I will never forget the last time I was alone with Jason. It was the late afternoon of Tuesday, September 9th, 2008. The weather was fair. The skies were gray. The sun was trying to peak out one last time before it headed West. The temperature was more typical of Fall rather than late Summer. A light jacket was necessary.

I walked into his room, and he was standing at the foot of his bed, holding a Playstation 3 controller and staring at the TV. His complexion, like his hair, was as white and sterile-looking as the walls around him and the floor beneath. He looked at me and tried to speak but couldn’t. He gasped for air as he turned off his game and went back to the main screen. He looked like a ghost of himself.

Jason tried so hard to speak but barely got out a whisper. He said “listen to this” then pressed a button on his controller. A familiar song began.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You’re the closest to Heaven that I’ll ever be
And I don’t wanna go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
And sooner or later, it’s over
I just don’t wanna miss you tonight

And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am”

As soon as I heard the music, I knew what it was: “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls. I was overcome with goosebumps as I listened for a message in a song I’d heard a million times. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what Jason was trying to tell me. It wasn’t a new song he just wanted me to listen to. It had been out for 10 years. It wasn’t simple or funny or ragey or anything obvious. It was rather complex. He kept replaying this.

“And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am”

I tried to decipher the words, listening intently while looking at his face, hoping to get what he was trying to tell me. I was scared that he knew something I didn’t. I was perplexed by the message. Was he trying to tell me he didn’t want the world to see him like this? Was he trying to tell me no one really knew him? Was he trying to say he’s broken? Was he trying to tell me no one understood? Why this song? Why me? Why now? Why were these particular words so important that they were to speak for him when he no longer could?

I never knew it would be the last time we spent together alone. I never knew those would be his last words to me. It haunts me to this day as I still feel confused about what he was trying to tell me.

I saw him only one more time after that: Thursday evening of that same week. He was in a much bigger room, surrounded by light and loved ones. He could no longer speak. He could barely move. The only thing with color in the room were his bright blue eyes which surveyed the scene every time someone entered. His eyes were his mouth now. And his ears. And his hands. And arms. And legs. It was all he had. It was enough.

I never knew that would be the last time I saw him. I thought he would bounce back–the way he always did. Because he always had his way with Leukemia. He always won. Until he didn’t.

Upon leaving that night, I said to him, “I love you. I’ll see you later.” Only I didn’t think it would be as long. I didn’t think it’d be in Heaven. He passed early that Saturday morning.

I was thankful for my last words but saddened by them, too. And every time that song comes on, I think of his bright blue eyes and the final moments we shared. And I smile because I know it’s not forever. “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

Last weekend, a very sweet woman with whom I was barely acquainted passed away–just days before her 60th birthday.

I met her in the driveway of my best friend’s house during the height of covid. She offered help as I carried bags to the front door. I politely declined. I thought it was strange she was offering help to a perfect stranger. Apparently, that’s who she was: a kind-hearted, gentle-spirited woman who’d help at the drop of a hat. It makes the world that much sadder and darker that one more good person has left the earth.

She was a Nurse Practitioner by profession, a daughter, wife, mother, stepmother, grandmother, and friend. She raised her son by herself, took care of her parents in their later years, helped raise her second husband’s daughters, then took care of her father and husband until cancer quickly had its way. She also had a two-year-old granddaughter she would meet a couple hours from home to have for the weekend. And this is how my best friend would get to see her great niece sometimes. She would take her granddaughter to visit them.

No. I did not know her, but I could tell she was truly loved. Despite her busy life, she made time to help others. My best friend would reach out to her for advice on how to care for her parents who are well advanced in age and suffer from Dementia and Alzheimer’s. And she would help any way she could.

This woman was the glue of her entire family and extended family. I cannot imagine the loss they feel at this time. I know how my best friend feels, and that is enough pain. And when she’s hurting, I am hurting.

It is a very sad situation; one I will never understand. What a humble existence. She was sort of a nun in her own right–only she didn’t choose it. She didn’t purposely devote herself to God and caring for others while taking the vows of the sisters. She was just a good human, a servant of God in a different way. She didn’t care for others until their last breaths. She cared for them until hers. Humble but sad. It’s different if you choose it. It’s different if you feel called rather than feel obligated or do it out of love. It almost seems even less selfish this way–because she was thrown into it and chose it. She didn’t have to. She made no promises before God that caring for others would be her entire life. It just was. And for this, I mourn her.

My admiration for and adoration of the nuns has been obvious. They do the hardest work–the work most of us don’t want to do–the work they wouldn’t need to do if we all just took care of our neighbors and loved them as ourselves. But here we are.

I hurt for the woman’s family, friends, and coworkers. I hurt for my best friend who’s taken this hard. I hurt for that little girl who only had her grandma for two years. Mostly, I hurt for her. She was young, younger than my parents. She should’ve had more time. She deserved so much more. She deserved to retire. She deserved to rest. She deserved to have someone else care for her the way she cared for everyone else. But cancer took that.

