdom. I am carefully cemented in the faith by the power that rolled the stone away on the third day. I am bearing fruit like a tortoise who is in it for the long haul; sure to reach to the eventual end. I am un-phased by another’s race. Because I am being drawn toward to resemble Jesus, my ultimate example.

Today my luke warm lifestyle is layered in grace. And I am gradually becoming fruitful the more I lay at the feet of my Father and Lord like Martha’s sister. Because at His feet, He has my ear.

#christianity #faith #prayer #man of god #luke warm

Becoming Well

A Journey Toward Mental Wellness

Becoming

Former U.S First Lady Michelle Obama wrote, “For me, becoming isn’t about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self. The journey doesn’t end.”

For most of my life I obsessed over the idea of “arriving”. But I was driven by a destination that didn’t exist. I was presumably anchored by my goals: Fixated on my self-image, esteemed by other people’s praise, and motivated by the fear of not reaching anticipated success.

But there is something novel about the humility that stems from contentment and a life free of people-pleasing. I neglect who I am now when I make a daily practice of looking too far into the future or agonizing over what others think of me. I believe this is closely related to the array of issues I have with identity. Ie: Seeking validation, fear of looking silly or stupid, an unrealistic and unnecessary bravado appearance, emotion suppression, incessant defensiveness, irremovable denial of my brokenness. These characteristics all spring from the same river; my assimilation into someone I think is worth being adored.

Following this introduction is a sequence of emotions written in the way I experience them. I am beginning to understand who I become when I get overwhelmed. Most of the time I am unacquainted with my signs of overwhelm. Even though I am a frequent overreactor, feeling deep emotions is reminiscent of the first day of High School; or like constantly arriving at the same place for the first time over and over in a loop of unfortunate events. Each section of this piece of writing is titled with an emotion that I don’t mention in the corresponding section. This is to illustrate the rarity that I actually understand my emotions while I exhibit them.

Despair

That’s So Raven

was one of my favorite television shows back in the day. I was especially lured in by the relatable situations Raven faced. Life always threw her some kind of dilemma and her visions usually helped her through it.

Sometimes she’d have a vision that something catastrophic would happen. She’d spend most of the episode trying to prevent this vision from materializing. Ironically the very steps she’d take to prevent the vision, would become the reason it would come true. The things she did to counteract it, actually initiated it. She caused her own destruction. And as a result she failed.

This is the premise of my failure. More often than not, my failures feel thoroughly engrained because I am the corporate; the source of my ruin. Sometimes I initiate the very problem I try to prevent. And this convinces me that I’m incompetent. Constant effort that result in frequent failure prompts me to feel profound pain. Something as trivial as an unsuccessful attempt to restrain my anger and I am urged toward the cliff by the sorrow I feel from repeatedly trying to no avail.

What usually happens when I try? Imma keep it a buck. Most of the time I try, I fail. I fail, and in that moment I am a caricature of “never getting it right”. I am consumed by the aroma of this shame. And not because I like it. But because it is the only scent currently in the room and I can’t stop inhaling. I mean nobody wants to smell chitterlings. But if it’s cooking, you unavoidably will. Shame is an event. Most often minute moments in the grand scheme of a lifetime. But growth is a longevity game; like chess. The point is to see beyond a moment if you wanna win.

I despise the long game. However, things that matter most in life usually take a while. My growth has been the long awaited climax of my short life. Anticipating my growth has been like expecting a dead tree to change with the seasons. It is biologically incapable to do so.

Sometimes my faults feel so rooted within me that I begin to think I am biologically unable to do produce anything else; unable to change with the seasons. Failure feels like I am acting in accordance to how I was designed, or at least how I ended up. I am a tree incapable of growth. A tree unable to produce fruit. A dead tree, oddly enough still standing.

Ain’t that weird though? It actually amazes me that even dead trees remain standing. And like that tree, I’m still here appearing to be alive, healthy, and thriving. But if you investigate well enough, you will always determine the same results. That thang dead.

Though I feel dead inside, I always find just enough strength stored away that is sufficient to carry me through another day. Even if most of the day I wallowed in self-pity.

Anxiety

I hate to admit it, but I experience most feelings stronger than they should be felt. I never intend for my emotions to reach a high intensity. But they often do. It feels cowardly to acknowledge that. This is academically referred to as emotional dis-regulation. I spend most of my life fumbling through feelings. Like a 3rd string High School Freshman Varsity Quarterback, it feels like I’m not supposed to be here. I just inherited the space.

I’m not just talking about a fluttering heart. Imagine something more central to the nucleus of my being. My thoughts. There is nothing more self-revealing than how a person thinks.

When I am emotionally dis-regulated my mind inconveniently disengages. My brain stutters so hard that even I can’t understand the words. The absence of thought is one of the scariest brain functions I experience. Because it feels like my brain isn’t really functioning at all. It is distinctly discomforting. There is nothing like it; dead space that leads to ruminating and fantasizing about death.

“Most of the time I feel too much

So I try not to feel at all”

Doctor, my eyes by Khamari.

Apathy

Why bother feeling when the feelings won’t be good. Sometimes pride Impedes my ability to feel.

I become indifferent toward situations that require me to be humble

. Indifference is emotions being Interrupted. It doesn’t mean they aren’t there. They’re just hidden under the guise of ego.

