The Whimsical World of T.L. Gray - The Story - My Story - Meeting God

Everyone has their own journey, their own experiences, and their own meeting God moments.  As a human being, there comes a time in our lives when we face our mortality and understand that our time and presence is limited on this rotating rock.  We finally see how small we are compared to the vastness of the universe. Or we finally understand the physics that the world doesn’t revolve around us. Yet “our” worlds do revolve around us, we are at the center of it, and everything that happens to us or comes from us, stems from the center of our being.  We don’t experience what’s going on across the universe – only what is within our scope, our reach, and our influence.  Some of us have a very limited reach, while others have a vast one, but we all have one, even if it’s only within ourselves.

I’ve heard the name of God my whole life. Most often in a damning expression when something went wrong or someone was angry, or when danger was present, which was during most of my childhood.  God was damned about every four to five words that escaped the cigarette or joint-ridden mouths of my parents. The concept that while God gave life to all things, my parents were ultimately responsible for my birth, and they alone had the right to take that life from me should they choose. I do believe the words were, “I brought you into this world, and if I damned-well please, I’ll take you out of it.” Have you really thought about the phrase ‘damned-well’?  That’s an oxymoron.  Nothing damned is well.

I’ve had a few meeting God moments, but one stands out in particular.  It wasn’t when I died after being attacked by a Doberman Pincher at age 5, or when I rode on top of a car through a barbed-wire fence, or when I fell off the back of a pick-up and got ran over, or any of those life-threatening moments. No, Meeting God moment that sticks out to me was a happy moment, a peaceful moment, a vision of beauty and grace, surrounded by nature and probably one of the first instances of human love.

I was about five years old. From my life time-line, this was some time after the burned-down house, the place where my little yellow canopy bed was destroyed and where I was attacked by the dog following my fifth birthday, and some time before we moved to Texas where I started Kindergarten, so sometime before my 6^th birthday.  We lived on what my parents refer to as ‘the farm’.  I’m not sure what the farm really looked like because my memories are brittle pieces. I do remember some scenes, such as a log shack with a fold up cot me and my brothers would play in, until we got bed bugs.  This is the place I learned about chiggers, muddy wells, horses, and how to hoe a vegetable garden, and the first time I heard the name William Smith.  I’m still not sure who he was, only that he was on the farm with my family, had dark-curly hair, and couldn’t ride a horse. 

Next door lived an old black couple. I wish I could remember their names, but I can’t.  I do, however, remember their hands, and their smiles, and their chickens, and their red-painted barn.  I remember happiness riding on the back of an old Chevy pick-up truck, (my father hated Fords – so it isn’t ironic that I grew up loving them) through bumpy, dusty, red clay dirt roads and mazes of corn. To this day I still love riding down winding dirt roads among corn fields. Our old neighbors had a bunch of chickens that ran around the yard. I loved chasing them, feeding them, picking their eggs, and then running from them as they chased me back.  It was carefree fun. It was a moment I got to just be kid. I didn’t have many of those moments, but that was one of them.  The old lady, who I will call Henrietta, told me stories about the farm, about her animals, about love, and about God.  I remember her telling me that God was watching me, and watching over me, and sending angels down to protect me. It as a nice thought because I always felt danger. 

I remember my Meeting God moment.  I was lying in the deep green grass next to Fred and Henrietta’s red barn.  A tin pail sat beneath a water spigot that dripped crystal drops in a constant rhythm, creating a harmony with the universe, with the birdsong, with the wind that swayed the tops of trees.  It was like the universe in that moment was singing a universal song and they had allowed me to hear them, to see them worshiping in harmony with the sun, the grass, the wind, the trees, the air, the animals, all of life and all of nature, and even with a little five-year old girl lying in the grass, touching their cool with the tips of her little fingers.  I turned my head to the side and watched a tiny ant meander through the forest of blades and wondered if he knew he was being watched, if he realized how small he was to the world I knew? Wondered if this was how God watched over me? 

I looked into the sky above me, realized how small I was in the universe, and tried to imagine the world beyond the clouds, beyond space, beyond everything – not in distance, but in reality, beyond deeper than what we could see, and wondered if that’s where God lived and if he could see me on this side of the veil, to see little ol’ me lying in the grass. I can still feel the warm tears slide out the corners of my eyes and trickle down the side of my face as I yearned to know THAT God.  Not the god of my father, not the god that damned everything, not the god that people were killing for, but the God that all the universe was apart, the God that watched over me and sent his angels to protect me. I wanted to know him with all of my being, all of my heart, and all of my hope. I believe I met God in that moment. I believe that He heard me, and He touched me, and He smiled because He loved his creation, and his creation loved him back.

