Thoughts on Finding Purpose.

I came across a situation last night that makes me feel that I’m finally in line with my purpose (Not necessarily there but in the right vein). The situation can possibly be expanded on further down the line (The reason for this will be apparent if/when the time comes to share.) but, without doubt, I experienced something that left me in a position of awe, humility, massive clarity and, if I’m honest, fear of the road ahead.

This blog won’t be too detailed. This moment is too fresh and I believe that Purpose should be treated with respect. It doesn’t have to be everyone’s business. I see purpose, and specifically the discovery of it, to be a private moment that needs to be taken in, understood and solidified before others are allowed in. Matthew 7:6 reads, “Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.” The root word for ‘holy’ is ‘separate’. We don’t toss something as separate as our purpose to the dogs, like a bone, to be played with. Neither do we throw something that has taken time and effort to produce before people who can’t appreciate its value.

My immediate thoughts, based on my experience are, at this time:

  1. In seeking a relationship with Christ, your purpose will find you. Pushing to find your purpose, distracts from the relationship with Christ, the giver of purpose. Matthew 6:33 tells us to seek the Lord AND his righteousness and all things he has promised will be given.
  2. Your personality already fits your purpose. Trying to change your personality to find your purpose is counter-productive, understanding that a season spent, outside your purpose, will end quickly. Character is what is required to change. God takes care of this part, as you allow him to do so.
  3. Regardless of how nervous you feel, physically, there is a feeling of peace inside. As though everything is going to be OK regardless and a feeling of things running smoothly, even though you aren’t in control.

I’m going to leave it there for now. As I said, the moment is still fresh. Exciting but fresh.

In closing, I’d like to encourage readers to address their character. Trying to change your personality is to advance into battle with yourself when what you really want is to address the drive behind your personality. Just like a soldier scanning, down the sights or through the scope, when checking or clearing an area. The only change is perspective.

God Bless.

Even Lions Cry

Sometimes, even Lions cry. No one ever sees, though.

The tears dry on our mane.

What depicts us as men, hides the hurt we often feel.

It seems, in all instances, we remain the same.

Our manes only move with aggression and anger.

No one sees that side of us, soft and caring.

It means expressions of love are met with caution

And never really carry much bearing.

Our manes cover our ears so it’s hard to see,

At times, when we twitch them when flies are around.

But it’s noticed clearly when it gets too much and the

Smallest things are met with a raised paw and loud, roaring sound.

Our manes cover our shoulders so it’s not always

Evident, the weight we bear.

But the mane is swept back, showing a lofty,

But focused, stare.

It’s not arrogance or pride but where we look above the

Problem to see the way forward. The right way to go.

It’s sad that the mane is often a distortion between

How we feel, how I feel and what shows.

For the mane also covers my chest. It makes my heart

A place of security, love, warmth and rest.

It embraces those, that embrace me, with genuine love,

Compassion and happiness.

Of Autumn

The living room window depicts a tearful eye,

Mourning the demise of the summer season

As the cold wind outside drives the rain towards you,

Trying to reach you for an unknown reason.

The cozy feeling of safety and security warms you

As you hold your loved one close,

Wrapped in a warm blanket, sipping hot chocolate

Once you’ve finished the hot, buttered toast.

Chick flicks on crisp nights, lighted by a

Pastel-pale moon.

Tall buildings, only partly visible through freezing

Mist, bear witness to the fact that winter is coming soon.

Speaking Life, Speaking Death

I’ve discovered that,

My brain is a place that knows no bounds

Of expression,

A magazine containing thoughts of live rounds

That lock themselves

In the chamber of my mouth

As my tongue cocks back,

Hammers forward and spits them out.

I’ve discovered the irony

Of saving a life while taking another

Like shooting the gunman

Holding a pistol to the head of my brother.

That’s gossip.

And then there’s the speech that ‘wasn’t meant that way’.

Idle words, that equate to a

Negligent discharge and still count as foul play.

I guess that’s why it’s best

To gently squeeze the trigger, staying in control

Because idle words can easily

Embed in the holes of someone’s soul.

You know. Holes caused

By bullying, holes caused by rape

And holes caused by words

Spoken against someone’s colour, sexuality or shape.

Holes caused by

Experiencing, witnessing domestic violence

And holes caused by the

Self-harm of those suffering in silence.

Holes that, when blocked

By a tongue that’s out of control,

Induce the flooding

And drowning of a weakened soul.

And consider,

Words spoken today in light-hearted jest

Could, tomorrow, become

The noose tightening around a heavy-hearted neck.

You can only curse or bless.

Are you speaking life or are you speaking death?

A quick acknowledgement.

Sticks and stones may

Break my bones but words will never hurt me.

But I think we’d all take a

6 weeks heal-time over years of a mind muddled murky.

You know what I mean.

When you question if what they said was maybe right.

And I speak from experience

Because I know I’ve had those sleepless nights

Where inward frustration,

Caused by a lack of knowing why,

Caused outward tears.