Sometimes I forget what feeling feels like

In any given moment I have the propensity to lose my connection to objectivity when I decide to be careless. My convictions waver and my faith becomes less potent. A careless man is merciless and unreliable because he is too emotionally removed to care for the needs of others. These insensitivities cause me to recuse myself from important discussions and decisions. Like a warrior who has forgotten what he’s fighting for, I have a habit of retreating when I should be pressing toward. Within the trenches of conflict my tendency is to avoid, rather than confront. This avoidance manifests immaturely. Determination, honor, and bravery are impossible to conjure up when I react as an unconcerned person. When I deliberately detach I wholly withdraw; pretending to be unbothered.

When I was a kid I had a younger cousin who always wanted to fight. I’d rough him up all the time, letting him get a few hits in as we wrestled back and forth. Typical guy stuff. Sometimes I’d punch him hard in the chest, just to remind him that, “aye, I’m big cuz”. Well this fool would endure the hit and respond, “that don’t hurt”. Three punches later he’s swelling with tears, turning red continuing to say, “that don’t hurt”.

I wonder who taught him that being numb was tough. It’s a contradictory head nod to masculinity to act like you can’t feel anything. But the thing about being numb is that the feelings usually catch up to you because numbness fades. One day I hope to thoroughly understand to “not feel” is to be unhuman. Because I am afraid that one day I will become so desensitized to feelings that I’ll fail to respond to a life shattering calamity.

I don’t want to carelessly go about my day unaffected by the turmoil around me and the heartbreak inside of me. So I want to do everything I can to build and preserve my capacity to show empathy and gauge the barometer of my emotions when tragedy strikes. I want to do everything I can to build and preserve the honesty to express when something hurts me. Because that is unadulterated authenticity and true strength; to admit when something hurts without circumventing away from that feeling. Not avoiding it, sitting with it. Because it is a false pretense to think that carelessness can appear strong.

Anger

While deep sadness feels deflating, and carelessness feels voided, rage feels empowering. It’s an invigorating feeling. Like a constant negative urge, and it scares me. So I have convinced myself that if I give in to that feeling I will burst and the maniac inside of me will escape the coziest parts of my mind that I let him rest in; in hopes that he’d be too comfortable to leave.

I usually try to hold in my frustrations; thinking that it’s more honorable and noble to restrain myself. I assume that if I hold it all in, time will pass and I won’t need to address what makes me frustrated. Because if this dude gets out he’s killing everybody.

But suppressing frustrations is like biting into an apple and letting it sit on the table afterwards. It’ll rot faster because its wound is exposed. Open wounds cannot heal properly. They must be dealt with. Suppressing frustrations is like leaving leftovers in the fridge for too long. It’s wasted, and the container will be harder to clean. Not expressing what I feel in the moment means I never get the relief or healing from what I was mad about in the first place. It’s just wasted rage. And it will eventually be directed toward an innocent casualty. Those relationships become harder to repair.

I haven’t practiced releasing resentments enough. Which is why the release of those resentments feels more like an explosion. I worry about not being level headed enough to calmly accept criticism. I get bruised by words that naturally don’t hit hard because I refuse to admit when I am deeply bothered by something. So I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to listen to correction.

Contentment

Listening is a trait of an emotionally stable person. It is a gift to have the capacity to allow other people’s words occupy a safe nonjudgmental space in your brain. I have seen many people exercise this strength. Most notably, my wife. For her, character and integrity are not mere words to aspire to embody. They are daily outfits she styles herself in. Her closet is filled with the luxuries of sound judgment. She filters through peacefulness, graciousness, and compassion because she wears them often. She puts on the armor of humility and is always readily prepared to defend with it.

She verbalizes her thoughts clearly and powerfully, as each word carries it’s own weight. I envy how sure and precise she is. I am perplexed at her thoughtfulness and insightfulness. She crafts words from the wardrobe of pure emotions and lays them out perfectly. Ironing over them until every wrinkle is undone. And when she is done you know it. Because she has introduced you to understanding. And you have no other choice but to greet it because she gives the best introductions.

Rarely does she speak rashly or haphazardly. Her thoughts are organized. She makes a practice out of reflecting. Like a skilled scientist she sits with data, draws parallels from the strings of evidence her mind finds, divides arguments into fragments and picks them apart until she can come to a probable conclusion.

She is providing herself comfort and resolve. So I usually learn resolve second hand. Like an eager student, I have a front row seat to marvel. Though I struggle to give credence to her words when we share a conversation. I should trust her more.

Because there is a time when forsaking my will, forsaking my desires, and forsaking my comfort is most suitable and appropriate. Even for my healing. Mental stability is an unusual occurrence for me. But I imagine having a bond with freedom. I imagine the redemption of relationships. I imagine taking residence across the street from hope, so that I can see it sitting there beside the sun as it rises. I imagine a determination so strong that it forges paths to forgiveness and healing. Wellness. Centeredness. Assurance.

I yearn for a well-being I can settle in. A well-grounded, and authentic life fit just for me. Where fear is allowed to exist. But prohibited from controlling me. I aspire to be well. Well minded, well mannered, well meaning and well maintained. Wholistic wellness; not perfection. Not balance; but becoming. Progressing, growing, flourishing. Becoming well.

On this journey toward mental wellness my emotions will routinely run their course, the way the sun rises and sets as it is purposed to do so; leaving room for the darkness. Because even though it may not always feel gratifying, God still wills the dark. So I’d be wise not to avoid the darkness, but rather prepare for it. And at the signs of an upcoming storm, adversity, perseverance and fulfillment will train me for the strong winds that would usually sway me. And I will endure. Because whatever my lot, God has taught me to say, it is WELL with my soul.

Even while I am failing, I am learning how to consider others.