After that moment there would be many angry times, hurt times, and lots and lots of doubting. There still are because life is hard, it is complicated, and it’s formed with many different levels and layers. But, anytime I stray too far from my faith, I’m always drawn back to that moment, back to that Meeting of God, and I’m reminded of that experience and my faith is restored. I still have lots of doubts. I still believe with my whole heart that we’ve got it all wrong, for the most part, when it comes to God. I hate religion.  I hate the things men do in the name of God. I hate the way humanity treats one another.  But, sometimes I get a glimpse of the beauty of nature, of the universe, and even of humanity and am reminded that God is love – and love (not the world’s version of love, but pure love) is not of this world, is not of nature, but it is something more, something beyond the veil, something I can’t really describe because it must be experienced to understand.  I’m never afraid to meet God, but of man I am terrified.

The Farm was a brief happy moment in my life.  I always think of it with a smile every time I smell burning wood, or see a corn field, or a red barn, or chickens, or a tin pail, or a water spigot, or a horse.  Many nightmares follow the Farm, but that’s another part of this story. This is where I met God.

This is the story. This is my story.  This is my life.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray ©2017

Moving Forward

“Life is fluid, ever-changing, filled with both joy and despair, love and heart-break, it's evolutionary and quite contradictory.”

That’s how I started the essay for my online dating profile. I can honestly say, not many of the men who respond get what I’m saying, but I didn’t expect them to understand. 99.9% are responding to my pictures only and never even bother to read the essay. I’m not complaining because I understand society on a whole and men for the most part. BTW, I read all the essays.

Men are very visual creatures. They will convince themselves how they feel sometimes exclusively based on what they see. They can lie to themselves of their attraction, love, or lack of both depending on their partner’s exterior beauty or flaws. This visual addition is what makes a man overlook his morals and common sense, and in his own lack of confidence and self-esteem, and find himself fawning for a cheap despot and push a beautiful soul into the dreaded friend’s zone.  They honestly desire that beautiful relationship with a soul mate who will respect them, want them, and bring out all the good qualities of being a man, much like they receive from the friend, but they go about it all the wrong way because they try to find those things outward-inward, instead of inward-outward, and end up with a long history of abusive, selfish, and soul-less women. 

Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of women who do the same, but it’s not as common, because the very base instinct of a woman is to nurture and love and see beyond the physical. Well, for most women anyway. There are some women so comfortable with using people because they have that outward beauty, have never had a good solid relationship, they don’t have that natural nurturing character, but that’s from being a selfish vampire. Most women understand a man’s addiction to outward beauty, that’s why many try so hard to fit that ideal or wear the clothes, hair and makeup they do to appeal to a man.  I’ve been there, done that. I’m now at a point of my life that I don’t dress to impress or attract a man, but concerned only with what impresses me.  Could be why I’m still single.

But, that’s not what this article is about.  It’s about being at a point in my life where I’m moving forward. I’ve had some great moments over the last few years.  After my divorce, I started running toward this new life, discovering myself, discovering my hopes, dreams, wants, character, and desires.  Then I ran into a roadblock that knocked me flat on my ass, halted that great forward progression, and pretty much knocked the wind out of me. But, in my darkness, there was a beautiful light that lifted me, helped to inspire me to get up and try again.  Oh, I opened my heart and for a little while… and man, oh man, I flew. I felt happiness, joy, love, passion, and most of all, hope.  I felt the love inside a pair of strong arms and the joy of friendship, companionship, and being able to share a part of myself that I kept inside for so long. But it only lasted for a short time before the difficulties of life interfered and pushed me outside and ripped away that beautiful dream.  And I got the breath knocked out of me again. I still find it difficult to breathe, because of how beautiful that dream was – not the big things, but the little things… the long conversations, the texts throughout the day, the games, the silly moments, the simple laughter… oh, damn.  The part that touched me most and that I realized I missed in my life was those precious moments of being part of a family. I fell in love with that family and will always love them.

I learned a lot about myself and what I want in this life thanks to that experience.  I hate that once again my direction has been changed and another roadblock has forced me to turn again, but that’s life… it’s fluid, ever-changing, filled with joy and despair, love and heart-break, it’s evolutionary and quite contradictory. My only choices are to stay where I am and slowly die or get up and move forward.  So, I move forward.