No. I didn’t know her, but I mourn her life. What did she get to do? When did she get a break? When she finally passed away? She should still be here, hanging out with her granddaughter and her son. Her entire life was spent taking care of others. Why didn’t she get her turn here?

I know she is not the only person in life like this. I know other people who’ve spent their entire lives caring for family, and it’s sad to me. Are they fulfilled? Are they at peace? Do they sleep well? Do they ever have moments that aren’t difficult? Is life ever easy for them? Is it ever good? Do they all believe in God? Do they believe in Heaven? Are they all going there? Why are they doing this? How do they keep going day in and out despite all the trials and tribulations? Do they ever get any rest? Or is this why they die young? Is that God’s way of taking them out of these situations–to get eternal rest once and for all–and to see those they’ve cared for and lost?

These are the people Jesus speaks of in the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-10)

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
    for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
    for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
    for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
    for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
    for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
    for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
    for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
    for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Every good person I know is one of the above.

I imagine those streets of gold are beautiful. And those reunions are happy. And time is but a moment. It creeps on earth but flies like the angels there. There is no sickness or sadness or loss. Everyone is happy and healthy.

Just like Billy said, “only the good die young.” And maybe this is God’s way of rewarding them, though it leaves the rest of us sad and sick with grief. I think another reason the good die young is because it takes them less time for their souls to be right with God whereas the rest of us need much more time. (I know I do.) God has special missions for them, and when they were complete, He takes them home.

I pray for the rest of the good people I know. May they see a little rest, a little peace, and a little of what they deserve before they part the earth. May their hearts be filled with all the love they’ve given in their lives. May their transitions be smooth despite whatever circumstances they are facing.

May the good in others speak to us, motivate us, and teach us how to love ourselves, love others, and be mindful, thankful, and helpful. May the good Lord humble us with the abilities to bless others in the ways we’ve seen and been shown.

May God have mercy on us all as we watch Him take back who he’s given us. May He give us peace that passes all understanding. Amen.

It’s been a little while since I’ve been here–and not because I’ve been without thoughts. Quite the contrary. I just can’t stop long enough to think about just one thing. This could go many directions. Let’s see where it takes me.

One of the things I often read in many books about Mother Teresa was that whoever she’d meet, she tried to make them a better version of themselves. If they were Hindu, she tried to make them a better Hindu. If they were Muslim, she tried to make them a better Muslim, etc.

For such a devout woman of faith–a Christian faith–this seems to be opposite of what many would preach, the opposite of the agenda.

Most people who believe in a specific religion believe theirs is the right one, the only one, the one that determines the fate of the afterlife. I cannot speak for other religions, but in Christian churches, this couldn’t be truer. I grew up in a Methodist church in my neighborhood, and throughout the years, the message was the same: accept Jesus, love your neighbors as yourself, tell others of their need of Jesus as their savior, and try to get as many people in church as possible. There was never any discussion or training on how to communicate with others who may not believe what you do, who question the existence of any possible deity, or were as different from you as could be. There was never the emphasis on loving THOSE neighbors. There wasn’t emphasis on loving anyone else or consciously doing the work true Christianity requires. It was always presented like this: everyone else is lost, and it’s our job to bring them to the truth to be found. And have nothing to do with them if they reject it. Man-made religion, full of agendas, totally misses the point. And as always, Mother Teresa had it right.

I am a Christian. I have been since I was a child. And I grew up (by choice) in church. But I always questioned the ideas behind evangelism–especially when the most important commandment is to love your neighbor.

It’s easy to love others you can relate to. It’s even easier to love others with whom you have much in common or share a religion or faith. “If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matthew 5:46-48) We are quick to forget to love our neighbors.

One of the reasons Christians treat others this way is out of fear. They do not talk to people with other beliefs because they are not fully equipped to participate in the conversation. They don’t know their own beliefs well enough to share them. Many just go to church, read the Scriptures the pastor says to read, interpret them the way they are told, then go back to their lazy lives the other six days of the week. Love is lost. Ignorance continues. And people turn back into themselves by Monday morning. They don’t know how to properly love because they haven’t been shown. They’re just told to push the agenda, all the while forgetting that Jesus is love, and love is the greatest of the commandments.

Christians are also so focused on the message of a need for a Savior that they skip love and go straight to the idea of Hell for all eternity. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never met a stranger who responds warmly to this message. I know I don’t. Speaking of being approached by a stranger…

I once had an old high school classmate, who I hadn’t seen in 20 years, approach me at a Walmart, telling me I am a sinner who needs saved, and he would like for me to visit his church. He had no idea I am the American Mary Poppins: Practically Perfect in Every Way. lol. Seriously. He didn’t ask me how I am doing. He didn’t show much kindness or any godly love. He didn’t know my beliefs or ask me anything about myself. He made assumptions, quick judgments, and continued his speech just to hear himself talk. I didn’t care that he was some sort of pastor now. I didn’t give a rat’s ass that he preaches at a church or actually went to seminary. He was very arrogant. And little did he know…I could give him a run for his money on Biblical knowledge. But I had nothing to prove. He certainly did.