The Goal of Marriage

The Aim of a Faithful Husband

“Determine to see your selfishness as a fundamental problem and see it more seriously than your spouse’s. Why? Only you have complete access to your own selfishness. And only you have complete responsibility for it. Take the Bible seriously and make a commitment to give yourself up. You should stop making excuses for selfishness. You should begin to root it out as it is revealed to you. And you should do so regardless of what your spouse is doing. If two spouses each say, [I’m going to treat my self-centeredness as the main problem in the marriage], you have the prospect of a truly great marriage.” (The Meaning of Marriage, Keller 2013).

Giving up Self-Centeredness You would be hard pressed to find a more counter cultural, yet bountifully true quote about marriage. One of the greatest paradoxes about marriage is that the more things a spouse puts to death within themselves, the more life giving fruit the marriage has the potential to bear. Because self-centeredness is the parasite that sucks the life out of the growing organism of marriage. A marriage cannot grow when selfishness is not intentionally and continually being thwarted.

With that being said, I cannot deny how dangerously short I fall at having the aim of a faithful husband due to the glaring self-centeredness of my heart. And not in the, “no one is perfect” kind of way. But in the, “a man should never treat his wife like that” kind of way.

Shame aside, it is sobering to know the standard of a husband and be convinced that most days I don’t come close to having the aim of a faithful one. It is sobering because of the amount of mental clarity that the standard provides and the awareness of my distance from it; an alertness that provokes me to change. Sobriety.

Being a faithful husband is challenging because there is a great cost to being an honorable one to be proud of; the cost is death. When I don’t graciously give up selfish desires and purposes, our marriage suffers deeply; happiness, harmony, and healing start to fade. My unwillingness to forsake my presuppositions and pride reveals my misplaced priorities. Marriage is Less of a Goal- #Goals A subtle incongruity in my ideology when I became a husband was my intent at viewing marriage as a goal rather than a work. I positioned it in my mind as the paramount place of prestige, pleasure, and productivity. #Goals! But marriage is the purge that perfects my impurities. I cannot overstate it, becoming a faithful husband is hard work and it takes a million careful, purposeful, willful decisions and considerations.

I underestimated the amount of internal work marriage forces you to do. The level of self-awareness necessary to communicate with a spouse is incomparable and incompatible to any other relationship. A faithful husband who does not work on himself is incomprehensible. And guys who are inefficient and ineffective communicators will fail at being faithful husbands until they build the fortitude to improve. Borrowing from a popular phrase: I am guys.

In some areas of my life I overlook the truth that you don’t reap benefits where you have not worked. You go to work anticipating that you will do work. I wish I had approached marriage with that mindset. The moment I vowed to cherish my wife, was the moment I “clocked in”. It required me to be there; to be emotionally, physically, and spiritually available. Marriage is vulnerability! My problem is that I prefer not to commit to faithfully clock in each and every day. Most days I would rather work from the comfort of my selfishness. But this job cannot be executed remotely. The inescapable truth is that marriage is less of a goal because “the work” does not stop when your marital status upgrades from single. It is more than an accomplishment because the real work is sustaining a marriage, not getting there. It is deeper. It is an honor that should be handled with all diligence. It is freedom and unity. It is character formation and confidence building. It is a luxury grounded by integrity and faithfulness. Marriage is constant engagement and it is as pure as an honest promise. And just like the jobs I prayed for, interviewed for, and was blessed to receive, it is a responsibility. If I care about it, I will work hard to cultivate it by giving it my best effort as often as I am able. Because I committed to it.

This is where my conscience consistently contradicts my conduct.

I forget My Vows

One of the many reasons I fall dangerously short at being a faithful husband, is because I conveniently forget my vows. I imagined vows as something that was merely spoken at the wedding; therefore they would only need to be remembered for one day. You know, the standard that I can look towards without being required to take any steps. Just as long as they sounded sincere and well-intentioned they didn’t matter or have much functionality after their initial reading. I thought vows described the ideal me that ain’t nobody gon’ actually expect me to be. But vows are promises and principles to live by. Vows are arguably the most purposeful and impactful words spouses will ever speak to one another. When I said my vows, I gave my word which should not have been taken lightly because I asked my wife to believe me forever. I literally asked her to risk her life; take a pledge and a plunge with me and let’s be joined together. Most days, I do not intend to practice and pursue the promises I made. I settle for subpar, mediocre exercising of my vows, not because I am immoral but because I am inconsistent, impulsive, and immature. I am slow to listen, quick to speak and quick to become angry.

My Higher Calling as a Husband

It takes no effort to make a declaration. Which is why vows are backed up by “I do”. Authentic love is both active and spoken. Promises reinforced by actions makes love more meaningful and memorable. Listening without interrupting with defensiveness, explanation, or rebuttal displays love; not to mention it also shows wisdom and validity. Listening communicates value to another person. More often than not I communicate with contention. Which makes me a constant contender in my marriage. And I make being agreed with a contingency to earn my compassion. I also prefer to “solve” my wife’s worries, rather than listen to them. But she deserves to be heard, not solved. She is not a puzzle. She is a person. Less to figure out and more to be with.

I simplified my calling as a husband to basic human decency and simple service to my wife. I can drive all around town for her with no problem. Fix a meal? Sure. Take out the trash? I got you love. I’ll do it. But a husband’s calling cannot be reduced to favors. A husband is not a task manager. If he was, there would be a measuring tool for how much is enough. When I lessen the standard, I start to assume that I have done enough to earn respect and recognition. A husband has a loftier aim. He gives his life up. I have the hardest time making my wife a genuine consistent priority. I’m finna drop a bomb: The concept and the objective of “give my life up” is communal. I am in intimate community with my wife. She is literally someone to share my life with. Queue Kem Share my Life. In marriage spouses willingly and eagerly give of themselves. And a faithful husband does this in a massively mindful way; making thoughtfulness, understanding and consideration the route to giving himself up.

