Tuesday, August 29th, 2006
2:16 pm Rescue Part 10: The Family Tree
So I was born Jermaine Jay Lane

Jermaine after Jermaine Jackson from the Jackson 5
Jay after my father's middle name
Lane after my mother's last name.

My mother is Belinda Marie Lane
(Marie after my great-grandmother the one and only Marie Jones/Lane/Faulkner)

When I was born, my mother made the decision to give me her last name and not that of my father.

My father's name is Karl Jay Howell.

According to custom, the child, (okay, the dude across from me 3 computers down on the left is staring at me and licking his lips. soooooo awkward) esp. the male child, would be given the name of his fater. Or had my mother and father been married when they had me, my name would and should have been:

Jermaine Jay Howell.

When my grandfather, my father's father, was born, the nurse mispelled the name on the birth certificate. Considering how things were kinda...not too good for African-Americans back then (and now for that matter), they had no choice but to leave it as the nurse had mispelled it. Which means that my grandfather and esp. my father do not have the correct name. The correct name was and should have been:

Howard.

Not Howell.

So, itso facto, carry the 1, my name could have been:

Jermaine Jay Howard.

And I thought about that a lot this summer...this concept of "NAME" and how important it is. For a good long while this summer, I was planning on changing my last name back to what is should be: Howard

I have my mother's last name and bless her, she did what she felt was right. But my mother can not give me what I need as a man. Only my father. My mother can not give me that validation I need, that initiation into manhood that only father can give.

I am the last Lane. Unless my uncle has a child, and the chances are looking very slim, I am the last Lane. It is up to me to carry on the family name. But check this out, I am the last Howell too. But it should be Howard, so that makes one. two. three. family trees that all converge on yours truly. Jermaine Jay Lane/Howell/Howard

So if I die without cranking out some male kids, that is it. No more. My "blue devil" friend likes to call me atlas. But Sarah had the wonderful idea of naming my son "Howard". Hmmm... not entirely out of the range of possiblity.

My great-grandmother was born Marie Faulkner on December 19, 1910. I affectionately have called her "G.G." for what I like to call, my entire life. I don't know how long she will be with me, she keeps telling me her time is running out. And I need more time...


(world famous lane subject change in 3...2...1)

Sunday, she looked at me, with all the style and grace and poise of a pastor's wife and said:

"we believe a person can lose their salvation."

and I sat there, dumbfounded, but trying to look respectful. But perhaps my face betrayed me and showed my true sentiment:

"how in the hell can you lose your salvation?"

But I couldn't say that because, you know, pastor's wife. So I drank my sweet tea, initiated my world famous subject change, and the conversation moved on. But it got me thinking:

salvation is a gift, we can't earn it, nor can it be taken away. It is a gift. Which leads me back to my original theological thought:

how in the hell can you lose your salvation?

So I present that to the community for discussion...

3...2...1

the flower withered...

and just when it couldn't get any worse, last night, she looked me right in the eye and said:

"I don't believe that Jesus is the Saviour. I believe he existed, but he is not the Saviour."

and time seemed to stop, and not in a good way. And I stared at her, and respectfully asked her questions about that. And I respect her. And my heart hurt...not for her romantically, no no I have moved beyond that, but for her spiritually. And I smiled, initiated the 3...2..1 subject change, and moved on. It was not the time nor place to get into a theological discussion. I prayed for her last night, and a lot this morning. And my heart still hurts. And I see now why the flower withered. No Chris, I did not do the right thing, but I see now why things worked out the way they did. But my heart still hurts...

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Morris Brown- Outkast
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Friday, August 18th, 2006
10:12 am Rescue Part 9: The Rub
So here is the rub: I am filled with love, yet can not receive it. I am turning 30 in a few months, people have been asking me what I am going to do on my birthday. I say the same thing: laying in bed, crying and feeling sorry for myself. I'm turning 30, and these first 30 years have been...not what I expect. I turn 60 November 18, 2036. I hope the next 30 years will be different.

I find myself with the uncanny ability to show and demonstrate all kinds of love and care for people, for God, yet I do not posses the ability to receive it. I don't struggle with knowing that God loves me, I just can't process that, it's all cerebral. It's not that I struggle with knowing that people love me, it's that I can't process that. Much to the frustration of everyone. I would do anything, ANYTHING to help those close to me, yet if they try to do the same, I run. Hide. Change the subject. And will do anything to avoid such things.