He has an older brother who is gay, and he disowned him for it, and for that I had already made up my mind about him. He didn’t know his Bible that well if he had room to hate. You can’t expect to be taken seriously if you are talking out of both sides of your face. And if you are a pastor, you will be judged more strictly.

I’ve always said that I will not tell you why you should believe in God. I will simply tell you why I do. And I could tell you some wild stories that would cause you to question it if you don’t already believe. To God be the glory! Back to Mother Teresa

Every person Mother Teresa met, she treated them with respect. And those she helped along the way, she showed them the love of God and helped them to pass with dignity, knowing someone cared for them in their final hours. Love: the greatest commandment. She never stopped to decide if they were worthy. She never questioned what they believed before she served. She simply loved them. And she tried to help them become the best versions of themselves–even those who were at the ends of their lives. No strings. She simply loved.

Those are the actions of a true believer of Christ. Those are the actions of a humble person who may be very devout but also secure enough to not feel threatened by any other ideas. Those are the actions of a true servant, one I very much admire. We could all be more like this.

I’ve heard it said, we should leave the Earth better than when we found it. The same is true of others. We should leave them better than when we found them. That is a life-long challenge.

May God show us how to love ourselves so we may love others. May God humble us enough to love others without deciding whether they are worthy. May God bring our impurities to light and show us mercy as we navigate our way through all that separates us. May God give us all the wisdom to show without tell, love more in action, and leave others better than when we found them. Amen.

I just finished reading To Love and Be Loved: A Personal Portrait of Mother Teresa by Jim Towey, her former attorney and friend the last twelve years of her life. It was incredible. No matter your beliefs, you should pick up the book. I am not Catholic, but it moved me–even to tears a couple times.

The first mission work Mother Teresa did in the US (Bronx, NY) was setting up AIDS homes at the height of its power and destruction. Jim volunteered at these homes, and all he’d ever met were adults: prostitutes, drug addicts, and gay men…until one day.

There was an eight-year-old girl named Tina who was born with AIDS. Her mother was a prostitute and drug addict. Her father was also a drug addict who had already been taken by this disease. As a child, Tina contracted chicken pox–which she picked until she bled. Because she had AIDS, the pox were scratched into sores that wouldn’t heal due to her compromised immune system. Though she was in constant pain and agony, she was still a child and still had moments of happiness and times of playfulness. Sometimes in the night, while still asleep, she would scream she wants her mom. She would also say “Jesus loves me.” The author assumed someone had once taken her to church, but nothing was confirmed.

About six weeks into Tina’s stay, she was weaker than ever. Mother Teresa knew the little girl’s end was near, so she asked Jim to track down Tina’s mother to say her goodbyes. Jim sent a female friend (assistant) to get her. The woman found Tina’s mother, bought a Happy Meal from McDonald’s for the woman to give to her daughter, then took her to visit. She arrived in sunglasses and remained silent. After Tina enjoyed the Happy Meal, her mother climbed into bed with her, held her for a short time, then left…never to see her again.

The following day, Jim came to visit Tina, and upon looking for a game to play, at her request, she fell asleep. She died the next day.

I will save the details and his beautiful description of Tina’s departure for you to read yourself. It had me close to tears as I reread the passage.

What a sad situation. Devastating. Unfair. Seemingly hopeless. She was just a little girl. Eight years old. And born to die.

My face flooded with tears as I learned of this little girl, but maybe not for all the reasons you’d think.

Can you imagine what it was like to be that mother? You have a child that has no life expectancy due to your mistakes, struggles, demons, and hopelessness? Losing a child at any age, for any reason, no matter who you are, would be difficult to bear.

She was a prostitute and a drug addict. Which do you think came first? Why do you think she became a prostitute? A drug addict? Do you think she saw no other way out of whatever her life situation was and had no choice but to sell her body to survive? And maybe she started using drugs to cope with the fact she was a prostitute and could see no other way for her life? Or perhaps she was a drug addict and became a prostitute to afford her fix. We will never know.

And what type of life did she have as a little girl? Did she have parents? Was she taken care of? Was she cared for? Or was she neglected? Abused in some kind of way? Who did she come from? How far back did this vicious cycle occur? Again, we will never know.

It’s true. Most of us cannot relate to being drug addicts or prostitutes because we aren’t or haven’t been them. We can still relate, however. We can still put on their shoes and take a walk. In doing so, we may find we have more in common than we think.

