Gained

I connect with darkness.

I understand it.

There is something utterly compelling about it and how we are all surrounded and suffocated and connected by it.  It is what we know.  It is what we accept and live with.  I do it.  So do you.  And in times like today (and every day since the world started spinning), it seems that darkness is stronger and more compelling than ever.  It calls to us; beckons us to break our hearts and choke out all of our hope and love and peace.  It calls with a soothing voice of contentment.  It is our very nature.

But it is not who we are.  It is not what we are intended to be.

There is something deeper to us and within us that draws us away from the darkness.  It peaks our need and want for something more.  It draws us to a light filled with understanding and true connection; with ourselves, with each other and with God.  Yes, God.  His nature is love.  True Love.

I struggle with this.  I know I always will.  Like I said, I connect and understand the dark.  I don't like it but I'm comfortable with the knowledge of what it is.  My nature ties me dangerously to it.

What is gained with the daily fight to walk out of the darkness?  Hope and Love and Peace are all wonderfully amazing things but when you are trapped in darkness, they seem out of reach from the thing you are tethered to in your darkness.  They seem that way.

I believe they are with us all.  Always.  We were and will always be people with purpose.  Those amazing things are deep within us all.  We have just let the darkness overcome and take us.  We are stronger than that.  We are not who we were intended to be.

We are intended to be great, not nothing.
We are intended for love, not hate.
We are intended for overwhelming joy, not fear of any kind.
We are intended for others, not our selves.

We are intended for a Life, gained through darkness.  A life, gained in spite of death.  A life, gained.

A life.

Let's live it.

In Memoriam: Billy "Roger" Shipman

September 9, 1938- August 15, 2014
Billy "Roger" Shipman

 On the far right in the above picture is my great Uncle Roger- my Grandfather's youngest brother.  I had the privilege to know him well.  Today, surrounded by his immediate family and friends, he was put to final rest after a sudden loss to an aggressive cancer in his brain.  I wish I had a better picture of him but, this one was the only one I have where he's standing still.

 He was a very active person.  He raised and took care of horses and loved animals.  He loved going to auto shows and races and shared the thrill of the sport.  He was a championship bowler. He was an avid gun, stamp and coin collector.  He was always doing something or planning to do something.  He was so much more than these things.  

 He was also an avid writer and poet.  At his funeral today, the family had a friend read a poem he had written called Wings.  Although, I can't remember how it went, I do remember it was beautiful.  It told a story of a bird whose nest and everything it had was washed away and taken by an oncoming storm.  Everything was taken except its wings.  So, the bird flew up and above the darkness and harshness of the storm.  It rose above and toward the beauty of the sun where it was safe.  

 Just a beautiful picture.

He loved his family and his country almost as much as he loved God.  I think that is what I noticed and loved about him the most.

 His church was nature and that is where he connected with creation and God.  I share that place and that connection.  Putting yourself in such surroundings brings all the beauty of this world around you, engulfs you and flows over you in the warm sunshine, the falling rain, the cold snow and the gentle wind.  That was where he lived and shared his life.  This is what I saw in him and what I learned from him.

 I was honored to have him at my wedding almost three months ago.  It's so difficult to put into a few words what a man's life has meant.  It's even more difficult to honor a man with those same few words. Sometimes, a word isn't enough.

 Rest in Peace, Uncle Roger.  Tell my Grandpa I said "Hi" and give him a good goosing.

Brice

Robin Williams: Lost In Hollywood

July 21, 1951- August 11, 2014

"...another awakening took place; that the human spirit is more powerful than any drug - and THAT is what needs to be nourished: with work, play, friendship, family. THESE are the things that matter. This is what we'd forgotten - the simplest things."

-Robin Williams as Dr. Sayer in Awakenings

 As a child, I remember seeing the birth of his career; a guest appearance as an strange and physically in-your-face alien visiting the Cunninghams on Happy Days. It was exhilarating, it was bold and unlike anything anyone had ever seen from a comedian before.  He stole the show.  And inevitably became the star of his own.  His career moved from television to film and there he was able to branch out, still giving us the comedy he infected us with but also a tenderness that no one expected.  It amazes me still that someone so full of laughter and comic physicality could also touch us simply and deeply into our hearts and our souls.

 This was Robin Williams.  A comic, but not only a comic.  A thespian, but not only a thespian.  A poet, but not only a poet.  He was more than one single part.  He was all of the whole;  a gentle and loving spirit who brought joy and laughter to literally millions.  I for one am thankful for the joy and laughter and tears he gave.  This is how I will remember him.  I am deeply saddened to see him go far before his time.

 I don't understand the depth of pain he was feeling and the cause of his depression.  The truth is, we never will.  The struggle he faced was deep, painful, dark and personal.  My hope is that he is now fully understanding, fully healed and fully transformed into the same joy he gave the rest of us.

Rest now, Robin.  You burned so brightly for so long.  We thank you.  Rest.

