a prayer after 1 John 2:7

Prayer- "God, I believe. Help me in my disbelief. I love. Help me when I am not loving. God I see those who have experienced SO much life. Encountered so much. They continuously bring me back to the love of God and my love for those around me. Neighbors, brothers, sisters, lovers, friends. Please remind each of us in the places we live, work, play, move, exist... remind the world, that You are love through how we love each other. Please help shape me. Please use the moments that are harder, awkward, tense, the moments that create anxiety and fear to speak to me about the ways I have projected onto others my own darkness. The ways in which I am jealous, the way in which I have been living an unexamined life. The way in which other forces are creeping in. I ask for light to see clarity- light to clean me out- light to clean us ALL out. Light to shine into the dark places of the soul. I come to you now in humility, saying "please shape me" I thank you for the forgiveness and the new life and the resurrection that is found in Christ and Christ alone. I trust in you. I trust in Jesus. I ask you now to bring his light and his love into my life. AMEN."

A Daydream of Another Us.

I have a daydream. It involves a little, indiscreet house, somewhere on a tree-lined street in Portland, probably east, maybe a little north. You are there, or at least a version of you- a version of you that compliments a version of me. A version of me that is better about recycling, isn’t afraid to ride a bike, eats gluten and has much shorter hair. Life in this house still has struggles, but together, these versions of us work. The struggles seem bearable.

This house could have a garden, slightly overgrown with high fenced walls and tall trees, perhaps we have a chicken, but probably not. This house has an aging dog, tawny, with floppy ears. He is calm. Maybe there's another dog. Younger, white, fluffy, and very very large. There are two cats, black and white and almost identical. They mostly stay outside due to one of my many “intolerance's”. An aging widow down the street now feeds the versions of these cats more frequently than we do. She is lonely. She misunderstands their disobedience, exclaiming that they are simply, “spirited”. Not once complaining when one of them knocks over and breaks a picture frame containing an image of her and her husband years before on a Caribbean Cruise. In this house, there is a lot of fur. Its everywhere. The cleaning lady who comes on Tuesdays does what she can, but helps very little. We secretly wish she was Hispanic and call her Consuela behind her back. We wonder how long we will tolerate that she brings her daughter to work to save money on daycare. It hinders her job performance. I hope these new versions of us don't mind. I hope we show her the compassion that our parents wouldn’t have had.

A room off of the kitchen has a desk we built from the salvaged wood of a torn down church. The walls are lined with books - many you wish I would read, most I wont. Even this version of me cannot keep up with the amount you read. There will always be a stack of books on the table of my side of bed, books you think Ill love, with thoughtful inscriptions. A growing tower residing beside a handful of postcards bound in twine and a bible with gilded gold pages. You sorta wish I would read more, you sorta don't care. You write in this room off of the kitchen. You write on a silver laptop that sits next to a vintage typewriter on the desk made from the wood of a torn down church.

When the weather warms, you take the typewriter and place it on a table in the overgrown garden. The table is iron, perhaps we found it at a flea market. Its painted white but the northwest rain creates areas of creeping brown rust. I brought up the idea to paint it once but you said it wouldn’t be as authentic. I agreed. You make coffee and drink it without cream or sugar and type your thoughts and they come out as inky black poetry. You will sit in this place, with your coffee, and your typewriter, and your poetic thoughts and you will find peace, and you will find God. And you will only stop occasionally to really consider the slightly predictable setting you have created for yourself, and the thought will be fleeting and you will take another sip of the coffee that’s almost cold and you will write me a poem about us. A poem about sharks, and you will relate it to a time when we apart, and its beautiful, even though it’s a slight plagiarism of yourself. The other version of me loves the poems you write and keeps them in the pages of the books in the stack on my side of our bed.

And this is what love feels like. A house that is unremarkable to most but, overflowing with happiness and conversation and laughter and moments.
And this is our house, and our lives till this point, and its not always perfect, but in this version, in this daydream, its perfect for us. For now, it works for the other me and for the other you.
It just a house, its nothing fancy. Its just rooms, and walls and a white tiled kitchen with wood beams we call “rustic” but are most likely rotting and termite infested, its a toilet down the hall that always runs, its a bedroom filled with hope and laughter and connection and reading while falling asleep in each others arms, its a bedroom bathed in bright morning light that inspires kissing and touching and holding each other. Its a bedroom where this version of me holds so tightly to the other version of you that its unclear where you begin and I end and with absolutely no space between us, the room around us is filled with Gods love and spirit.