Have you ever felt stuck in a situation? I have. Many times. And I couldn’t get out of my own way to see the door. Have you ever been addicted to or obsessed with anything? Shopping? Eating? Gambling? Drinking? Chasing other pleasures? I am sure we all have something we don’t do in moderation. Have you ever felt out of control? I certainly have. Many times. At the end of my 20’s I was drinking for any and every reason, but I thought I had it under control. Until I tried to stop. Then I realized I didn’t. And life was spiraling. But I also liked it because I could run and hide from myself and my feelings. Be numb. Not feel anything. Have you ever wanted to not feel things? I am sure you have. No one chooses pain. Have you ever felt hopeless? If not, you are lucky. I have felt this more times than I can count–for a lot of reasons. I think many can relate, though.

Do we make the best decisions when we feel down, depressed, weak, or hopeless? No. Do we run to anything we can to escape? Yes. And it can get way out of control. And we lose ourselves. And others. And reality changes. And we chase the high. We focus on it. We want to feel good, not knowing numbness isn’t the same thing.

And the next thing you know, you’ve contracted a deadly disease. And now you’re pregnant. And the father died. And you have no idea how you got here. But here you are. You give birth to a daughter. You love her very much–though to everyone else it doesn’t see that way. They see you for what you’ve done, not who you are. They don’t know anything else. They judge you. And you judge you. And you can’t forgive yourself. And you don’t think you deserve to. Because this is all your fault.

Your struggles and demons are louder than ever. And what you once used to numb the pain no longer works. And now you have a child who was born to die. And you will have to bury her because of your poor decisions. And you can’t handle it. More pain. More heartache. More struggles. And you can’t even deal with the things that first destroyed you. But you’re still going to use. You’re still going to sell yourself on the streets. You have to for survival. And although you don’t want to survive, you can’t live with yourself, so you have to keep trying to numb it. You would rather trade places with you child and end your suffering but you don’t have that choice. You continue to hate yourself. And the world hates you. And you think God hates you, too. You can’t understand unconditional love because you’ve never been shown it. You’ve never known the love of God because no one has directed you to it. You can’t forgive yourself because you’ve never been shown forgiveness. You can’t be merciful because you weren’t shown mercy. You live in complete darkness with no belief light exists. And the world damns you to Hell. And you damn yourself. And you don’t want to feel this if you don’t have to. So you’ll chase an escape you’ll never find, a peace you may never experience.

Many of us are lucky. We eventually find the light. Not everyone does. Some just sit and wait to die. What a sad existence. We can’t even call it survival.

No. Many of us aren’t drug addicts or prostitutes. But we can relate to their thoughts and feelings in different ways–maybe even with the same intensity. And what would we want if we were the mother? Understanding. Compassion. Mercy. Forgiveness. Unconditional love. All the things we aren’t giving. Because those things require conscious work. And often times we are too lazy to lace up their shoes, go for a walk, and lend an ear and a shoulder. We are too busy surfing the couch of judgment, justifying our thoughts and feelings, forgetting God will judge us with the same rod we use on others.

I am sure the woman is dead by now. I hope God healed her. I hope He forgave her. And I hope those nuns were able to be with her before she transitioned.

God bless the nuns who care for those we neglect, show love to those we’ve outcast, and lead them into the next life with the dignity, respect, and care they may have never been shown in this life.

Matthew 25:31-40 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

May God give us all the strength, bravery, and humility to take up our mats, walk to those in need, and offer them all of the things we’ve been shown and given. May God use us to realize we were the ones who were actually lost. Amen.

It’s been a while since I’ve spilled any thoughts anywhere. I am long overdue. I am hesitant to articulate anything these days–mostly because I am not sure what to expand upon. Yet here we are. My mind is full, and I don’t know where to go with it. My head is spinning. I am not sure if I can make sense of any of it, but I will try.

One thing I have forgotten is when you are around good people: people who are nice to you and treat you with respect and believe in you–it can bring out the best in you. The opposite is also true. If you are surrounded by ignorant assholes–it can–and probably will–bring out the absolute worst. The best and the worst. We’ve all been both of those people. And we’ve brought out both of these people in others. Some have a conscience. Some are capable of self-awareness. Most won’t think twice.

I’ve always said who I am depends on you. And while that is true, it should not be so. Who I am should depend on me. The same goes for you.

Mother Teresa spoke of authenticity and perseverance in her poem “Do It Anyway.” Perhaps you know it. If not, I suggest you look it up and take a read. She makes many good points. Despite how others treat you, be yourself. Your authentic self. Your best self. Forgive. Be kind. Succeed. Be honest and frank. Build. Be happy. Do good. Give the world the best you’ve got. “You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; it was never between you and them anyway.” It had nothing to do with the other person. Ever. It was all you.

Now I am not sure if it is because I am getting older and becoming more sensitive, watching society become more and more desensitized to sin, or witnessing the state of the world descend to Hell at record speeds–or all of these, but I feel a closeness to God I haven’t in a while–or maybe ever. In a world that’s more confused than ever, I have never been so certain of the truth. And I’ve never felt so in need of daily repentance, thankful for forgiveness, or wanting God’s mercy. I’ve never been so frightened.