These last few months, since my birthday I’ve been trying too hard to hold onto broken, shattered pieces, and the only result is a bunch of scars.  I’ve held onto nothing. I’ve washed my cuts, applied ointment, and covered them with band-aids.  I’m healing. At the same time, I’m getting back to myself and picking up many of those things I dropped at my first roadblock, especially my love for adventure.  I’m different. I’m changed. I’m moving like a slow flowing stream. I’ve just fell down the side of one mountain, and now I’m climbing another, but I’m not in a hurry to reach the top.  It’s about the journey on the way.  That’s life. The river, the trail, the wind, the rain, the sun, the clouds, the moon, the stars… that’s life.

For me, that fluidity is in my adventures. Yes, love is also an adventure and I’m trying to keep my broken, crushed, damaged, bleeding heart open for that opportunity, but it’s not my focus.  I’m also not in a hurry.  The world seems to always be in a hurry.  I went sailing yesterday with two men who are just friends I met online, and I can’t express how much being around them was medicine to my bleeding heart. Their friendship is a salve because they expect nothing from me and love and accept me just as I am.  It was so freeing to enjoy the adventure without being on guard. I’ve been on a several dates lately and I have thick armor, because I’m understanding how fluid I am and I feel most of the men I meet have such hard defined ideas of what their looking for in a woman, a lover, a friend, and a mate. While I’m looking for passion, connection, and attraction, I’m so on guard that I bolt at the first inkling of a man that just wants that physical relationship.  I want love.  I don’t feel like I can ever love again, but I will keep myself open to let love in should it happen.  However, at this point in my life, I just want adventure, to be happy, fulfilling some of my dreams, getting back outside and chasing some of those experiences. Some days I’m very lonely and miss the intimacy I had with my last relationship, but I’m finding more and more days being content and breathing a little easier.  I may be alone for the rest of my life, but then again… I may find the love of my life today or tomorrow while I’m out living this fluid life. I’m moving…forward.

I Dance, I Ditch, I Die

Feel the beat, beneath our feet as the music plays.

You take my hand, I feel the warmth of it as our fingers interlock. But I don’t see them, I’m too busy staring into your eyes, those captivating eyes. They hold me prisoner in their gaze, hypnotized by their intensity. I’m spellbound.

You lead me to the dance floor. I don’t see the other dancers, just you bathed in golden light. Everything else is in shadow. All I can see is your eyes, your smile. We weave through the dancers with agility and grace. You lead. I follow.

We stop in the middle of the dance floor. You circle me, appraising me. Though your eyes are locked on mine, I can tell they see all of me. I’m your prey. You’re the hunter. I long to be devoured.

Your strong hand brushes across the small of my back. I shiver. Your other hand grabs the one hanging by my side. Our fingers lace and you bring my hand to your beautiful lips, brushing their soft, plumpness against the back. It’s like fire licking my skin and dancing upon the hair follicles.

You pull me close and we start to sway back and forth in time to the music. You hold me so tight I can feel your heart beating in your chest. I feel so beautiful, so safe in your arms. Your aroma makes me dizzy. Your warmth makes me melt. Your intense gaze exposes my soul. Your lips snare me, induce me, seduce me.

You dance with me. It’s beautiful. I’m lost. I’m found. I’m scared. I’m safe. I’m alive. I burn. I worship you.

You kiss me, and I cease to exist. I’m yours. I’m lost in you, in your arms, in your love.

The clock strikes twelve.

I feel the façade fade. Fear consumes me. I know you could never love the simple girl inside. In fear, in doubt, and in confusion - I run.

Only in this fairy tale - you don’t run after me. I don’t lose a piece of me for you to find, because you’re not searching for me.

My heart now burns to cinder ash, and I’ve become numb. Many ask me to dance, but I feel nothing – not the music, not the fire, not the passion. The more I refuse, the more they want me, but I only want to dance with one.

Every day I am being transformed into the image of the princess I had once pretended to be – the one you wanted me to be – yet you can’t now see. You dance with the other princesses, hypnotizing them with your intense gaze, seducing them with your cunning cleverness. They don’t run.

My ashes cool and only a cold pile remains. I hate it. I smile, but I’m crying inside. I want to live, but I also want to die. I want the magic, but I have no wand. I’m shriveling to nothing and soon will be nothing but ash floating in the wind. My fairy tale has ended and my Prince is gone. I’m trying to survive. I’m trying to move on. I can’t breathe.

I hate who I’m becoming. She’s everything I despise. I’m no longer Cinderella, but a big, bad witch in disguise.