They say men have the ability to detach their emotions. Why men make good soliders because of that ability. I think I have an overdeveloped detachment gland. Most times, I'm just numb to my emotions. Until they overwhelm me, and I'm a mess. I should have gone into the military. Give me a gun, point me in the right direction, and I'll conquer. Just like in Episode III when Anakin flipped out and went to the Jedi daycare and killed the Jedi kids. People were like, that is so horrible. Didn't phase me. Not one bit. They were Jedi, all Jedi had to die. Ergo, by by kids.

And I think about when I get married, how that will go. I realized that no one person on earth knows everything about me. Who I am, details about my life, facets of my personality, are scattered amongst my friends. Yet no one person knows everything. I've reserved that for my wife. But will I? Will I let her into that tender place I fiercely guard with everything in me? That tender place only God sees, and at most, briefly. I would go and do your will, my Lord. Preach the gospel, sell all I have for the poor, give all of me to help people, fight in your name, cast down and battle your enemies, etc. How ever since I was little, I rationalized I would be murdered, hoping it would be in the name of God and if my death resulted in someone coming to salvation, how effing cool would that be? Yet that tender place...Yet, I can't fathom God loves me. It wasn't until Feb. 2002 at the Ward Haven retreat that I accepted for the first time in my life that God cares about me. And don't get me started on Jeremiah 29:11. The one verse in the entire bible I can't handle, that makes my skin crawl and my stomach turn in knots. Tell me God wants me to give my life for Him. Fine. Tell me God wants me to care for people. Fine. Put a bullet in my head because I won't denouce my God, fine, I settled that death issue when I was in high school. But don't you dare, don't you dare tell me that God has a plan for my life. Don't you dare tell me that he is not trying to punish me, but prosper me. Don't tell me he has a hope and a future for me. Just don't go there. butmaybeyoushould...

So I imagine one day, I'll wake up and roll over and there she is. My wife. My warrior princess. My valkyrie. Still asleep, probably snoring with slobber coming out of her mouth. And I'll just sit there, staring at her. Brushing the hair out of her face. And I imagine, I will want to tell her everything, share it all. Invite her into that tender place. Unveil all my guarded places, and say, "here I am. all of me. All I try and hide. The good, the bad, the ugly. Here I am, my love. I want to invite you in, show you me. Allow you to love me." People have told me, when I finally do get married, I will have such an appreciation for this woman, such a devotion to her, such a thankfulness that I will determine to be a good husband so much so, it will defy description. The rub: so much love I have within me, yet, I can not receive that love in return. I would rip the stars from the sky if they were to bright for her, I would march through hell itself if it meant rescueing her. Hurt my wife's feelings? It would take an army of angels to hold me back. There isn't anything, anything I would not do for her. My wife? Me, the Tin Man, the beast, the broken stained glass window, Mr. Catch-Me-If-You-Can, finally married....oh my God, no battle I wouldn't fight, no danger I wouldn't go through...when she flips out for no reason, I would just hold her. I would go there, those dark places in a woman's soul where men fear to tread...I would run there...and I might run back out, but I would bring her with me. And for Cadence? My daughter...heaven help the fool who would hurt my daughter. God would have to send an archangel to calm me down. No little cherbim would cut it, it would have to be Gabriel or Michael himself. I would fight to the death to protect my family...sowhycan'tIletthemfightforme?

Some might think I would give some deep spiritual song by Matt Redman or David Crowder right about now. But no. I got Bon Jovi:

I'll Be There For You- by Bon Jovi

I guess this time you're really leaving
I heard your suitcase say goodbye
And as my broken heart lies bleeding
You say true love it's suicide

You say you're cried a thousand rivers
And now you're swimming for the shore
You left me drowning in my tears
And you won't save me anymore

Now I'm praying to God you'll give me one more chance, girl

I'll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I'll be there for you
I'd live and I'd die for you
Steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can't say what a love can do
I'll be there for you

I know you know we've had some good times
Now they have their own hiding place
I can promise you tomorrow
But I can't buy back yesterday

And Baby you know my hands are dirty
But I wanted to be your valentine
I'll be the water when you get thirsty, baby
When you get drunk, I'll be the wine