Fear can be a good thing if it’s the right fear. Proverbs 1:7 says “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; only fools despise wisdom and discipline.” I obey God when I fear him. And when I am a fool, I don’t. But I always come back. Eventually. And He always forgives and accepts me. And as I watch the world crash and burn, I’ve never felt so much need for that closeness.

Every generation thinks the end is near. And depending on the way time works in Heaven; they’ve all been right. But it’s closer than ever. Like a snowball down a mountain; it’s going faster and faster and getting bigger and bigger. And I fear more and more to get my life right and my relationship with God in check. I feel a sense of urgency to work on my spiritual health the way gym rats work on their physical health.

I watch as the scriptures unfold. Frightened. Thankful. Self-aware. And as I see just how out of control everything is, I finally get it. God is in control. He has the final say. And all I can do is my part. Because it was never about them anyway. It was about me and God. And that I can control.

“As Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately. “Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and the end of the age?” Jesus answered: “Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, “I am the Messiah,” and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains. Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase in wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.” (Matthew 24:4-14.)

May the fear of God rise within us, the mercy of God overcome us, and the forgiveness of God humble us. May we put on the shoes of our neighbors and go for a walk. May we do good and be good despite ourselves. Amen.

I didn’t know her name until she’d already transitioned. She was the second person to be found in her apartment unresponsive in four months. The first was a ninety-two-year-old man whose death seemed fairer.

She was twenty-five and a psych nurse at Children’s. She obviously knew what it was to feel great pain. To struggle. To want it all to disappear. And sadly, she did.

I am not sure of her struggles, her stresses, her demons, or the pain that plagued her heart and soul–and ultimately took her life. She was in graduate school to become a nurse practitioner. Her friends said she was smart. So did her obituary. I knew nothing of her. But she must’ve had a great heart. She was a nurse. A nurse who worked with children. Children who weren’t much younger than she. Children with whom she had much in common. Children she wanted to help. Children who probably helped her along the way.

When I saw two young women looking around the complex for her, I thought nothing of it. When the police arrived, I realized I was in a place I was already familiar. I didn’t want to be there. And I hope never to be again. It was July 29th when they showed up in search. I was on my balcony with my mother. I offered my help which was declined until dark.

By 10pm, the fire department was beating down her door. They found her barking dog and lifeless body. She’d been gone since early that morning, I read. No one knew.

A week later, her family came to get the last of her life here. I saw her uncle removing her license plate. He looked at me and said hello. I said hello back. My heart ached, and I wanted to say something–anything–but I wasn’t sure what good it would do. I never knew her. And I didn’t want to lead on that I knew what he was doing. What they were all doing. I wasn’t sure of the circumstances of her death–not that it mattered. I was afraid to say something. I was afraid to try to offer comfort.

When I went back upstairs, I passed her father in the hallway. There were two totes of her things. They were clear. One was her clothes. The other was stuffed animals. Stuffed animals. Because she was a damned kid.

I’d like to say what people always say, that she had so much more life to live. But did she? Didn’t God already know what she would do? Were we the last to know? Could anyone have stopped her? Were there any magical words that could have saved her? We will never know. But people will think she had so much more to live for. So much left to experience.

Age doesn’t discriminate. Mental illness is illness. Pain and suffering know no age. Sure. Twenty-five can be young–to a person who’s had an easy life, a great childhood, and no significant struggles or traumas. But to those of us who’ve lived well beyond our years–twenty-five could feel like too much for too long. By the time I was that age, my life was Hell, and I was over it.

M, They just took your car two weeks ago. I thought of you every day until then. I am sorry I never knew you. I’m sorry I wasn’t a friendly neighbor. I was trying to navigate my way through my own hell without drowning in the lies of the enemy.

Just like Billy said, “only the good die young.” I believe she was good. She was certainly young. And her life was a lesson to me.

Death always brings about self-awareness and thoughts of your own mortality. But if you already reside there, it brings more curiosity about the latest victim. Then comes the comparison of your life with theirs. You put their shoes on and go for a walk. Only they’re never coming back for theirs. They’ve passed them on. Just like the pain they escape. It multiplied.

To her family, if you see this, I am sorry for your loss. I’m sorry there are no words to ease that pain, fill that void, or bring her back. I am sorry I never offered her more than a nod, but she was trying to quickly pass with her feisty dog. May God be with you.

In four months, I really learned that you have no idea what goes on behind closed doors, especially ones only five feet away from you. As I walked by, they could have both been taking their last breaths. I hope those transitions were smooth.

I think the reason we hurt when someone passes away is because part of our heart dies with them. But maybe it isn’t so. Perhaps death isn’t the world’s way of taking part of your heart. Maybe it’s saying “here. Take this back. Someone else needs it.” And the true sadness is we don’t know it. And we wouldn’t know what to do with it, anyway.