Brice

p.s. here are my top five (there are far more but five will do) roles that he inspired and connected with me:

Dead Poets Society

Awakenings

The Survivors

The Fisher King

Death to Smoochy

A Short Story: HUNGER

The drive was monotonous and boring.  The night drizzled a heavy mist that was enough to engage the use of the windshield wipers but not enough to keep them set on their lowest setting.  So every minute or so, the driver had to manually turn the handle for the wipers to swoosh a clear path across the windshield.  This annoyed him severely.

The streets were wet and empty with only the shadows of street lights to fill them in this early morning hour.  Even the radio was having a hard time keeping a signal; the static was erratic on every station.  He had gone through his presets over the last ten minutes to find a clear station and landed on the one with the less static going on-- it just happened to be some hardcore metal station of some kind.  The song screamed something angry.  He couldn't understand the words.  This also annoyed him.  Where was the good music?  The Doors, Creedence, some Motown... He craved for something to calm his drive home.  He flicked the wipers with annoyance and cleared the mist from the windshield.

He felt an unease tonight; a weight that he could not place anywhere else but deep in the middle of his shoulders.

He turned onto a more industrial part of town as always to short cut about five minutes off his way home.  The buildings were mostly abandoned and falling apart.  The whole area had been reclaimed by the city to be fixed up and used as a restaurant and shopping district but no ground had been broken just yet.  It was still a mess.  The rain had gathered enough again and he flicked the wipers once more, this time with a grunt of disgust.

Another song came on the radio (at least he thought is was another song, they all sounded the same to him) and the static increased noticeably.   He took a calming breath in and closed his eyes just briefly to quell his complete agitation with this night and this drive home.  He wanted to scream as loud as he could and thought about it for just one second...

His tire blew, sounding like a shotgun blast.  A huge chunk of the rubber flew off, smacking hard against the underside of the car.  The rim caught the pavement and pulled him hard to the right and into an already damaged curb.  He slammed hard on his brakes and stopped just shy of a brick building and a set of dark windows.  His car sat half off the road and half on the sidewalk in front.  He gripped his steering wheel hard, choking the life out of it, and holding his breath with a welling anger, he chose to scream as hard as he could.  He was pissed, shaking and pounding his fists against the seat beside him and the steering wheel, cursing the whole time.  He could not believe this night was so frustratingly bad.

After he was done screaming, the radio was still on.  He couldn't tell if it was the same song or not, but the static was gone-- just his luck.  He pulled his foot up off the brake and smashed his heel several times into the power knob.  It cracked off, bouncing to the floor boards somewhere on the passenger side and he stopped.

He leaned back into the seat, his face buried deep in his hands, pressed and sliding down the front of his face, trying to calm down.  He took a long, deep breath.  He looked around to see where he was.  The windshield was too wet to see anything clearly so he begrudgingly but calmly clicked for the wipers again.  They swooshed across the windshield and he saw that he had stopped in front of the only building on the block.  It looked like the others had been already torn down in preparation of the city's rebuild but he didn't remember reading about anything starting yet.  There was a decrepit sign hanging askew just above some dark colored double doors.  It said HOTEL.  It was a smaller building and not the grandiose structure one would equate with a hotel by today's standards but this area was established close to the turn of the century.  Everything was smaller then.

He pulled his cell phone out from his pocket, thinking he would call a tow truck or maybe a friend to come get him and they could take care of his car later in the day.  He slid his finger across the security screen and unlocked it.  No signal and a battery with eight percent juice left.  Of course, he thought to himself and put the phone back in his pocket. 

I guess I'm walking home.

He popped his coat collar up and pulled the door handle open.  The heavy mist was cold and hit him hard.  He buried his face deeper in his coat against the wet and kept it tight.  He shuddered and closed the door, then turned walking past the hotel.

He passed the door under the broken sign and heard a very audible and deep groan.  He not only heard it, he felt it.  It stopped him in mid-step and he slowly turned toward the dark colored double doors of the hotel.  His eyes widened and focused in on the dark.  The doors slowly opened and something rumbled the ground-- something groaned again.  He took a careful step back and a high pitched whirring started coming from the opening.  The breeze picked up, blowing from behind him toward the doors.  It became stronger.  He saw the heavy mist not blowing but being sucked in through the doors.  He tried another step but before he could pull his leg all the way back, it was thrust forward.  The whirring became louder and more rhythmic, pulsing.  It was like the hotel was breathing.  

He turned trying to thrust himself into a run but the wind-- the breathing-- intensified and pulled him back, dragging him by the soles of his shoes across the pavement.  He dropped down to his knees, clawing for leverage and anything to grip and pull himself away.  Closer and closer, he was pulled toward the door with every streaming breath.  And then, with a final deep pull, he shot through the darkness of the doorway and was gone.  The breathing slowed.  And stopped.  The dark colored double doors closed with a disturbing silence.