When I am reminded of that, a suitable amount of guilt sinks into my limbic system. Because when I withhold kindness in my marriage; I am directly acting against the sharing composition of our union. A union that I easily become indifferent towards. There is almost nothing worse than responding to your wife’s hurt with “I don’t care”. Rather in word or deed indifference is abusive.

My wife’s love for me is sometimes met with my indifference. An example of that is our prayer life for one another. Ashamedly there have been dozens of scenarios where she prayed diligently for me after I was objectively rude toward her. While she prayed, I sulked. Sinking deeper in indifference and carelessness; the culmination of cowardice.

During some of our conversations I lack depth and empathy. I put reasoning, thoughtfulness, and consideration on the back burner. I use to excuse and complain about these habits. Thinking other men had better traits and qualities than I did.

But the examples I have seen of men being empathetic and considerate husbands, are examples of guys who simply out work me. That is an agonizing thought. But love isn’t love if it is lazy. Love pursues. It is the main characteristic of a faithful husband enamored with the one he shares life with.

Love pursues! Even if that pursuit entails working on yourself to care for someone else. So my unchecked and dis-regulated emotions also reveal a lack of pursuit. I negate the skill and craftsmanship of discovering my wife and becoming a better man when I don’t pursue her or my healing and growth. Sometimes I remove the relational responsibility of being a husband by solely focusing on my gain and my emotions. This is not a new concept to me, but it takes courage and consistency to change.

Change Takes Courage Some of the content in this blog may sound bold, harsh, or unnecessary to reveal. But peep this, radical honesty rewards me with greater insight to becoming a better husband; because remembering and sharing my failures should not discourage me. It should inflate me with the courage required to face hard truths about me. Being courageous is not an innate ability. It knocks on the closet door of my frailties. Radical honesty is the only way I can open the door when I need to be courageous.

Courage is the catalyst for my growth and healing. Acknowledging how and why “I ain’t there yet” reveals the voyage in front of me. Because sometimes I am blinded by fear, which prevents me from traveling along the necessary and honorable road to a God-honoring and healthy marriage. Some people may go as far as to think that because I am writing about my failures, this essentially means I have arrived. But c’mon nah, you don’t travel to a place you’ve already arrived at. To be poignantly clear, I have a journey ahead of me. Because simply being married, is not where I’m headed, but having the aim of a faithful husband is my lofty goal.

In recap: Marriage helps you give up self-centeredness. Because marriage is two people constantly giving up the desire to give up. And I naively thought it was just something to get to. But it is clearly not a destination, it is an experience. It is more than a goal to accomplish. It is a consistent relational journey sculpted with the foundational materials of promises made and kept. And there is risk a man takes by starting this path; he will certainly die a good and necessary death. Because a faithful husband is a man with the courage to share his life.

A Letter To My Son

My beloved Ezra,

The thought of you creates valleys in my lips and rainstorms in my eyes. Just like the Earth, you are a gift from God; precious, holy, and unfiltered aesthetic. You are God’s design. And as a steward He has commissioned me to cultivate you. But little did I know that you would shape me as well; turn me into a better man, your affectionate father.

You are life altering and I will pay homage to you by training you for this life and the life to come.

The weight of this responsibility sometimes feels like a burden. But that is not the correct characterization of this commitment. My brokenness is burdensome and being your father is an honor. Still weighty, but with a hopeful appeal.

I approach you with sensitivity and intentionality because I see the depths of my fallenness more than anyone. Being your father is both a comfort and a challenge. Either way my heart is open and I am eternally invested in you.

Reflection And Observation

My beloved son, I wish I could write to you without lament. But as I recount my deepest despairs… As I survey the memories I wish I never had… As I ponder over the poor choices I have foolishly made even while you laid in your mother’s belly I find immense grief.

I grieve. Your father grieves.

I want to be clear: life is hard son. It can and will present itself with hard decisions to make, hard battles to overcome, and hard feelings to experience. But one of the beautiful things about life is that it is also good. Very good.

There is goodness here because the fingerprint of God is in our being and intrinsically involved with everything we create.

You my son, are one of those good things. And what is even more significant to me is that your mother and I created you. Obviously we didn’t knit you in your mother’s womb. That was God’s miraculous doing.

But in a physical microcosmic way, we created you. You are an extension of us; our lineage, our legacy, our beloved.

Fatherhood is forcing me to take honest inventory. I’m starting to view my mind as a book shelf full of helpful and damaging ideas that inform my actions. I keep what is useful and nurture it. Then I remove what is not and destroy it. This “pruning of the mind” causes deep reflection and observation.

Reflecting On Hope

My greatest hope for you is that you have the insight and humility to treasure the gospel. Allow the magnificence of God’s deity, the kindness of Jesus’ character, and the conviction of The Spirit draw you near. I hope you find the trinity to be much richer than I ever have. I pray you grow in deep love for the Lord who foreknew you, left heaven to radically rescue you and sent a Helper to secure you. The gospel ain’t really a popular message these days. I’m not sure it ever has been for that matter. It certainly hasn’t been favorable in my own heart.

I have not treasured the faith. I have diminished it’s value to an emergency fund that I don’t replenish. If my faith was a garden, I’d say that I haven’t tended to it well enough. But I have flaunted it like a field of well maintained roses. Meanwhile the garden is really a graveyard. No life; because nothing grows from a grave. There are only monuments and memories that don’t really tell the whole story.

Your faith can have so much more viability, animation, and beauty.

