Sunday, May 21, 2017

It's Time

To remember who you were, who you were meant to be.

Do you remember at age 8? The dreams you had lying in your bed at night, thinking about the long path before you and all you would accomplish?

Do you remember your whispered prayers at the tough times in your life, even as a little girl? And when you were trying to figure things out in your teens, or later … when everyone thought you knew what you were doing and things were settled. The years pass quickly.

And now you have a family and maybe a job you love … or hate. Did you deny and bury that hope deep inside of you? The world needs you. The darkness has not overcome the light. You shine brightly still.

Uncover and reveal without subterfuge.

The time is now to remember who you were, who you were meant to be.


Saturday, February 4, 2017

Last Night - I Was the Most Beautiful Woman in the World

Last night, I was the most beautiful woman in the world.

I was at a public function and spurned by every woman there. The men looked at me with lust. One in particular strayed close enough to make eye contact. My heart contracted, I loved him yet he was married. As I stood to leave, his mother rebuked me. I ducked my head, trying to walk out with dignity.


Last night, I was walking home at twilight and witnessed a crime.

The angry thief turned to me with a bag in his hand intent on putting it over my head. I stumbled and ran. He didn't follow, but yelled obscenities and threats that he would find me.

Last night, I was a gay man with a broken heart.

I was trying to get home, but being pushed and confronted by an angry muscle of a male who wanted to pummel me because of who I was while his girlfriend screamed at him to leave me alone, that I was a 'human being'.

And when I awoke, I was me. My heart displaced and enlarged at who I had been moments before. I was privileged to be able to relate in some small way to the heart cries of the world.

Jesus came to mind and I wanted to weep.

I don't know if there's anything I can tell you that would convince you He is real. That what He did by dying on the cross and taking the punishment of yours and my sins away, well...it was personal.

Just for you. He wants to heal your broken heart and gather you close. He wants to redeem your time here, for your good and God's.

God's holy. We're sinners. Every last stinking one of us. Jesus is the shed blood, the passover lamb spoken of in the Old Testament, for which the Jewish people had to make sacrifices so that they were "good with God".

While we're still in our mess, Jesus died for it. He knew about it and covered you. Whether you're still in it, trying to walk ahead of it, lonely, scared, rejected by the world, God still loves you. He wants you back, close to Him so He can take care of you.

At the cross, we're all on equal footing. We're the soldiers who hang Him, the women who weep, the accusers, and the robbers who look on Him...one mocking and the other accepting Him as the Son of God.

There is only One who is worthy of our love, adoration, every moment's breath and thoughts.

It's not our fancy cars, money in the bank, newest technological gadget, friends on Facebook, or messed up family that will make that little person deep down inside you, who aches and yearns to be loved, feel whole.

There is only One whose love is complete. Unlike the world's, it will fill you up and not leave you empty a few hours later.

Last night, I was the most beautiful woman in the world. I was heartbroken, lonely, rejected, and dirty. I covered my feelings with wine, men, things, my reflection. Yet I was still me inside and I hurt.

John 10:4-14 

I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd gives His life for the sheep. But a hireling, he who is not the shepherd, one who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees; and the wolf catches the sheep and scatters them. The hireling flees because he is a hireling and does not care about the sheep.  I am the good shepherd; and I know My sheep, and am known by My own.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Home by Laura J. Marshall

Their weight sinks into the carpet then the floorboards beneath, permeating slowly into the concrete and the earth. Footprints of time and memory.
My head turns quickly to catch the shadow of a moment, a laugh, a sigh.

In the softness of home, the memories rock me. Gently floating across my mind and falling in waves that ripple like a rock skidding across a mirrored pond’s surface.
The air holds promises kept and broken. Words spoken long ago or tongues stilled out of respect and wisdom. Home has been privy to solitude, closed doors, deep thoughts, and heart’s cries.

When nowhere else would shelter, when no one else would hear,
When memories were once today’s and tomorrow was still promised.
Home was and is something fleeting, yet always steadfast.


Home is where your head lolls and you fall asleep on the couch after a meal of Thanksgiving.
It’s often Mom or Dad. Or scattered across miles and held tight in a brief visit.
It’s childhood memories, the laughter and the tears.
It’s rainy mornings and a steamy cup of coffee.
It’s snowy afternoons when hands cold from fort-making wrap around a hot mug of cocoa.

Home is said to be where your heart is, but it’s also where you’re given your heart.
Then as we grow, it’s scattered across the country, inside different people. The pieces you’ve given away. Willingly and unwillingly. Wrested over time or given at a glance into the warm brown eyes of a puppy.



Home is inside you and I.
It’s set across years and as we age,
And love and lose, it resides between heaven and earth.
Home is never lost, but rarely whole in one person or place.
But there are moments when the feeling of home is found in one terribly sweet piece of the present.
Grasp it loosely, examine it fully,
For the weight will sink into the carpet then the floorboards beneath, permeating slowly into the concrete and the earth.
Footprints of time and memory.
Of home.