Till next time,

~Wicked Witch of the World

Change Your Glasses; Change Your World

One of the best motivational books I ever read was "Battlefield of the Mind" by Joyce Meyer. While it's based on Christian fundamentals (which I don't understand when or how those fundamentals have become so wrong - some Christians and their interpretations maybe... but the teachings and fundamentals are sound - in my opinion) it started a change in my life, because I started to see how I thought about how my thoughts affected my reactions to things, and how things changed or didn't change in my life because of how I thought about them.

This book is filled with wonderful philosophical quotes that sometimes I'd have to meditate on for months because I really wanted to soak them into my very being.  Here are a few of my Joyce Meyer favorites:

“You cannot have a positive life and a negative mind.”

“Our past may explain why we're suffering but we must not use it as an excuse to stay in bondage.”

 “Asking for something is easy… being responsible for it is the part that develops character.”

 “Patience is not the ability to wait but the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting.”


These are some hard truths,  yet simplistic in their nature.

My biggest achievements have come when I've changed my glasses.  What I mean by that is  - things have changed in my life when I've changed my perception of the world.  I was angry and hurt for so long, all I saw was anger and hurt, the ugliness of life and society, the cracks in the window.  I failed to see the beauty outside the frame.  This reminds me of a phrase in a Jack Johnson song, "Breakdown".  (You can't stop nothin' if you've got no control of the thoughts of your mind that you keep in, you know.  You don't know nothin' that you don't need to know;  the wisdom's in the trees not the glass windows.) But, once I learned to breathe, my vision changed and my focus moved from the cracked glass to the beauty around me. 

I can't fully express, and I'm a writer, how that has changed my life.  Yes, there are still cracked window panes in my life and I'm not ignoring them or pretending they're not there.  But, I'm replacing those windows and spending much more time looking out beyond the frame.  One positive thought at a time, one idea of hope, one mustard seed of faith at a time is changing my life, changing my view, changing my world.  While not all will agree with me, especially those in my past who I've made a change to leave behind, I define these changes as progress.

What about you?

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Open Arms

I don’t usually use these inspirational pictures for my own blog, choosing to create an original, but this one really captured what I’ve been feeling for the last few days.

There are so many things I wish I could control, because I think I know what’s best for me.  Even if I don’t know what’s best, I know what I want.  But, knowing what I want and obtaining it is two different things.  My biggest problem is that I want too much.  I’ve been caged for so long inside of a self-imposed prison.  Now that I’m free, I find I’m flying around in circles.  I want to see everything.  I want to touch everything. I want to experience everything.  I want to feel everything.  I want to live fully.  I want to love fully.  As the prompt says, “I choose to open my arms to all the good life has in store for me.”

One of the things about being free I didn’t expect to experience in this stage - is having to let go. You can’t hold onto anything with open arms.  I hate letting go, and it doesn’t matter what it happens to be.  I don’t understand sometimes all the rules of this world, because I’ve just broken free from them.  But, not everyone else has reached the same point as me.  Not everyone is ready to fly.

I have so much love, where once I had none.  It’s overwhelming.  I wish I could open everyone’s heart and pour this into them, but I can’t.  I have to fly.  I’ve waited my whole life for this.  I’ve prayed, dreamed, hoped and fought hard to come to this point.  I can’t allow anyone to keep me grounded, not even me.  I just never knew it was going to hurt so much.  I’ve always imagined someone would fly with me.  Maybe someday there will be, but I can’t carry anyone else.  My wings can only lift me.  No one else can carry me either.

I know many of the people in my life, really almost all of them, don’t understand what’s going on inside me.  From all outward appearances I’ve turned my back on everything and everyone, but that’s not how I see it. I used to run and hide from everything …to protect me. I was broken.  I couldn’t accept and give love, I had none.  But I’m not running and hiding now - I’m flying.  I’ve not abandoned my faith, I’ve embraced it.  It is my faith that has brought me to this point.  It’s another stage, another level of intimacy.  It is God’s love for me that has taught me and allowed me to love myself.    My actions don’t fall under the normal rules and expectations, I’ve never been normal.  I can’t live my life trying to please everyone. 

I open my arms. I can’t breathe because of the pain of leaving everyone and everything behind.  It’s the worst ache I’ve ever felt, and I’ve known a lot of hurt.  I’m so scared my knees tremble and I shake, but I leap into the air anyway.  Please don’t hate me.  Love me. Be happy for me. Forgive me. When you find your own wings, come find me.  If you don’t, love yourself and be happy. 