Its just a house with old plaster walls sprinkled with mismatched frames, filled with pictures of us, with all the people we have known and all the places we have been. From Iceland to Argentina and the entire world in between. And these versions dream of seeing everything the world can offer us, side by side. They dream of places we cannot. Places we have never dreamed of going together. We cant. We aren’t these versions. They don't yet exist.

But, in my daydream they do. And they are happy. Though they have their problems, they are happy. Sometimes these versions forget how to communicate, they might fall into moments of selfishness. The new me might forget how to balance work and life, might become aloof or distant, might forget to show affection or compliment, and the new you might forget to give me the benefit of the doubt, might mistake my playful teasing for genuine insults, might forget how much I care about you, we momentarily might forget how much we love each other, we momentarily might forget that we are on each others side. But in this new version, our love is enough. Our love is real. Sometimes hard, but always real.

And the house, and the versions of us, and the life they have built will change, and evolve, and grow. And perhaps a version of new life will be created, or adopted. And perhaps this new life will change the versions that we had become- and you may no longer write in the garden, and I may come to terms that the stack of books may never get read, but life is full and we will encourage this new life and this new challenge with all our faith and all our strength, never putting it down, and always making sure this new existence will be true to its own heart- whether fat, skinny, too tall, too short, gay, straight, republican, we will love it wholly- we will love it and protect it from the possible and probable judgment of grandparents.

I’m sitting outside of the café where we first shared coffee and conversation on a rainy late November day. It seems like a lifetime away, but in actuality it’s been less than a year. It’s September. It’s sunny. Kids are playing tag. A gay man is talking loudly on his cell phone and ignoring his coffee date. People are walking dogs. A man has a cat on a leash –I think of you and smile. They all have their own lives, their own joy and their own pain and their own daydreams. My daydream flows easily. Thoughts we never considered. Thoughts I never considered. Who knew they were just under the surface. I wonder what versions of us we will become? I wonder if we will ever be the versions in my daydream? I am letting go. Slowly. But it’s happening. For now my daydream is saturated with you- your face, your ideals, your faith your sense of humor. Everyday that goes by it becomes more clear that these versions will probably never come to exist. That your face will fade from the garden, from the bedroom, from the room off of the kitchen, from the daydream entirely. Perhaps to be replaced with the face of another. Hopefully someone with equally good taste in music, and movies and books. Hopefully someone with as strong of faith in God, a faith that challenges and helps others grow. Helps me grow. Hopefully someone with a heart as kind and open and big as yours.

Its starting. You’re fading. The daydreamed house is no longer about you. Its more about me. A me that I have not yet become. The typewriter in the garden might change- perhaps to a guitar, perhaps some paint and a canvas, perhaps by nothing, or maybe I sit in the garden, drinking coffee, reading my bible and writing in my journal. Maybe there is no garden, maybe there never will be.

Sometimes you love, and you learn, and then you let go and move on. And that’s okay.

But somewhere, maybe there are versions of us that are right for each other- versions where we fight for our love- through pain and insecurity and apathy and resentment, we fight because we know it’s worth it.

We know that our version of love is enough.

expect nothing.

This world is such an incredible mystery filled with wonder and unexpected beauty. When I look at the sky this morning, I cant help but be grateful for the life I have and the love I have felt. Grateful even though we dont know what is ahead, even though at times life looks ominous and moving forward is tainted with fear, as long as we are open and honest with ourselves and with each other, there will continue to be an abundance of beauty to marvel at. God is good. Love is good. Life is good. The unexpected is good.


"If anyone ever doubted the existence of God, they should really pay more attention to the sky."

A Prayer.