I'll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I'll be there for you
I'd live and I'd die for you
Steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can't say what a love can do
I'll be there for you

[Solo]

And I wan't there when you were happy
I wasn't there when you were down
I didn't mean to miss your birthday, baby
I wish I'd seen you blow those candles out

I'll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I'll be there for you
I'd live and I'd die for you
Steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can't say what a love can do
I'll be there for you

Current Mood: pensive
Current Music: ...you know my hands are dirty...
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Thursday, August 17th, 2006
1:21 pm Rescue Part 8: Mr. Harvey
So Mr. Harvey was my great-grandmother's (still G.G. to some of you) second husband. G.G's first husband was very abusive to her and she decided that was not going to be the way with her and Mr. Harvey. He was very much the victim of verbal and emotional abuse from G.G. She ran that house with an iron fist. He did not have a say on me living with them when I was five. It was G.G.'s way or the highway. But he let me know early on how he felt about the matter. He was the only male figure I had in my life growing up, which explains a lot. He was a smoker, but he wasn't allowed to smoke in the house. He would put out his cigarettes on me and burn me. I remember running to G.G. yelling, "Mr. Harvey burned me, Mr. Harvey burned me." That old man hated me. And I became so terrfied of him. His room was next to mine, and he would go to sleep before I did. And I would run, RUN, to my room because I was afraid he would get me. Or when I was in my room and I saw him coming down the hallway, terrified he would come into my room and do something to me. I used to have nightmares about a gorilla who could charge out of Mr. Harvey's room and beat me up. One dream, I was the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and the gorilla got ahold of me and literally beat the stuffing out of me.

Toward the end of my stay in South Boston, Mr. Harvey got extremely sick and bedridden. And G.G. would make me care for him. Anyways, Mr. Harvey passed away in April of 1993, spring of my 11th grade year in high school. I did not, under any circumstance, care that he was dead. But my mom, who till this day does not know about happened between me and Mr. Harvey (or I would like to think she did not know because if she did and she still left me there...let's just move on) made me go to the funeral. The monster was dead, the gorilla was dead. And I did not care. Until I saw how upset G.G. was. The man was henpecked and the victim of the most overbearing, dominant, emotionally abusive woman I have ever met, and she was crying and then she passed out. It was a big scene. And I broke. The first and last tear shed for the man. And I haven't talked about him since...ever. Never dealt with it, the scars, the fear. Just stuffed it down. Never talked about the abuse. Never talked about the fear. To ANYONE. Until now. And I started dealing with the fear and the hurt and the unbelieveable task of forgiving Mr. Harvey. Started on this past Sunday morning.

And I have to let it go. I have to acknowledged what happened to me, I have to let it go. And forgive.

No subject change, not this time.

Current Mood: sad
Current Music: no music, not this time
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12:57 pm We Interupt This LiveJournal For A Special Bulletin:
We were walking down Route One this past Monday night. Walking past Stratford (hoot for the crib), and a pit bull ran over and stood in front of us. She gasped and grabbed my arm and stood behind me. And there I was, between the beauty and the beast. And as I stared at the beast, quickly figuring out how I was going to protect her, rationlizing that I would probably get mauled in the process (picture Wesley fighting the R.O.U.S' in The Princess Bride), it's owner called it back and the beast left. The owner apologized profusely, and we continued our walk. And for a moment, as she stood behind me, the beast before me, I felt...alive. The warrior in me stood at attention, my function overcame me. And I was prepared to fight for the beauty. Every guy who reads this knows what I am talking about. We live for those moments, would die for those moments. She called me her knight in shining armour, not about our encounter with the pit bull, but about other things. But most times, I feel like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. Rusty, tarnished, and in search of a heart.

My all time favorite scene from the Wizard of Oz is when the Tin Man pulls out his ax towards the end and goes to work on that door and hacks his way through to rescue Dorothy. Something about that, as a kid and even til now, just gets my juices going. The Tin Man was in search of his heart, and so am I. I know when I lost my heart. Feb. 5, 1996, I attempted to attempt suicide. Many, many years later, I kissed my virginity goodbye in a drunken haze. But inbetween, that is when I lost my heart. It was April 12, 1996. A day I shall never forget. A before and after. I was one way before the 12th, and I was a completely different way the next day. What could be worse than being suicidal or losing "the precious"? On April 12, 1996, I lost my heart. And I've been searching and fighting for 10 years to get it back. So perhaps, like the Tin Man, I have to go on a dangerous adventure, fight a good fight, and rescue the beauty. And go to the source.