Outside of intimately knowing God, it takes a lifetime of guessing and grasping to formulate a sense of being. I’ve done a lot of guessing and grasping. So I hope you find this truth early and willingly submit to it. I hope that you can be assured of your position before God before you are poisoned by the pleasures of this world and your heart like I was. I hope your conviction is anchored by godly values; which will lead you to be bold and compassionate.

“In a world dressed in sorrow Show me the delight of being human Between dark and deathly shadows Whisper the way of life to me” (Jillian Edwards, Whisper Hymn 2020).

Values and Priorities

Son, remember that you cannot call it a value system if your system has no values. Value people as image bearers of God, and develop empathy for your neighbors. Some of my deepest failures are due to my comfort level with apathy. Vulnerability scares me. So the decision to not care is the shell I retreat to when I feel weak and exposed. Genuine empathy is a learned skill, a strength even; without it you will be unable to sustain healthy relationships.

Determine to live peaceably with others as much as you can. And when conflict arises, think sensibly and act respectfully. Respect and view women the way you respect and view your momma. Naw like for real, not just in theory. Women are equally treasured creations of God, not bodies used to stimulate yours. They have a world of a lot more to offer than what you can see. It’s taken me many years to disassociate from toxic masculinity and unlearn some of the patterns that are second nature to this toxic thinking. So don’t let it take root in your mind because it will be hard to uproot.

I don’t have the time, or foreknowledge to teach you all that you need to know.

However, I will help you avoid as much unnecessary burden as I can. But I know that I cannot protect you from the pain of life. Some things you will have to learn on your own. Your choices are yours to make and own. Embrace this ownership of your existence. It is an extension of the freedom of your will that God created you to have.

A mentor of mine once pinpointed a key factor in manhood that I want to draw out and locate for you. He said, “boys make excuses, men make changes”. I still fail to embody this mantra. But I want you to prioritize your self-awareness because change is a part of growing. When you are wrong, own it; fully and as deeply as is needed.

I am noticing that my refusal to talk about something I’ve done wrong is evidence that I probably haven’t learned from it yet.

My intent in telling you this is for your benefit; not merely instruction, but for the sake of wisdom and character. I put high priority on your character because for most of my life I didn’t put high priority on mine.

A lesson in humility

Sometimes when I’m driving I notice a car rapidly approaching on the side of me. The car in front of that person is going slower than this speeding car. And if this speeding car continues at this rate, they will undeniably crash into the person in front of them. The most responsible thing for me to do is slow down to allow this person to jump into my lane and speed off. Sometimes that is exactly what happens.

I imagine this person feels powerful in some way. Perhaps they are in a rush and consider other cars inconveniences. So they bulldoze, practically forcing others to move because of their insistent pressure.

I can relate to their selfishness.

Hear me on this, power is not in exerting control or making demands. I still struggle to understand that true power does not dominate. Power is in leveraging what you have to make something or someone else better. Power is in humility. The most powerful people are the most humble people.

If you strive for humility you will have power. But if you strive for power, you will have nothing; nothing but pride. I know all too well that pride is a weakness.

Comfort And Wisdom

As I prepare to make room for you, the shame that accompanies my immaturity discourages me. This is one of the many reasons I am so grateful for the comfort of the Holy Spirit and the wisdom of your mother. Thankfully the road of parenthood was not intended to be traveled alone.

The power that rose Christ from the dead, and your mother’s prudent demeanor journeys with me. Similar to The Holy Spirit, her faith and endurance has been God’s gift and grace to me. And without this grace I would not have the ability to be faithful to you today. Think of her as you read this. I sure am. And while you’re thinking, thank her. Trust me son, she deserves our high gratitude. I exhort you to be comforted by knowing this and wise to emulate your mother’s intentionality.

You Set My Mind On Good Things

I consider intentionality to be meaningful. But I am learning that fatherhood requires more than my good intentions. My good intentions don’t always yield good results. I am figuring out that fatherhood requires a conviction that leads to actual change. You compel me to grow. And the thought of you guides me toward better decisions.

“You are my good conscience” (Mickey Factz, You Are 2021).

You set my mind on good things; on growth and composure. You make me introspective and contemplative; hesitant to speak rashly and act impulsively. You are my settled mind and sound judgment.

I imagine my relationship with you will draw a picture for me of the distinction between God and me. Just like you, I am unaware, and dependent. Yet God is All-Knowing, self sufficient and self-sustaining. “I know that I know nothing” (Socrates).

You bring purpose to my curiosity.

I will dive deep into exploration with you. I will take you on adventures to see the world as well as guide you through discovering yourself, as I continue to discover myself. I am accountable to you. And I hope you make me a man of my word; a good man.

I have always thought of fatherhood as having authority and responsibility. It is true that fathers have a massive assignment to develop their sons. But Ezra, you are also developing things in me that were not there before; stewardship, integrity, and perseverance. I embrace this transformation with tears. And my tears encapsulates the gravity of knowing that I don’t deserve you, but I have you. My grief makes my joy more abundant; because you my son, are a good thing.

Your Affectionate Father,

Kevin

Addressing Childhood Trauma (ACT)

Navigating parent relationships can be difficult as an adult. Roles change and there usually isn’t a warning or a way to fully understand how to interact now that you are an adult. It is especially difficult navigating those relationships when your parent has played a part in your childhood trauma.

It has become apparent that I need healing from childhood wounds because these wounds have fueled my anger, pride, and fear for years. The following reference is descriptive and disgusting but it is meant to be. So prepare yourself. It is kinda like teeth that rot in the back of somebody’s mouth. Imagine the horrific odor that lingers, the pain that persists, and the decay that deteriorates the teeth. What was once white and pure is now black and contaminated. They have sat and festered for years, unresolved. Until they rotted and something had to be done to them; because they were doing more damage being there untouched.