"Father, Don't let me get so caught up in my own sadness, or comfort, my own safety, or luxury, or worry that I lose a true sense of mission and calling. That the world is in so much trouble and I am capable of helping do something about it. God give me something bigger than myself that I can be a part of. What in me needs to die so I can live raised in Christ to a new life? -Amen."

a new journal.. a new entry... a new love

I don’t want to fill another journal with entries all about sadness, or coping with a fresh breakup. A breakup most would think shouldn't be effecting me the way it is. A relationship that was one-sided to say the least, a relationship where I was loved better, and more fully than I’ve ever been. But a relationship that I invested very little of myself back into. One-sided, walled off, jaded with sour and painful thoughts of the past, i kept this relationship at a safe distance. No. I don’t want to fill a new journal with those types of entries. Journals should be about growth and evolution, and honesty, and hope.... and so my first entry isn't about a breakup (in its entirety).

Its about how I fell completely -irrevocably and quite madly, in love!

Love- and all the things that accompany it: passion, excitement, joy, anxiousness, insecurity, is ... complicated and incredible and mostly inconvenient. It doesn't always surface at the time its "supposed" to. Which is incidentally what I learned today when I woke up with a warm, excited feeling growing somewhere in my mid section and expanding outward with a tremendous speed. I’ve written in the past, that there are no "supposed to's" in life, I still believe this.. I still believe God only gives us what we need, what he knows we can handle, what he knows will help us grow and be better men and women. Right now God decided He needed me to fall in love. To recognize these distinct emotions. To be enveloped by them... To fight so they do not fully consume me. Conquer me.

In my head, I wonder, "why couldn’t I have felt this two weeks ago, a month ago, five months ago??" but, I have to assume, I just wasn’t meant to, I simply wasn’t meant to fall in love until today. Until this morning, September 15th, 2011, on location for work in Yachats, Oregon, climbing on a rock by the Pacific Ocean to get a better view of a starfish in a tide pool.

This feeling of love was accompanied by some tears of joy, but also, all the thoughts that are normally accompanied with this realization:

"I want to tell you!"
"What will our lives together look like?"
"Where will we live?"

"Where will we travel?"
"Will my dog like your horrible cats?"
"Will your horrible cats torment my dog?"
"Perhaps we can take a vacation back here one day, so I can share just the exact spot I fell for you!"

But it isn't that simple. It never is, right?

I don’t fall easy. in fact, I wasn't sure I could ever truly fall again. now, five years after I’ve felt anything remotely similar, I welcome the emotions that clog my thoughts, and hinder almost all forms of productivity. I welcome them, even though I am completely unable to express them to the one person who broke through my hard shell and helped me to understand how to feel again. more-so, to actually feel again.

Having dated a brilliant writer for the better part of a year, and having not sat with a journal in my hand for some time- I find my own writing to be clumsy. Rambling musings about what I've learned and what I've lost and my feelings (which I am very aware are not unique, that I am not the first person to have loved and lost, and that I will not be the last.) But- this is honest. This is my reality- and though I am not the best writer or really even a good one, I feel its important to keep writing. to keep expressing what’s inside, to not let it harden again in my heart and form the bricks of the emotional walls Ive so easily constructed in the past. And so with that, I write, that I am happy. I am happy for the time I was blessed with someone in my life and the memories we created. Though I miss my brilliant, beautiful, smart, sweet, sexy writer, I know I had my chance. I know I didn't take it, I know its not the last opportunity for me, but it might be for us. I am happy - but I will always regret not embracing this unique soul while I had the chance to. A hard reality to face. Like winter coming, when summer never really started.


So, now, honesty:


I was proud and stupid. I guarded my heart when I didn't need to. I made easy, lazy choices. Now- I torture myself daily replaying what I could have done better, what I could have said so much better. I take a pill to go to sleep. I take a pill because if I don't, I'll lay awake for hours pretending we are laying together, close, intimate. Pretending my pillow is an acceptable substitute. I don’t eat enough, or at times, I don't eat at all. The most gourmet meal seems to turn to sand in my mouth, which seems to have stopped its production of saliva. I often contemplate giving up meat. I don't think I will, but the thought is there. I don’t want to be alone. I call anyone I can to tell them how foolish I’ve been. How I should have tried harder. How one of the best things that has happened to me is gone. To tell them how much I miss my writer. To tell them how much I miss my best friend. I dwell. I imagine what reconciliation would be like. Resolution. I force those thoughts from my mind. My writer has moved on. My writer is happy. My writer is not "Mine" anymore, but has opened up to someone else.