But I have to be rescued. I have to be rescued. I have to be rescued.


We return you to your regularly scheduled livejournal, already in progress...

Current Mood: sad
Current Music: and your the heaviest weight, hung around my head...
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Wednesday, August 16th, 2006
10:09 am Rescue Part 7: The Movie
So I saw "Lady in the Water" and was moved beyond belief. Such a good story, very well done. If you haven't seen it, you should. Plus, it would explain this entry

And I thought about it in my own life, the people around me. The characters in my own Story.
And I figured out who was who. I figured out:

Who my guardian is.
Who my healer is (and I don't mean just spiritually).
Who my interpreter is.
Who the scrunts are.
Who the man whose opinion I respect is.
Who the man who has no secrets is.
Who the guild is who provides strength for the moment.

All these people, who I've been connect to in a way that I did not know. But now, thinking about it, it all is so clear. As alone as I would like to think I am, I am very much connected to people, esp. to these people.


(world famous lane subject change in 3....2...1)

and I still feel like crap. I did the right thing, so why does it...hurt? Still can't sleep right, my Frosted Mini Wheats has lost all it's flavor. I should be happy, jumping up an down. I should have moved on. The right thing was done. Or was it? Do I question? Why must this area of my life be so effing difficult. Why can't it just be easy for once? God, show me please. Let me know if this is truly right. For I haven't got a clue...

Current Mood: frustrated
Current Music: "Your far to keen on where and how, but not so hot on why"
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9:47 am Rescue Part 6: The Poem
"Sometimes, I feel so lonely I can taste it. Tastes like grape." -J.J. Lane

"Warn the town, the beast is loose."- The Fugees



MENACE

Warn the town, the beast is loose
He walks, under the disguise of kindness and clean shaveness
But he is a devourer, and must be stopped at all cost.

[and he sits in his apartment alone
staring at his computer
drinking a Smirnoff
Twisted Five
Wild Grape]

The beast is a menace to estrogen
Looking to see whom he may hurt next
Mother's lock your doors
Father's grab your guns
For the beast is coming for your daughter
To scathe her heart, to claw at the bit

[and he sits in his apartment alone
staring at his computer
drinking a Smirnoff
Twisted Five
Wild Grape]

They say drinking alone is the epitome of loserism
The grand example of patheticness
The beast is alone in his apartment
Drinking
Wishing he had a girlfriend
Wishing he had a wife
But he knows he would only hurt her
She would only be another victim
Another notch on his belt of pain

[and he sits in his apartment alone
staring at his computer
drinking a Smirnoff
Twisted Five
Wild Grape]

His refrigerator is bare, his cupboards are empty
"Wifey would make sure there was food in the place"
He says
And the beast howls
He weeps
Weeps for loves lost
When he couldn't help himself, when his hunger for estrogen got the better of him
When he hurt this one and that one and her over there
And he claws at his chest, looking for his lost heart
He collapes to the floor
The great beast, the terror of ten thousand
Struck down by the thought of never finding his true love
His dream come true
His warrior princess
His valkryie

[and he sits in his apartment alone
staring at his computer
drinking a Smirnoff
Twisted Five
Wild Grape]






------------------------------
and she said I was her knight in shining armour
that I was the one that made all the difference
how she steals glances and such
she would do well to just run away
keep her guard up
for I am not safe
No, not at all

Current Mood: crappy
Current Music: "love bites, love bleeds. it's bringing me to my knees..."
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Tuesday, August 15th, 2006
2:21 pm Rescue Part 5: The Hymn
I was in Borders on Saturday, and I was listening to Angels and Airwaves and their song, "The Adventure".