May God give peace to the lost, comfort to the found, and wisdom to everyone who asks. May He put kind words in our hearts, bravery in our lips, and helping hands at the end of our wrists. May God use us where the angels stop and bless us by blessing others. Amen.

Death and dying is always a good reminder for everyone. It has a way of putting things into perspective, reminding people that this, too, shall pass. And eventually, all of it will.

I went to Lakeview Cemetery in Cleveland today to shoot the many statues and admire the pretentiousness of the dead. Perhaps it is lost on me–considering the length of time some have been residing there, but I am sure that even in the 1860’s these things were expensive. Was it a cultural thing or a status symbol to spend a lot of money on the final resting place? Did people believe back then that those who leave do in fact stay there? Why are these places so nice? I may never know.

There were many statues of angels, crosses, Jesus, and several other people from the Bible. There was also a man sitting on a bench, playing a guitar, and a young girl sitting on a bench, reading a book. Her name was Jean Louise. I wish we could have spoken. I have questions.

It’s crazy to me that people spent so much time and money wanting to be remembered. I don’t see much of this (statues and stones) constructed in today’s world. Either way–it led me to these thoughts.

People spent much time and money planning their burials and sites. I wonder if they spent as much to be remembered in the lives with whom they interacted before moving in there. What’s the point of being remembered only at a grave? If you have to spend a lot to seem important then were you? Do you only want to be remembered by strangers because of an elaborate headstone or mausoleum? Would you rather be remembered more in death than in life? Once all your people are gone, if you haven’t touched many other lives, your memory will die with them. And all that’s left are strangers taking pictures of the last place your body touched the ground.

These thoughts are lost on many. Society hasn’t changed. Most people are more concerned about their images, egos, and fake personas than they are about the state of their souls, the reasons they were put on earth, and how they could be much more fulfilled serving people other than themselves.

I was in awe with the layout of so many people’s plots. It was so peaceful. Maybe that’s what they were going for. Jean Louise was in front of a large pond. Those swans probably never knew her. Neither did those fish.

What did these people do before they got there? What am I doing? What are you doing?

Going to church and being involved in political nonsense won’t do it. Spending a lot of money on material things won’t do it. Being nice only to your people or people who kiss your ass won’t do it. No one cares if you go to church and act better than or above those not in your tiny circle. People will remember you and soon forget you for this. No one cares if you have nice things. People won’t remember you because of them. No one cares if you’re only nice to the few you know. How were you to those you didn’t? Those fake personas pass with the person, and all that’s left is the truth. I don’t know about you, but I prefer the truth. That’s why I have enemies.

I am confident in very little, but I am confident in this: when I go, I will be missed. I will be remembered fondly by people who knew me. People I hardly knew will speak kindly. Strangers will remember me for things I’ve done for them. I will never tell what I’ve done. You should never let the left hand know what the right hand is doing. (Matthew 6:3) There is much more work to be done, however.

You are supposed to “store up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-20) I’m not sure if this is the sort of thing you seek out or if the opportunities just come, but I know if you pray for them, they will.

When I was in undergrad, I would pray every morning before I got out of my car to go to class. I would ask God to put someone in my path who needed help. Those were the fastest prayers ever answered. Every time I asked, God put someone in my path before I made it to class. But perhaps I was also looking for those things. It’s one of those which came first, the chicken or the egg questions that will go unanswered. Or it could be both. Maybe if I wasn’t genuine in that prayer and not looking for opportunities, I would not have found any. Or maybe they would not have been presented had I not been. I will never know. And it doesn’t matter. Either way, I need to get back to that place.

What are you doing? Who are you serving? What will you be remembered for? What do you want to be remembered for? Do these things align?

May God shed light on what’s dark within us, show us grace and mercy, forgive us of these things, and give us strength to change them. Amen.

I once read part of a book of letters Mother Teresa had written to the Priests and God. It was hard to read. The circumstances were difficult as well as her deep, dark thoughts and feelings. It was sad to know she could relate to the rest of us but it was also comforting in a way.

One of the strongest, most faithful women of our time had her doubts, too. She doubted herself, her work, and the will of God as she thought it was so. Often times she had no idea where she could care for people or where the provisions for food and water would come, but she pressed on, blindly.

When things did not go smoothly or the way she imagined, Mother Teresa would question everything–just like we all do. She would take on the weight of the (Third) World as she saw fit since she cared for the homeless, lost, dying.

I recall one of her worries was running out of food. (In this case, a large bag of rice.) Never mind that at the end of the day, there wasn’t always something for her to eat. She wasn’t much bothered by that. She was more concerned about those in her care. She was in a state of panic and doubt. She had one job: to care for the rejected and see they die with dignity. What an admirable purpose! Talk about storing up for yourselves treasures in Heaven!