That is what my unresolved childhood trauma has done to me. When I finally started to deal with the things in my life that have sat for so long, it was comparative to surgery. Literally like pulling teeth because I didn’t want to do it. Yet and still I am doing it; because again sitting with it is causing more damage than I could have ever imagined.

I have to ACT- Address Childhood Trauma

Some of the damage seems irreparable. But that is not truth. It is only a feeling. What is true, is that the journey toward rebuilding myself, and denouncing what I have become is long overdue. I am starting to see the fruit of laboring through trauma and journeying on the path toward healing. I am witnessing the goodness and freedom of reorienting myself to be someone better than I was yesterday.

Unmet expectations and repetitive unresolved conflicts from my youth have resulted in bitterness and immature responses to other people, especially the person closest to me - my wife. She became the victim of how I wish I would have responded to experiences in my childhood that angered me, or feared me.

Unmasking my emotions

“Masking your emotions is a weakness. It’s a kindness to let people in” (Little Simz, The Garden- Interlude)

Before healing began, I had to unravel the thoughts and feelings that were intertwined with my conduct. When a baby cries, it is communicating that something is wrong. Maybe a dirty diaper or an empty stomach for example. Well my actions were communicating something too deep for me to put into words at the time.

So theoretically speaking, I cried. I cried in ways I knew how: hypersensitivity, ruminating on negative self-talk, not expressing how I felt but expecting others to treat me like they knew what I was thinking, physically and mentally leaving when I felt conflicted about not always being in control or comfortable, refusing to be vulnerable, making impulsive decisions, displaying explosive anger, rage reactions when I didn’t get my way, and many more unhelpful tendencies that displayed extreme emotional immaturity and didn’t make any relationship fruitful.

Taking time to reflect is revealing how deeply layered my attitudes and behaviors are. Some of my insecurities are rooted in things I kept covered and stored away in the back of my mind for many years. I borrow from those experiences when I feel insecure.

If my wife says something to me that reminds me of an insecurity stemming from childhood, sometimes I respond with my best defense system because I have always feared exposure. I still struggle to allow her to see me in a vulnerable state.

Sometimes I still suppress my emotions in order to not be embarrassed. I don’t always have the courage to be my full self in front of people. My apathy makes empathy impossible, which often communicates her feelings don’t matter.

Sometimes I still refuse to unmask my emotions because I am afraid that what is underneath the mask is weakness. But other times I remember that,

“masking your emotions is a weakness. It’s a kindness to let people in”.

I masked my emotions for so long that as an adult, I am learning how to identify feelings all over again.

A Remedy For Overwhelming Emotions

One day around 7 or 8 years old, I received a call from my momma that infuriated me. I hung up the phone and started to cuss and yell. But my auntie “Shell” was standing near by, so I stopped. What happened next surprised me. My auntie said, “Say it baby, say it. She what?”

I screamed out all kinds of swear words. Ya boy was creative and foul as I could possibly be. It was like the lid had finally flew open after being contained for so long and I was spilling out all types of frustrations.

This became common practice.

And anger soon became the remedy for all of my overwhelming emotions. As a child, I couldn’t go to my mom with my emotions because she didn’t seem to care about my thoughts and feelings —especially if they involved her. So for years anger was the only emotion I was comfortable expressing —this followed me into adulthood and marriage. Until at 27 years old, I finally decided to talk to my mother about my childhood. I needed healing from the trauma. Not just an outlet to yell and swear. I needed to address rather than explode. So an intentional conversation ensued.

I was finally disentangling the dysfunction and confronting my fears.

Confronting Fears Led to Mending my Heart

My mom was disillusioned when I started confronting the way that I was raised. I had questions and statements based on my interpretation of her words and actions that I experienced. I think she was surprised that I was perceptive enough to communicate years of past hurt and present issues with cohesion and calm. I also think she was stunned that I debunked the 3 myths that she always believed:

That she provided me with a healthy upbringing.

That her and I have an open and good relationship that she should be proud of.

That my behavior and struggles are new, sudden, and completely unrelated to her or my childhood.

My momma also felt uneasy having this unusual conversation. At some point she said that it was weird to talk about this stuff. Talking about these things were unfamiliar territory for her and especially within our relationship. While my momma was blinded by denial I was finally experiencing clarity and healing through radical acceptance.

For the first time I felt free to express how I felt in a healthy way.

Keepin’ It Real For A Purpose

I want to be honest and not passive. I want to address pain rather than regress from it. I am accustom to “sweeping things under the rug”. But when I do that, dust and garbage tends to seep out. The most loving and considerate action to take is to open up, even though it scares me. It takes courage to keep it real. And it takes deep consideration to make purposeful decisions that yield growth and healing.

It was time to finally be real about my relationship with my momma.

I am determined to raise my child with intentionality, and not with impulsive reactive tolerance. I will not use aggression to communicate with my child. I do not want my child to fear me, nor will I use fear as a motivator to get my child to respect or obey me. I want my child and my wife to know me by my gentleness.

I am determined to start interacting with my wife in a understanding way and not from the pain I experienced before her. She is worthy of my compassion and my gentleness; not my rage and bitterness.

I also have to consider my momma. She deserves to know that I have been holding on to these things since I was a child and that they have deeply affected our relationship. She deserves to know that I have an opinion about her actions. She deserves to know how differently I wish things would have been. She deserves to know what the true outcome and evidence of raising me is.