And it hit me. And I listened to the song over and over and over and over and over again. And it hit me. This is a hymn. Angels and Airwaves is not a Christian band nor do I think anyone in the band is a Christian. But, this song is a hymn. These lyrics could have been written by any of the great hymn writers of yesteryear or Jeremy Camp. And it sums up a lot about me this summer. This summer of entering into my wounds and clawing to emerge on the other side:


"The Adventure" by Angels and Airwaves:

I wanna have the same last dream again,
the one where I wake up and I'm alive.
Just as the four walls close me within,
my eyes are opened up with pure sunlight.
I'm the first to know,
my dearest friends,
even if your hope has burned with time,
anything that's dead shall be re-grown,
and your vicious pain, your warning sign,
you will be fine.

Hey, oh, here I am,
and here we go, life's waiting to begin.

Any type of love - it will be shown,
like every single tree reach for the sky.
If you're gonna fall,
I'll let you know,
that I will pick you up
like you for I,
I felt this thing,
I can't replace.
Where everyone was working for this goal.
Where all the children left without a trace,
only to come back, as pure as gold,
To recite this all.

Hey, oh, here I am,
and here we go, life's waiting to begin.
Tonight,
hey, oh, here I am,
and here we go, life's waiting to begin.
Tonight,
hey, oh, here I am,
and here we go, life's waiting to begin.

I cannot live, I can't breathe
unless you do this with me
I cannot live, I can't breathe
unless you do this with me
I cannot live, I can't breathe
unless you do this with me
I cannot live, I can't breathe
unless you do this with me
I cannot live, I can't breathe
unless you do this with me
I cannot live, I can't breathe
unless you do this with me

Hey, oh, here I am (do this with me),
and here we go, life's waiting to begin (do this with me).
Hey, oh, here I am (do this with me).
And here we go, life's waiting to begin,
life's waiting to begin

Current Mood: pensive
Current Music: "unless you do this with me..."
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1:52 pm Rescue Part 4: My New Name
Throughout the bible and literature, people have had a name change. Abram to Abraham, Jacob to Israel, Saul to Paul. In "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe", Aslan changes Peter's name twice. TWICE! And in "Wild At Heart", talks about our new name. The name God has for us, the name God uses to describe us. The name that is contrary to the wounds we receive, to our sinful nature, contrary to what we think of ourselves. We may think we are weak, God calls us mighty. We may think we are lustful, God calls us pure. We may think we are ugly, God calls us beautiful.

I was in Einstein's Bagels reading "Wild At Heart" and he gives this quote from the book of Ezekiel 36:26

"I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."

And I had a breakdown in the Einsteins. And that verse kept me from making a very big mistake that I was going to make.

And I was walking to the library to make an livejournal entry, not about that but about something else entirely, when it happened. God whispered to me my new name. Clear as crystal. My New Name. And I argued with God, because it didn't make sense. It went against everything I had done...yet, confirmed in my heart what I had always believed. Confirmed why my warriors heart gets moved about _________, why I bleed and cry over _________, why the enemy comes against me about _________, why I struggle because Heaven and Hell can see in the spiritual what my name is, and I get attacked about________, why I won the award back in high school youth group for ___________, how, when I was in the band, I always got so jazzed up when we played for the ________ conferences. And it doesnt' make sense, yet makes absolute and total sense at the same time. My new name. What God says about me.

It's personal. I talk about a lot of things on this livejournal, a lot of things most people would fine personal. I would sit and write about the time I got drunk and lost my virginity, or the night of February 5, 1996 when I was suicidal, or my struggles with pornagraphy many, many years ago...but this...my new name...is personal to me.

I like this song by Todd Agnew. Talks about a new name. Say word.

"New Name" -by Todd Agnew

I was born with no chance at life
Dead before I took my first breath
I was born with no family ties
Alone before I knew where I lived

CHORUS
They called me broken, worthless, and a shame
They called me wasted, used up, and chained
But You made me Your child
And You called me Your own
Now they can call me
But they’ve got to use my new name

I walked miles and couldn’t find a home
There was no place that I belonged
I walked for days and days and weeks and years
Couldn’t find a melody for my song

CHORUS
They called me broken, worthless, and a shame
They called me wasted, used up, and chained
But You made me Your child
And You called me Your own
Now they can call me
But they’ve got to use my new name

I don’t need money, I don’t need fame
I don’t need the love that this world can bring
I don’t need this prison, I don’t need these chains
I needed a Father, and Child is my new name

CHORUS
They called me broken, worthless, and a shame
They called me wasted, used up, and chained
But You made me Your child
And You called me Your own
Now they can call me
But they’ve got to use my new name

Current Mood: distressed
Current Music: "I needed a Father, and _____ is my new name"
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1:19 pm Rescue Part 3: The Wound
So I finished "Wild at Heart" and it has moved me beyond words.