She would clean these people, feed them, and give them a place to rest. She said they’d usually die in the night. That sounds like an easy set of tasks–right?? Until the provisions aren’t there at a comfortable time. Until your thoughts and feelings creep in, and you forget you aren’t really the one in charge. You’re just doing the work. You have no control or power over anything. You just have a job to do. And you have to figure out how to do it. And without having all the answers or plans, you do the next thing–whatever your circumstances allow. All while saying goodbye to so many people you never knew. Admirable but sad. I don’t know that I could ever do it. I would be in constant tears.

Let’s think about this for a minute, though. She was taking care of the poor, homeless, and dying. She was treating them with dignity and preparing them to pass into the next life. Without her or others like her, these people would have gone all their lives without anyone caring for them, without anyone showing them the love of God. They would’ve passed in pain, dirty, starving in the streets. But she gave them basic human needs and made them comfortable and ready for the next life–which I believe was Heaven. What a sad but infinitely rewarding job! I bet when Mother Teresa passed away, there were so many people at the pearly gates waiting to thank her for caring for them. I bet the streets of gold were flooded with tears of happiness.

Can you imagine living a life like these people? Rejected by society. Left for dead. Having absolutely no one. This isn’t just a Third World problem. These people exist everywhere. The needs just vary from place to place. It’s a sad thing to think some people go their entire lives without another person caring for them or showing them the love of God. We probably all know someone. Or we are that someone.

Mother Teresa talked about the poverty of the Western World being so much different than that of the East. People here suffer from spiritual poverty–which is much worse. She considered her job easier than someone who’d care for the poor of the West, as she fulfilled basic needs and gave people dignity. (What does God’s love look like here? I think we all know in our own ways.) Back to Mother Teresa–

There were many of those times of worry for her, times where she had so many in her care and nothing to feed them for dinner. She had no idea what, where, or how provisions would show up, but she pressed on. She knew her purpose and did it to the best of her ability with what she was given. And when she stopped relying on herself or what she could see or think, God would show up, and her worries faded. Her faith was strengthened and restored, and her confidence in God’s will for her life would be made clear again.

Blindly. She went on blindly. This was God’s calling for her life. And she did it without abandon. (What strength!) She knew what she was supposed to do–often times without a clue as to how it would be done or when, and it all worked out. She kept the faith despite many obstacles. And what a reward!! Not only for those in her care but also for herself. I imagine that day of her soul’s departure was a beautiful one.

It’s hard to imagine such determination to fulfill one’s calling. It’s hard to imagine the emotions that came with those times of despair–especially when your life’s work is caring for others until they reach the ends of their lives. It’s hard to imagine the strength it takes to continue on when you can’t see in front of you.

It would have been easier to give up.

And we all do that, don’t we? Times get tough, and we become discouraged. Sometimes we run and hide like children (even if only momentarily). We pout or self-destruct. We go through a mix of emotions and deal with them in the western way.

And if we are lucky, we come back to that place we once knew, where life made sense, and our direction was clear. God makes himself visible to us once again, and we go back to a place of confidence and faith. But we had to get through times of blindness, darkness, hopelessness, and despair. All to be spiritually strengthened. The growing was painful, but faith is blind. That’s why it is faith. If we could see the future, believing would be easy. And if it were easy, everyone would do it. But just like Mother Teresa, we must hold onto the truth as we know it and move forward despite ourselves.

“Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of things we cannot see.” (Hebrews 11:1) I am sure of very little and can see even less. But like Mother Teresa, that shouldn’t stop me, “for we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)

I’ve been in the desert for 42 years, trying to find my place. I don’t know the point but I believe there is one. I am sure of it. I hope for it. I cannot see it. And while I continue on without a clue, I will write. It is one of very few things that makes me feel alive, that makes all of this struggle and pain worth it. And hopefully one day, this pain is turned into something beautiful, and I find my purpose within it.

May God give us all the strength and courage to move forward despite ourselves. May He remind us that faith is blind, His love and forgiveness is ever-present, and there is a time and purpose for everything under Heaven. (Ecclesiastes 3:1) Amen.

It’s difficult to remain joyful in a world full of distractions, ignorance, and evil. Like every generation, the world is closer to the end than ever before. Evil is more prevalent, and the devil’s work is being done at all-time record speeds. People are self-centered, greedy, full of pride, anger, and malice. They are full of themselves, judgmental, gossips, and refuse to see past the ends of their noses. Freedom of speech is exercised more than silence, and people proudly display their ignorance and small-world views. The good ole boys remain strong; everyone else is less than. People are too busy judging others by their shoes to put them on and go for a walk.

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. And it’s not because I haven’t had anything to say, any deep thoughts or ideas. I just needed to step back and observe for a while. And now my mind is full, my heart is void, and my soul aches. I need to organize the chaos, control my thoughts, and purge the noise.

Lately there have been a few blessings: answered prayers and miracles for immediate needs. They were a good distraction from my own trials and tribulations. If only I made it a habit to pray for myself the way I do for loved ones. I’ve gone silent with my own petitions because I’ve felt as though I’ve been wandering the desert for 42 years. It’s hot, there is no pool, and I don’t love it. I hope to be rescued soon.

