This is a virtual cafe where all ideas are entertained all facts discerned, all topics discussed. And just because the proprietor has a passion for Christ, books, and the Acoustic guitar, that doesn't mean you can't veer wildly off into different subjects. So, come in, have a coffee (imported especially from Verble's finca in El Salvador), and talk about whatever you want.
OK, so I'm not a poet, so maybe just look at this as an essay that is written with a new sentence on each line.
Carlos was a huge man, a half a man
Carlos was a huge man, a half a man
Left arm and right leg gone. He walked into rooms with one crutch tucked Under his right arm, always a smile Stretching across his thick jaw. Even without two limbs, he was physically powerful, Broad shouldered, thick muscled. Looked like he could tear through walls, Yank down columns.
He was in our Sunday School class for a full
Two months, before he told the class his story.
Military. El Salvador.
Even though the military wears balaklavas To protect their family, the Maras Recognized him. They caught him one night on his way home. They hacked off his arm, his leg. Machetes. Left those limbs lying on the warehouse floor. They told him that if he ever came back, They would chop off his head In front of his family.
Missionaries got him to the States,
Rehabilitation for six months. Taught him how to use the limbs he had left.
Now, he had decided to go back to San Salvador.
His wife had gotten his daughters out of the city, Safe in the country, but Carlos Didn’t want to be here, in the US, As just one more “illegal”
Carlos thanked us for our kindness.
He thanked the doctors and the hospital for Healing him at no charge to him. He thanked his wife for getting his daughters safe. Mostly, he thanked God, for giving him The peace and the strength To go back and preach the word of salvation To those who had taken his right leg And his left arm.
Some people will hate you for the color of your skin
or for the genitalia you carry,
or for the faith that you follow.
They will hate you, not because of you,
but for what you represent, because you
represent a memory of something that once
hurt them,
or a fear
that immobilizes them.
Teenage son: ... yeah but I still don't see why you always are on us to make our beds.
Other teenage son: And folding clothes. Why do we have to fold our clothes? That's so boring.
Dad: Kids, let me tell you something about folding clothes. When we're on your case to fold clothes, yeah it's about teaching you how to keep things neat, but I'm also training you for the future. There's gonna be days in your lives, when the wife is yelling at you for something you did or didn't do, the kids'll be fighting - either each other or you - and the dogs will be barking and you'll have on your mind what your boss is mad about that day, either something you didn't complete on time or some project that's going south and you better fix it or it's your ass - and the only calm moment in the middle of all that chaos: folding clothes. The only calm, the only relaxation, the only ten minutes of solitude, will be just to go into the bedroom, shut the door, and stand there folding clothes. It will save your life, believe you me.
I’ve known several transvestites, particularly in the 60s
and 70s.Everything was much more
low-key then, it was pretty much don’taskdon’ttell and liveandletlive.While we think modern times are more “accepting”
it actually seems that they are much more volatile now, but that’s probably just
my perspective.
Anyway, in the early 2000s I worked in a Municipality where
a man was transitioning to female.Nice
guy/lady.It did cause whispers and some
of the women were nervous when she started using their restroom, but eventually
everyone got used to it and it just became quite normal.She was a she.
I found, though, in meetings, no one ever wanted to disagree
with her.In whispers they seemed to be
saying that to disagree – even on work stuff – they would be seen as “incorrect.”Me, I said, “Hey we have a job to do –
running a city.”So, I agreed with her
when I did and I spoke up when I didn’t agree with her.
When she finally left for another job (bigger city/better
pay), she told me this:“Verble, your
ideas are pie-in-the-sky and won’t ever work, so I shot you down every
time.But you were the only one who ever
treated me like a colleague.So thank
you.”It was one of the greatest
compliments I’ve ever received.
On this the third day of exile from the Twitterverse I remain unmoved. I do not speak hate. I speak of love. I speak of justice and truth.
When I think of this exile, the most recent corollary in the news is the Twitter expulsion of Milo Yannopoulis, who was suspended from Twitter after organizing a campaign of racist death threats against an African-American actress.
Then I think of my good friend, Ming Blue Tea Cup, and how she was part of a campaign to #FreeMilo. If voices that promote hate can be defended for free speech, why then are voices of love also suspended?
The answer to that is simply this: we live in a fallen, imperfect world. Voices of hate will always rise to the top, like dirty oil atop the clean waters. Christ Himself told us that we would be suspended and killed and silenced for the sake of His name. While this Twitter suspension is in no way shape or form anywhere NEAR the sufferings endured by true followers of Christ, let alone CHRIST Himself, I do understand from this taste of Twitter exile just how fragile our speech is.
Thus, emboldened, I state that I SHALL NOT BE MOVED!
I Shall Not Be Moved Lyrics
Mississippi John Hurt
I shall not, I shall not be moved I shall not, I shall not be moved Just like a tree that's planted by the water I shall not be moved
I'm on my way to heaven, I shall not be moved I'm on my way to heaven, I shall not be moved Just like a tree that's planted by the water I shall not be moved
Oh preacher, I shall not be moved Oh preacher, I shall not be moved Just like a tree that's planted by the water I shall not be moved
I'm sanctified and holy, I shall not be moved Sanctified and holy, I shall not be moved Just like a tree that's planted by the water I shall not be moved
It is Day 2 of my exile from the Twitterverse.
Still no word as to why my account has been suspended.
Asked them yesterday, but to this moment, no response.
Thinking of my exile, I was reminded of this song by Pink Floyd from the Obscured by Clouds album.
Particularly how the beginning of the song has the narrator "on the outside looking on" with that feeling of being uninvited, unwanted. a pariah.
But then, the song ends with the narrator "on the inside looking out/hear me shout 'Come on in!/What's the news, where ya been?" That is a message of hope: that, in the time when I have been re-accepted, I must be gracious, generous, giving.
Then, the song ends with the realization that I have indeed grown old. Then the quick fade, and we are done.
"Wot's...Uh The Deal?"
Heaven sent the promised land Looks allright from where I stand Cause I'm the man on the outside looking in
Waiting on the first step Show me where the key is kept Point me down the right line because it's time
To let me in from the cold Turn my lead into gold Cause there's chill wind blowing in my soul And I think I'm growing old
Flash the readies wots...uh the deal Got to make to the next meal Try to keep up with the turning of the wheel.
Mile after mile Stone after stone Turn to speak but you're alone Million mile from home you're on your own
So let me in from the cold Turn my lead into gold Cause there's chill wind blowing in my soul And I think I'm growing old
Fire bright by candlelight With her by my side And if she prefers we will never stir again
Someone sent the promised land And I grabbed it with both hands Now I'm the man on the inside looking out
Hear me shout 'come on in, what's the news and where you been?' Cause there's no wind left in my soul And I've grown old