From this evidence I unearth the source of some of my habits. What often feels like natural inclinations, are sometimes learned behaviors from her. But if I learned those behaviors, that means I can practice to overcome them. For example: Most times I struggle to endure when someone confronts me or a conflict arises. If somebody confronts me about my actions or behaviors, even lovingly, I sometimes view it as a disrespect. But I am learning to recognize that some things warrant frustration and direct language from others.

I am intolerant toward other people’s emotions when I am unaware of how to deal with my own.

I have greater expectations and standards for how people should treat me, than I have for how I aim to treat other people. I don’t offer grace when someone reacts in ways inconsistent with their character. Sometimes I withdraw my love and friendship when I am offended by someone, rather than talk about my offense with them. I make other people feel they need to be perfect to be in relationship with me. If I am always on the defense then I cannot be gracious.

I use to think that growing up with my momma gave me a disposition toward giving grace; because she often treated me in ways I knew wasn’t right. But the grace I had prepared for people was compounded with resentment and judgements. It wasn’t really grace at all. It was avoidance and passive aggressive tendencies.

More Evidence of Childhood Trauma

Sometimes I get immensely discouraged when someone expresses disappointment to me because when I disappointed my mom, she chose to withdraw her love from me to teach me a lesson. To her, respect was a matter of position. So she demanded it from me. Her method of demanding my respect was to invoke fear in me. So to me, disappointment felt a lot like worthlessness.

When I experience fear, I become angry because I didn’t receive much gentleness from my momma growing up. She felt she needed to be tough so that I wouldn’t dare disrespect her. The fact that she purposely treated me in ways to entice my fear, made it hard for me to give her authentic love.

The Relationship Between Forgiveness and Freedom

I was told that I needed to forgive my momma because unforgiveness was hindering my relationships and deepening my decline. I had heard that for a while but I did not invest my time and energy to doing that till I realized that:

I will continue to correlate present experiences with past trauma until I Address Childhood Trauma in order to heal.

Honestly, the same destructive trends I see in my momma, I also see in me. And that helps me give her a new kind of grace. A grace that is more aware of my own brokenness. A grace that is eagerly able to forgive and extend compassion. But also a grace that calls her on to do better. A grace that humbly informs her of issues without defaming her character. And a grace that stands firm on the convictions in my heart.

In this next season of my life; boundaries, intentional conversations, and prayer will be all the more important in how I ACT with my momma —especially as a new father and husband. Now that my judgement is no longer clouded by hate or anger, I can finally pursue a healthy relationship with my mother. I can interact with her with tenderness.

I can boldly, directly, and respectfully speak up when I need to address an issue. And I can have my eyes open readily looking to affirm even minor growth and goodness from her actions. As her son, I can be proud of her for learning and changing because I’ve forgiven her for the hurt she caused me as a child (even if she doesn’t take ownership of it).

I can prayerfully and intentionally move toward her today with a hope that one day I will experience the ripple effect of Addressing Childhood Trauma. One day, I believe my child will have a thriving relationship with their grandmother and that their childhood interactions with her will be much different than mine.

I can and will embrace my mother, with all her flaws and personality instead of harboring frustrations because I finally decided to ACT!

Explaining my Heart

The struggle I face with writing A Poem Meant To Be Read is the wide open space for interpretation. Interpretation is less of an issue when things are said because all of the things that accompany words, like tone, diction, tempo, are there to guide the listener. How you say what you say keeps people interested and informed. Writing words meant to be read doesn’t seem to have all those components. But it does. There is life in the words that I write. I just ain’t the person giving them life. Again, the onus is on the reader to receive what is written. It pushes me out of the way and let’s the words speak for themselves. I heard a writer once say, “Each word carries it’s own weight”. Apply that sentiment here. With A Poem Meant To Be Read, I allow you to take something that is most intimately mine and make it yours. One way that I attempt to remove pride from my work. I remove the performance piece. Because I deeply feel that what makes poems better art, is their ability to be heard more than their ability to be read. I have always desired for people to hear what I’m saying, not just see it. Because if they heard it, they might be more inclined to like it. My purpose now, is to remove that barrier for my own heart. I guess it is my way of trying to be more honest and direct. But that’s weird, because in a way, I’m making it less about others, while still making it more about others (people make it what they want). It’s a paradox. It also humbles me because sometimes I am tempted to think that I have the power of making someone understand something. But making art that can only be read, gives the reader more responsibility to attempt to understand. As opposed to me saying things in a way that provokes your interest enough for you to understand. Nah, in that way I can easily make it more about me. Because your understanding validates me and energizes me. But I want to start being validated and energized by something more meaningful than the opinions of others. I think we all do. I want to be more contemplative and honest. I want to be more holy. Lord let my holistic approach be a holy one. Because that is the only way to be whole. Remind me that life ain’t just about me. Remind me that life is not about what I know or finding the answers to what I don’t know. I think life is about the truth that I believe in, rest in, and live for. I believe You to be true and that is what I rest in. It is what I rely on.

A Poem Meant To Be Read

I still struggle to understand that my life ain’t just about me

The petty and natural selfishness of boyhood has yet to subside

And I am sure that more often than I realize, I still bow in submission to my pride

I still struggle to understand that my life ain’t just about me

I was born on a Sunday at the sound of scripture, singing, and a sermon

Growing up I thought that somehow, that made me wholesome

At the early age of 5 I was conditioned to regular church attendance

So much so that one day I walked up to my pastor and said, “Hi God!”