My wound...they say every man has been wounded. And I have two:

1. That I am on my own/no one cares
2. That I am quiet.

Wound number one: I was five years old when I went to live with my great-grandmother (G.G. to some of you) and her husband Mr. Harvey. I was extremely sick with asthma and my mother was not in a good place in her life to deal a child, much less a very sick child. (I wasn't exactly a planned pregnancy). And staying with my father was not an option. So I went to live in South Boston with two people who were 66 years older than me. And my mother dropped me off, and left....psychologists would say I developed a fear of abandonment. I realized my mother was not going to come back for me. That my father was not going to come for me. That I was alone, with people I didn't know that well. It was just the 3 of us in the house. And I was alone. I was on my own. If they cared, they would have come for me. At 29 years old, I understand the why. But try explaining to a five year old why his mother left him and his father doesn't want him. And the wound was made. Even up until this very moment, I struggle beyond belief with the notion that people care about me. I'm the guy who could be in a room full of people and feel utterly alone. I'm the guy who everyone tries to get in touch with by phone/e-mail/ etc. and then I feel like no one cares. A constant source of frustration to those I have dated. And to my friends. Yet when I look around, 99.9 percent of the time when I do stuff, I do it alone. I go to movies alone, go out to eat alone, go to stores alone, I had determined in my heart to go to Kings Dominion alone because I could not find anyone to go with...but then how lame would that be?

Wound number two: Until I moved to South Boston when I was 5, I was a very...active child. I was into everything and getting into crazy amounts of trouble. And loving every minute of it. I was the kid you couldn't turn your back on, or you would find me on the roof or trying to drive off in your car. Yeah, I was that kid. No fear. Bold. Loud. Would talk to anything that moved. Unfettered. Undomesticated. Free. Then...I moved in with two senior citizens who were 66 years older than me. And I was forced to be q.u.i.e.t.
To quote Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (EXTREMELY funny movie, highly recommend it) "I was broken like a wild horse." I was tamed. Domesticated. And I had to be q.u.i.e.t. Old people don't like a lot of noise. And all of my fierceness, all of my wildness, I had to internalize and stuff it down and sit still and shut up. Kids are to be seen and not heard, right? And the wound set in: I am to be q.u.i.e.t


"your greatest genius comes from your deepest wound." -"Wild At Heart"

People, for what I like to call, my entire life, have had this to say about G.R. Maine:

He is such a nice, quiet young man.

Last week, I went to my doc in fredvegas, and the receptionist said that about me, and it was as if someone took a glove, dipped it in glue, then dipped it in shards of broken glass and scraped the glove down my face. It was as if she kicked my soul in the crotch. And it happens every time. Every time, in my whole life, when some says to me how quiet I am, it's like my soul takes a shot to the balls. And I get angry. Because deep down and to the left, I know I am not a quiet person.

In the summer of 1993, I accepted the wound of being quiet and stopped fighting it and accepted the wound. The absolute worse thing I could have done. And I thought I was being so spiritual...

And then there was the physical abuse I endured as a child from Mr. Harvey...

(world famous lane subject change in 3...2...1)

I prayed, and God answered my prayer last night. The right thing was done. So why do I feel like crap? Why, knowing what I prayed and how things unfolded last night, knowing God answered my prayer, do I feel like utter and complete crap, so much so that food has lost it's taste, I couldn't sleep, and I feel nauseous. Not from my kidneys, but because I did the right thing? Nice.

Current Mood: nauseated
Current Music: "and running from you is what my best defense is.."
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Friday, July 21st, 2006
11:45 am Rescue, part 2
And I figured it out. I figured out this unfortunate truth about myself that I didn't want to admit, but I realize is true:

I do not know how to be friends with people.
I do not know how to let people know I care about them.
Family, friends, I just do not know how.

I thought about this, how basic human interaction has always eluded me. And I had a moment of clarity and saw that I just do not know how to be friends with people. I know how to listen. It's that friendship part that has befuddled me.

(world famous lane subject change in 3...2...1...)