I stand with my arms open and close my eyes as the first golden rays of the Morning kiss my cheeks and dry my tears.  His lips are warm and gentle.  He whispers to me, and his cool breath drapes over me like morning dew.  His words of love surround me like a whirlwind, moving in, around and about me.  My outstretched arms become a pair of beautiful wings and his love becomes the wind as I rise. I set my face toward the sun and feel the breeze upon my face and the draft beneath me.  I hear the song of the Morning; its melody calls to me; drawing me into its embrace.  I fly. Oh, God, how I fly.  

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Slaying Giants

      I stand in the midst of an army, made up of my fellow brothers, sisters, friends and family all surrounding me, fully aware of the war that commences in the battlefield ahead.  Yet they just go about their assigned tasks  ... and wait.  They stand around and strategize, philosophize and plan, but do nothing in terms of action.  Swords are drawn, but not used.  Armor is polished but not scarred.  Everyone has a plan, but no one moves into action. Everyone talks of what ‘they’d’ do, yet I see no one marching into the battlefield and putting those plans into action.  They live in the false security of their camp’s safety, deceiving even them self.   

The enemy stands on the other side of the battlefield, and from hidden places tease, taunt and laugh at the circumstances.  They know they are bigger, stronger, and more courageous.  They know they have strength, history and numbers on their side.  They understand the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

I cannot continue to do nothing.  I may not be the strongest, the smartest, the best trained, the wisest or the ideal warrior, but I have courage in the face of fear.  Whether I win or lose, live or die, fail or succeed … I choose to fight.

I don’t know what will happen.  Will I find ten smooth stones in a riverbed?  Will I have the knowledge and strength to wind my sling?  Do I have the precision to strike at the most vulnerable spot on the giants I face?  I cannot answer these questions, because I do not know how my fight is destined to be fought.  All I know is I can’t just stand here.   Do I possess the same kind of faith a shepherd boy once had?  Was he as scared as I am?  

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Set Small Goals

Human beings crave a sense of accomplishment.  A defeatist attitude usually comes from not being able to meet the goals we set in our lives.  Often times, we give up when the pressures get too hard, and we feel like we spin our wheels, mercilessly, without any traction. 

Where we usually fail when it comes to meeting goals, is we often set them too big, especially if we’re a dreamer, or artistic in any way.  Creative people see no limit to the possibilities, and are open to most prospects, so we set our life goals in adherence to our dreams, regardless if they’re against the natural current.  Practical people usually shake their heads at this behavior, because they themselves usually opt for what is in their grasp, what they’re capable to achieve within reason, and don’t often fight the current seeing no sense in the action.  However, neither is wrong and the other right.  There should be a balance between the two. 

Dreamers should set impossible goals, because that’s where true dreams are realized.  However, we need to be practical in our application, and set for us a series of small goals along the way.   With each small accomplishment we achieve, we will also receive more confidence, more faith, and more inspiration to move forward.  If we constantly struggle against the current, without finding small pools of respite by the wayside, we’ll burn ourselves out.  We must be able to find small side-streams to rest and regroup, so that we will have the strength to make it all the way upstream. 

Your inspiration exercise today:  Think about what you really want out of life, and then try to think of at least six small steps you can take that will ‘lead’ in that direction, and then set one of them as your first goal.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Rejection

Rejection

The definition means – (1) to refuse or accept, consider, use or submit to (2) to refuse to hear, receive, or admit: repel (3) to rebuff or without love from (4) to throw out esp. as useless or unsatisfactory (5) to subject to the immunological process of sloughing off (foreign tissue). 

That’s all well and good until it is experienced first-hand, especially when it comes to the heart, and even more when it comes from those who are supposed to love us.    

I’ve always heard that there are two constants, God’s love and a mother’s love; that those are two givens, and the two most taken for granted.  While I agree with the taking for granted part, I only half agree with the first part.  I do think God’s love is constant and never-changing, but I’ve experienced firsthand that a mother’s love doesn’t come unconditionally.  I’ve also heard it stated that a mother’s love is natural, an affection given at the time of birth.  Turn on your news and you’ll discover that isn’t true at all.  Just because a woman gives birth to a child, doesn’t mean she becomes naturally endowed with a mother’s love.  Actually, I don’t think love is natural at all.  Emotions are natural, but love – love is supernatural.  However, this article isn’t about love, but about rejection.  