This is another time I wished I could sit on a park bench with Mother Teresa and ask for all the wisdom and advice. I have so many questions. I often wonder if she’d have answers for a woman of the Western World. It’s hard to say. She would probably tell me to do good, anyway, focus on the truth as I know it to be (sometimes I question what that may be), and remember who has the final say.

I’ve done everything I can think of to change what I don’t like, but nothing works out. I am not a patient person and am growing weary. As I type this, I realize the one thing I can certainly control in all of life’s unpredictability and bullshit is my attitude. That is a difficult task for anyone. Sometimes I ace the test and sometimes I fail. If only it were as easy as school always came to me. (I really miss school, too. If I were rich, I’d go back just for the challenge of it all.)

I miss all my people. I don’t see nearly enough of them–and there are many! (I am blessed with so many friends.) I see my best friend most weekends and my therapist (who I very much admire, appreciate, and look up to) every week. These have been my only consistent lifelines for a while. And it’s hard to remember who you are, what you are capable of, and how much you are loved when you’re subjected to all the wrong people and don’t make time for yours.

I may not pray for myself, but in times of desperation, I reach out to several trusted people and ask for prayers. I know they have me covered, and although I’m still stranded, I believe God hears them. I just wish He heard my silent cries.

The enemy has a way of making you forget how loved you are (by God–and lots of other people, in my case) by isolating you during times of torture and despair. He keeps you too busy to reach out to others who can save you from yourself. He blinds you from seeing the beauty, positivity, and light.

In a recent conversation with my favorite Professor of all time, I was telling him of my struggles and feelings of despair. I explained my surroundings and how they are affecting me. I told him I have nowhere to escape. He said to me “You are loved. Escape to love.” I asked him what that means. He said “Look around you. Find it in the people, places, and things you know.”

I had to think about that for a while. And once I came down from being emotionally charged, it made sense. So here I am, escaping to love.

I have one of the largest support systems anyone could dream of. If I decided I needed to escape my personal hell and run to a friend, I could call several and have somewhere to go almost immediately. Making friends has never been a challenge for me. When I was doing comedy on a frequent basis, I had dozens of people show up for me every week. The first time I ever took a comedy stage, I had 38 people come out. And one show I was headlining, 265 of the 270 tickets were bought by people who knew and adored me.

I have had some unimaginable kindnesses bestowed upon me over the years. When I was 22, I tore my knee and was off work for 3 months. I didn’t have money to pay my car payments, and a dear friend who received an inheritance wrote me a check to pay off my Cadillac and let me pay her back in payments once I was working again. And that was her idea. I would never ask anyone for anything.

Another time I had lung surgery, and my friend who was a nurse on another floor of that hospital came to see me that night. I was alone in CCU, high on lots of pain meds, and a little scared. She walked right in, brushed and braided my hair (to get it out of my face and away from me) and fed me my dinner: soup broth, Italian ice, and Jello. It was my left lung and I’m left-handed so I couldn’t feed myself. She was angry those nurses didn’t ask or even think about it.

I had a very dear friend (God rest her soul) take me to the ER on several occasions early in the morning because I had injuries that kept me from being able to walk. She was often times my rock, my prayer warrior, my second mother, my spiritual guide, and one of very few people I was comfortable with being myself as I figured out who that was.

When I lost one of my jobs (due to no fault of my own), a friend gave me money to keep up with appointments, got me gas cards to drive to interviews, and gift cards for the grocery store so I would have what I needed. This friend is one of my favorite people of all time, one I cannot imagine my life without. I love and appreciate her more than I can put into words. My adoration for her is a good place to escape as she has made my life infinitely better by merely existing.

I have had crazy generosities bestowed upon me–not only by my friends and family and chosen family, but their friends as well. I’m not about materialistic things, but I recognize that is the love language of many, and I am humbled to have been thought of throughout my life.

It’s nice to be wanted. It’s great to be needed. It’s indescribable to be loved and adored the way I have been for 42 years. It’s humbling beyond every standing ovation I’ve ever had.

When I think of these things, along with the goodness of my people, the adversities shrink. The problems fade with the sunset. The people who don’t matter go back to their rightful place in my life, and I am not bothered by any of it. Some days are easier than others.

I’ve had so many great memories with so many people that if I were to think about it all day long, every single day, nothing could bother me. No one could get to me. I would be untouchable to the devil. And that’s where I need to be. Just like my professor said, I need to escape to love, to people, places, and things I know. And that will bring me to a place of gratitude. And when you’re in such a place, I imagine it is much easier to endure the wait for the page to turn and the chapter to end.

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–If anything is praisworthy–think about such things.” Philipians 4:8

It’s good to be back. Happy Sunday, Friends. May God help us all escape to love. Amen.