I realize what I have to do concerning my father. I have to make a road trip. I must go to Baltimore and do two things:

1. find Saint Luke's Hospital
2. find my father or his grave

...give me a second, this is quite difficult to speak on...

...so I have to find my father. I have questions that only he can answer. I need to know the truth. I need to know where he has been for what I like to call my entire life. On behalf of my sisters and my older brother, I demand satisfaction and I'm not leaving until I get it. If I have to wrestle with him all night and into the morning, so be it. I need validation that only he can give. I need to know if I will turn out like he did, or be something else. And I need to forgive him, and I need for him to know I forgive him.

I need to forgive him, and I need for him to know I forgive him.

I need to forgive him, and I need for him to know I forgive him.



To be continued...

Current Mood: scared
Current Music: no music, not this time
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Wednesday, July 19th, 2006
10:32 am Rescue, part 1
I had given up all hope. And just when I thought it was all over...

John 4:13-14

Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life." (NIV)


Jesus said, "Everyone who drinks this water will get thirsty again and again. Anyone who drinks the water I give will never thirst—not ever. The water I give will be an artesian spring within, gushing fountains of endless life." (The Message)


Jesus replied, "People soon become thirsty again after drinking this water. But the water I give them takes away thirst altogether. It becomes a perpetual spring within them, giving them eternal life." (NLV)

Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life. (King James Version)


Todo el que beba de esta agua volverá a tener sed --respondió Jesús--,
pero el que beba del agua que yo le daré, no volverá a tener sed jamás, sino que dentro de él esa agua se convertirá en un manantial del que brotará vida eterna. (Espanol)

Celui qui boit de cette eau, reprit Jésus, aura de nouveau soif.
Mais celui qui boira de l'eau que je lui donnerai n'aura plus jamais soif. Bien plus: l'eau que je lui donnerai deviendra en lui une source intarissable qui jaillira jusque dans la vie éternelle (French)


Иисус сказал ей в ответ: всякий, пьющий воду сию, возжаждет опять,
а кто будет пить воду, которую Я дам ему, тот не будет жаждать вовек; но вода, которую Я дам ему, сделается в нем источником воды, текущей в жизнь вечную. (Russian)


فَقَالَ لَهَا يَسُوعُ: «كُلُّ مَنْ يَشْرَبُ مِنْ هَذَا الْمَاءِ يَعُودُ فَيَعْطَشُ
وَلكِنَّ الَّذِي يَشْرَبُ مِنَ الْمَاءِ الَّذِي أُعْطِيهِ أَنَا، لَنْ يَعْطَشَ بَعْدَ ذَلِكَ أَبَداً، بَلْ إِنَّ مَا أُعْطِيهِ مِنْ مَاءٍ يُصْبِحُ ف

دَاخِلِهِ نَبْعاً يَفِيضُ فَيُعْطِي حَيَاةً أَبَدِيَّةً». (Arabic)


Jesus antwortete und sprach zu ihr: Wer von diesem Wasser trinkt, den wir wieder dürsten;
wer aber von dem Wasser trinken wird, das ich ihm gebe, den wird ewiglich nicht dürsten; sondern das Wasser, das ich ihm geben werde, das wird in ihm ein Brunnen des Wassers werden, das in das ewige Leben quillt. (German)


απεκριθη ιησους και ειπεν αυτη πας ο πινων εκ του υδατος τουτου διψησει παλιν
ος δ αν πιη εκ του υδατος ου εγω δωσω αυτω ου μη διψησει εις τον αιωνα αλλα το υδωρ ο δωσω αυτω γενησεται εν αυτω πηγη υδατος αλλομενου εις ζωην αιωνιον (Greek)


Jesus said, "Stop drinking dead water, Jermaine. You keep drinking the same dead water over and over. Just stop, I have something better. I know what your thirsty for, and I know why. Only I can give you what you truly want, what you truly need. It's okay to drink of the water I have for you, I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay, Jermaine. Come and taste the water that will never leave you thirsty." (Jermaine Lane Version)


Oh my God, I don't have the time right now to get into how much that verse has turned me upside down. Or how the verse I read in Ezekiel this morning has kept me from making a very bad decision.


To be continued...

Current Mood: crushed
Current Music: The sound of my footprints as I run..
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