Love, is funny. As sad as I am, there is a happiness that this person, this incredible person, who is no longer in my life, is out there, just a little bit east and a little bit south, everyday, living, and loving, and connecting, and that is enough. Enough to get me through this. That is enough to help me focus on what’s next. On an undetermined future. On moving forward.

I pray. All the time. I pray and thank God for love. That I was loved the way I was. The way I am. That cannot die. Its the truth of our time together. The writer loved me. The writer changed me. I thank God for helping me fall desperately in love even though it’s so very long overdue. I’m not angry about it. It just is. And tonight I pray to God that He will help me put away my love for now. Not kill it. But put it away until there might be an appropriate time to pull it out again. And- if that time never comes, that He helps me evolve my love into something new. Something fair and something good. Something that works for both the loved and the lover. I will pray this often and with silent gratitude that with God, all things are possible.

And though, the most random of things bring bittersweet memories of our time together;

thoughts of sea turtles, woks, a black Subaru that my dog will always stop behind for me to let him in, memories of dive bars where we possibly drank too much Jameson, My couch, my kitchen, my bathroom, my bed, the new sheets (now not so new) I bought to sleep on with you alone, bad pop music, lemon sharks, Ikea, Kathy Bates, fake meat, dirty kittens, poorly tossed Frisbees, a sign on the way to the coast that reads "Wilco", the Thundercats, orchids, hilariously adorable chameleons, SUVs named after Indian Cartoon characters, my sleeping bag, old typewriters, poison oak, the smell of the beach and dingy beach towns, scrabble, post cards, and any mention of the following; the state of Texas, The Big Lebowski or any short story, not to leave out most all of the music in my IPod... I will move forward. I will be ok. I will be better than ok for having built these memories. For having loved again. For feeling love again.

So, this new journal will not be about bitterness. It will not be about the divorce of two souls. It will not be about the end of anything, because resurrection is always possible- So, this new journal will be about hope, about choice, about growth and honesty, and change and compromise, and most importantly it will be about the journey of falling in love.

and so, to the writer... I wish you love and hopefully, Ill be seeing you.

remember perspective

i pray this morning for our own humanity. That we all find peace within ourselves and that we can extend it outwardly to the entire world. Though we may be going through tough times of our own, that we stop, and consider those who lost a loved one 10 years ago today, or even those that have lost someone yesterday, the day before, last week, a month ago... Hopefully- it will bring us perspective, hope and a drive to not just wait for the 'heaven' of the afterlife but work toward bringing heaven to earth, everyday, toward everyone.

Rob's Words

“God in the end doesn’t get what God wants, it’s declared, because some will turn, repent, and believe, and other’s won’t. To explain this perspective, it’s rightly pointed out that love, by it’s very nature, is freedom. For there to be love, there has to be the option, both now and then, to not love. To turn the other way. To reject love extended. To say no. Although God is powerful and mighty, when it comes to the human heart God has to play by the same rules we do. God has to respect our freedom to choose to the very end, even at the risk of the relationship itself. If at any point God overrides, co-opts, or hijacks the human heart, robbing us of our freedom to choose, then God as violated the fundamental essence of what love is.”

-Rob Bell "Love Wins"

a world away

Someone from Iraq has been frequenting my Blog.
I think this is incredible- that my voice can be heard from a world away and has seemingly moved someone to continue to come back almost everyday.

I dont write much anymore. Life has been busy and until recently Ive been relatively content- moving toward goals and dreams, with someone very special by my side. Instead Ive continued to infrequently post things that inspire me. Things that enlighten my life. Things that make me stop and say, "ahhh."

This last week has been rough for me, with family and relationship turmoil, not to mention a larger work load than ever. Ive been struggling to find the perspective I normally possess, Ive been rather emotional and honestly- sort of annoying. But seeing that this person so very very far away- with such a very very different life than mine, is here day after day- reading my words- brings a bit of perspective back.

I dont know who this is, i dont know what your life is like- I dont know if youre an Iraqi, or an American, if your a soldier or civilian, but i know that you have helped me remember how big this world is and how small my struggles are compared to SO MANY other peoples. Thank you for giving me back a small amount of peace, thank you for reading my words, and thank you for inspiring me to go back, re-read my own words and inspire myself through a difficult period in my own life.

God Bless. Cully

Bernies words

"Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light"

-BT