Sometimes, so sad even my tears would cry.

But that’s another conversation.

From these times

Of Death came the lessons of speaking life.

Unlike a phoenix from the ashes,

We LEARN speaking life from peaking strife

Because speaking

Life is LEARNED, it doesn’t grow wild

Like untrimmed brambles.

Thorns and berries, harsh and mild.

There’s purpose

And a focused intent in one direction

And I found that the

Speaking of life is found in the Resurrection.

The Resurrection of Christ.

You see his last WORDS

On the cross were, “It is finished!” but then he rose

So He couldn’t

Have been talking of the end of life so we know

Death has a certain end

But life, life, through the death of Christ, always goes on

So, to speak Christ is

To speak life and die without Christ is wrong.

I said ‘His last WORDS on the cross’

Because, after that came His actions, the verbs of the cross

You see, you can’t SPEAK

Life if you don’t DO life, the verbs of the cross.

Love.

When you speak and do

Love, you speak and do life, not death.

So die to self

And speak Love into lives until there’s no death left.

Do You Love Her?

Do you love her?

Do you love her?

When all is weighed in the balance,

Do you love her?

As men, it’s easy to dive into

The idea, the woman being subject to the man,

Often forgetting that there is

A need to love, and not just lead, when you hold her hand.

Don’t be so hung up on

Ephesians 5:22. You bring it out of context

Because three verses down,

The situation is made as simple as we make it complex.

Love your wife with the love

Of Christ and keep this memory to the touch.

When asked how much He loved

He opened His arms on the cross and said, “This much”.

Do you love her?

Created from our rib,

To demonstrate she can support as well as protect

Our weaknesses and

Deepest emotions when life, like the tax man, comes to collect.

Created from our rib,

So, when you feel a stitch, you know it’s time to care.

A gentle hold

A little closer just so she knows you’re there.

Do you love her?

And is that love a love situational?

Where you don’t really

Give it all and keep it probational,

That ‘almost’ love.

Where you give all of most

And most of all but never just all.

That’s part-time effort,

Wanting full-time pay, a.k.a. Pride before the fall.

Do you love her?

You see, love earns love.

But it needs to occur between complete hearts

Because those broken and reserved

Can only give and receive from incomplete parts.

Which leads her love

To the point it is unsatisfied, unrequited

And the fact you can’t understand her tears

Is a reflection on you and your heart, divided.

Do you love her?

When you look into her eyes

And say I love you, is your heart complete?

Or is it that ‘almost’ love?

Because ‘almost’ means she’s not within reach.

Do you love her?

A Pondering on Women…

I wonder why it is that,

Some women work so hard to be chased

That they forget to flirt

With the idea of being caught and embraced.

I wonder why it is that,

There is such a need to fight against male reliance

That the lines become blurred

Between independence and defiance.

I dare say, I see a need

A need to realise it’s ok to be homely.

Because it’s easier than realising

You’re not independent, you’re lonely,

Before moving on to

Blame men for the choices you made

And handing an IOU to all men

That you feel has never been paid.

There are some women

Who will drop the cliché, “I’m different”.

So far removed

From other women. Just different!

But, in those ‘different’ eyes,

All men fall under the same umbrella,

Meaning that there’s no room for you

When life decides it’s time for stormy weather.

And another thing

Music and Hollywood don’t portray men.

They portray ideas that make money,

Money that makes them.

So men wonder why

There is love for R. Kelly while he pees on young girls

But divorce is an option

Because he sometimes fails to comment on curls.

Ladies, men aren’t perfect

And real men are always rough around the edges

But we shouldn’t have to storm

A beach in Normandy just to make our pledges

Because, eventually,

The chase stops and all that is left to see

Is a lonely, defiant rock,

Being eaten by life’s cold sea.

Of Unemployment

It’s somewhat strange that the very thing

That provides a life resource takes my life away.

Gives me money to buy presentations of life

While keeping the progression of my mind at bay.

I can feel the neurons of my brain beginning

To communicate like long lost friends,

Calling from distant ends of the same community,

Engaging in song on a march of progression

Like enemies that have come together

As one to make amends.

I now find myself investigating everything

That I don’t know and questions I can’t answer.

Book-facts, places visited and making plans

For future advancement.

It’s like going back to school

But in the old skool way.

I’m at liberty to investigate ideas and avenues,

Removed from mechanics and procedure of 9 – 5 days.

But, Alas!

It’s ironic that the thing that has given me life

Is temporary just as this life is.

I have responsibilities and I’m not a believer

In stealing another man’s taxes.

It’s somewhat daunting that, having had my fingers

Fly across my keyboard, in purposeful array,

To put thoughts of my own, this night, out into the ‘Cloud’,

Unemployment is drawing to a close just like the day.

The hunt continues for that papery substance,

That replaces the worth of  grey matter,

Presenting itself as digits on an ATM screen.

Light contained behind thick, scratched glass.

Defaced beauty?