I used to think that was funny

Until I started to see the shadows of that mischaracterization directly behind me

I never parted ways with it

It has always been with me

I have always felt cozy cuddling with another man’s convictions

Rather than engaging truth for myself

I have always faced truth with a tail in between my legs

I have always been tempted to find identity in the compliments that I collected

I have always contemplated whose words I could cling to give me self-confidence

Whose crown can I claim to give me a false sense of congenial company

I have always desperately wanted to feel connected

What clever phrase can I come up with or pretend I came up with

To corroborate my claims yet cover up the construction of the convoluted and confused sense of reality that I created

I have always wanted people to think I was smart

Because I didn’t think it myself

In high school, I used to listen to sermons on repeat

Literally while trying to go to sleep

Just to wake up the next day, to put what I heard in a tweet

I was exclaiming truths that I didn’t sincerely grasp an understanding of

But I found haven in being someone’s decision

As long as you liked me, I kept smiling

And when someone didn’t choose me, I chose to be convincing

Very convincing

Conniving, manipulative

Like a deceptive snake I slithered my way across boundaries I was not invited into.

I bombarded and broke borders and barriers like a beast

I left women feeling like desolate lands

I had the mindset of a rapist- Take her innocence with no regard to her value or personhood.

My thought process didn’t process consent

Process this, I was content with no consent

What kind of human is that?

While still claiming to be pure and upstanding

There was no sorrow, no honor, no respect in me standing up

I was worse than ignorant

I had no excuse; I was a master of persuasion and hypocrisy.

I wore a purity ring to keep people from asking me questions

And I taught myself that the truth ain’t matter

I survived off pleasure and a perception of other people’s adoration

That was a much easier state of mind and it secured me from the exposure of my insecurities

And as much as I want to, I cannot reduce my sin to something of the past

As if its widespread effects don’t affect me now

In the depths of my being I see remnants of performance-based reality and partiality.

The place where my heart reeks of reputation and religiosity

And I can no longer walk around like my nose don’t work

So, my admonition of the truth helps me remember just how much

I’ve always thought life was just about me

All too often I don’t sit with hard truths that rub up against my failures

Because it is uncomfortable

And perseverance is foreign to me

I am all too familiar with escape

I never calmly sit with my thoughts and I struggle to be the man that stays when things get hard for me

I am a mascot for the term fight or flight

I have quit my marriage many times because of small things I refused to own

Leaving in the middle of the night with no plans of coming home

Because the little boy in me sees conflict as a threat

A disrespect that I can’t accept

Except life is teaching me that conflict is actually an opportunity to connect

A connection that should lead me to at the very least care about rationalization

Because it would be rational for me to take time for observation

Observe the conversation

And spend time in deep contemplation

I hope I get better at practicing consideration and communication

What feels natural to me is finding ways to oppose the things that I interpret as uncomfortable

Even if in reality, it ain’t all that discomforting

I suppose, I don’t do what I’m supposed to do

Like take brave steps toward accountability

And decide to rightly accept responsibility

But I am afraid

I am afraid

And I am finding out that my fear doesn’t leave space for a resolution to be a possibility

Rather my fear prepares a place for me to defend or hide

So, in heated discussions I’m either yelling my point across

Or sitting silently while secretly brewing about my wife’s total demise

Somehow, I’ve taught myself that my silence is a solution

In my silence, I become what I meditate on

An evil, slanderous, hateful murderer

I should be dying to my pride, but in my mind, I kill the wrong thing

I have spent days hoping she’d feel the burn of my silent treatment

I can’t love my wife if I continue to choose to actively hate her

But if one day I can start to think purely, clearly, and lovingly

Then I can see a conflict through to its determined end

Something that yields connection and not the harmful things I choose to make it

It got me thinking about all the causes I choose to argue over

And the points I feel the urge to make

Got me questioning myself like, “is this really the hill you want this relationship to die on?”

If I value my wife, I will validate her feelings instead of coddling my fears, ego, and fragility

Instead, I let temporary fickle emotions lead me

I don’t question how I feel and why I feel it

I let my anger be the deciding factor of how much I love people

I am starting to see how much energy it takes for her to dodge my toxicity

But I convinced myself that anger is the fruit of my masculinity

Instead of a representation of my insecurities

I can count on less than one hand how many times I respectfully said “this hurt me”

I don’t say it, because I am afraid of the amount of intimacy it takes to be open

So, I lash out, I blame, I minimize, I sabotage, I wine

But what’s the point of talking if the purpose and direction of my speech isn’t pointing others to something greater?

This next statement I feel in my soul: If I can’t reveal my heart humbly now, Then I should do it later

Thankfully, I have a wife gracious enough to meet me in the mist of my struggles

And honest enough to lovingly confront my bull

Her holy usually understands my holes

Which is saying a whole lot

Man, Bianca somehow finds the balance between being caring and challenging my stupidity

But do I wanna be a fool or do I wanna be free?

Do I wanna continue to ignore and avoid my faults or do I wanna honestly see?

Because this honesty is where God is beginning to find me

My vulnerability is giving room for me to simultaneously feel joy and grief

Which is how I feel when I understand that life ain’t just about me

I believe that one day soon, I will not be afraid to ask myself hard questions

Like how many of my decisions are actually informed by something deeper than me?

Rather than be fixated on the fact that I have sores

I can find hope and solace in knowing that my wounds are open enough for God to do something with them

So today I remind myself:

It is safe to feel

So put effort towards feeling safe

Because ain’t nobody and can’t nobody do it for me

I dare not continue to take more than I give, I don’t have that right

I can rightly grieve over my past if I can finally start to accept it

Without internalizing it

I can confront shame without feeling shattered

I am no longer characterized by my failures

Because someone courageously, lovingly, and willingly died for them

All in all, I am just a man living with as much truth as I currently know

And the truth is, my life ain’t just about me.

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