I’ve observed countless of hurting people in this world, and one of the main common denominators to their pain is rejection – either from a parent, a child, a spouse, a sibling or a friend.  I’ve known my share of rejection, a bit from every category, yet I don’t allow that rejection to define me, or cause me to give up on my life.  I’ve found strength in the most uncommon of places – in the acceptance of me.    My value, my worth, my beauty, my confidence and my assurance doesn’t come from the acceptance or rejection of anyone else, but myself.  If it came from anyone else, I’d already be a failure, because I’ve received more rejection in my life than acceptance, especially from those who are supposed to ‘naturally’ love and accept me.  

This is the main reason why I love the Harry Potter series.  It’s not for the magic, the adventure or even the battle of good vs. evil, but simply because it’s an example of a boy who grew up rejected and unloved,  but had enough character and strength to choose to love in return, instead of allowing that rejection to turn him into a victim.  I found hope in Harry.  He truly was the ‘boy who lived’, because he LIVED – every moment and every day with a heart wide open; with a heart that had been battered, bruised and abandoned.  It was love that protected him in the end – not the love others had for him, but the love he had for others.  Harry rose above rejection, and perhaps we can too.

There was another who chose to love after being rejected and despised.  Yet, he gave his life for us all - Jesus. 

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Why Won’t My Skeletons Disappear?

Ever made a wrong decision, a bad investment, or simply made a mistake?  Join the club of humanity.  We are ripe with failures.  There’s no one on this earth who has not messed up at one time or another.  That puts us all on the same playing field.  What makes us different, and what proves the caliber of player we are (not who we think and say we are), is how we handle those mistakes. 

I’ve watched time and time again a player boast of their abilities, their talents and their skills right up until the moment the game starts.  That’s when the truth of their abilities (or lack thereof) became apparent and the truth was revealed.  Granted, sometimes a player had a good day and sometimes a bad.  However, if you watched enough games and the player long enough, you’d see their true potential, their true talents and their true skills.  The truth lay in the evidence of the results. 

I’ve also seen players who have been endowed with great natural talent, but lacked wisdom and knowledge on how, when and where to execute the right use.  In fact, their ego and lack of understanding of the rules were often their downfall; the time-bomb that killed their best efforts with a foul or a play at the wrong time.

 

What I’m trying to get at is this:  We are fallible, and sometimes do stupid stuff – thereby stuffing skeletons in our closets.  We ALL have them.  But, I’m observing a trend in our society that really frightens me.  Time and time again I see people avoid their skeletons, instead of facing them.  They wait to be bailed-out, to be rescued, to be forgiven for their mistakes, but take no responsibility to remove the skeletons from their own closets.  They just keep shoving them in, cramming them together, and expecting someone else to clean them out, some even going as far to proclaim they are entitled to a clean closet.

 

The bankruptcy rate in this country (the world in fact) is at the highest level ever recorded.  In the writing world – many writers are too eager to get in print – which they forgo the time, and effort to really study their craft, in their impatience self-publish and put out a bad manuscript. Then, they expect their readers to forgive, to support and to bail them out of their bad decisions by continuing to buy their books.  Yet, they don’t take the time to go back and clean up their mess and remove the skeletons they’ve created.  Or, they publish a decent book, but make the mistake of not properly marketing and networking to get the word out, yet expect someone else to come along and do it for them.  That’s like people who run up bad credit card debts in their ignorance, which they can’t pay, and yet expect the debts to just disappear, or for someone else to absorb the debt because forgiveness has been asked - then are shocked back into reality when they start to get their lives back on track to find out the ‘mess’ they created is still there for them to clean up.  What’s most surprising is the bad debtor gets angry that the skeleton is still in their closet.  They’re confused and don’t understand why it’s there.

Where did this mindset come from?  Where did personal responsibility go?  What happened to the concept of making amends or reparations?  Does the world even know what those words mean anymore?  I’m sorry doesn’t mean – “I feel bad because I messed up or I got caught”.  We are all sorry.  It means – “I acknowledge my mistake and I will do whatever I can to make amends, and change my habits so I don’t make it again.”  It’s insanity to keep doing the same thing, yet expect a different result. It’s just as insane to keep trying to help people with that mindset.  It’s naive of us to sit on our butts and wonder, “Why won’t my skeletons disappear?”

 

It’s time to get off our butts and start cleaning out our closets.  We ALL have skeletons, we ALL make mistakes, and we ALL are responsible for our own skeletons.  Learn to apologize, but most of all, learn to quit making the same mistakes. The only real entitlement we have is to our guilt and repentance