A few days later, a tow truck was called out  by the local police to load up the abandoned car with the blown out tire.  The driver pulled the car back out into the road and chained it up appropriately, locking it onto the back of his truck.  He walked briskly back to the cab against the cool morning air.  He opened the door to get in and he heard a deep groan.  A moment later he heard it again and walked around to the front of his tow truck.  The dark colored double doors slowly opened.  A breeze started to pick up as he took a step forward and looked deep past the doors and into the dark.  

Where I've Been, Part Three: Something Beautiful

"We learn about love... by loving."

-Paulo Coelho

This is a love story on multiple levels.  We all have one but this one is two and they are mine.  All mine.

Six long years ago, I was in the dark.  I lost my job of nearly a decade and with it my whole community of friendships from where I lived at the time, my relationship was crashing down around me and I didn't know how to put the pieces back together, I didn't know how to fix that which had been so broken.  I was alone and devastated with failure upon failure.  I hated myself and in my self-pity and worthlessness, I slowly loosened my grip on God, letting Him slowly slip away into the darkness of my memory.  I felt very...alone.

I had placed my self-worth in a group of people, in a job, in a romance; everywhere it wasn't ultimately important.  These weren't the things that made me the man I was.  These weren't the things that sustained me or made me whole.  These weren't the things to give me purpose or direction.  I thought they were but I was mistaken.  These were only the things that I chose to give my everything to.  I had no room left for the one thing that mattered.

That one true thing that mattered, I had ignored and pushed aside.  I took it for granted and I suffered for it (not meaning in any way, shape or form that I was punished... i don't believe that at all... only that not having it made every other thing lacking).  Every other thing had become lacking.  What I needed was my relationship with my Creator.  Again.

At every turn of my back, He sought me out.  Again and again.  When I pushed from him, He continued to seek me and wait with hopeful and open arms.

I came back.  His love never failed me.  I failed Him and yet... He still loves.  In my darkness, He still sees me beautiful and worthy.  He still longs to know me fully.  There is nothing I can do to lose Him.

So, I changed my focus.  I talked to Him more and more, sharing my concerns, my hopes and dreams, my romantic heart.  And He listened.  My self-worth now is in how He sees me and how I understand He sees me.

This was my first love story.

My second came not so long from the heels of the first.  I had come to a belief that perhaps a romantic, earthly love wasn't something for me.  I thought that maybe I was far too broken in far too many places to ever be loved fully.  And, I had come to an emotional place where I was truly all right with being alone (I mean, one can live an amazing and fulfilling life by themselves and history holds many as examples of this).  I was ready to be used and ready to find a path suited for me and me alone.

Then, quite literally like a dream, she walked in.

Just when I had stopped looking, there she was.  My heart started to pound a little harder and my breath became erratic.  I was nervous and excited and wanted to know everything I could know about her.  We met briefly that first night and the memory of the other was stuck in our minds.  We fell in love.  God is a God of miracles.

It was something beautiful.

Now, I find myself on the cusp of my own (our own) wedding.  God has blessed us.  We sought Him out and continue to seek Him.  He gave us Himself and each other.  Amazing.

I never believed in love stories until I was fortunate enough to experience what His true love was capable of.

I am loved.
She is loved.

We are lucky ones and we are loved.

Brice

Philip Seymour Hoffman: Lost in Hollywood

Philip Seymour Hoffman.  Born July 23rd, 1967.  And died February 2, 2014.  

I liked Philip Seymour Hoffman ever since I saw him in what he called his true "break out role", Scent of a Woman.  It was a small, character role, but man, he was really good.  He stood out among many as a great future talent.  And that's exactly what he became.

His characters were diverse, full of emotion and honest.  His career was broad, playing lovable comedic sidekicks (Along Came Polly) to one of the best aggressive and menacing bad guys in recent films (Mission: Impossible 3) to the gentle and observant (Capote).  Of course those aren't the only movies to really use as examples of his talent, just his diversity.  In 2005, he won the Academy Award for his title role in Capote.  And, it was very well deserved.

He was known, respected and honored by many.  I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.  And, unfortunately, his Hollywood death by drug overdose is not a shock to anyone.  That is sad.  Is this what we've come to expect from Hollywood, the talented artist and the passionate dreamer?

I've read a lot about Philip Seymour Hoffman's passing and there is a lot of opinions going around but there was one facebook post that summed up mostly what i'm hearing.  

"...Stop blaming the dreamer for wanting to dream.  For all we know, their careers [referring to others who also died in excess] and loves may have ended much sooner if they hadn't have found the crutches that eventually crippled them.  The peace they felt in their highest moments is exactly what I wish them..."

The idea of this bothers me.  

It bothers me that there is an overwhelming opinion that the addiction that killed him is ok because it was his crutch; just something to help him achieve his best performance and his dreams.  I'm sorry but that is ridiculous.  Why can't we believe that true dreams and talent are already within us?  Are we so blind to the gifts we are given that we can't see them? 

The article went on to say that his addiction is a disease that no one can understand and that it was not a selfish act, dying in such a way.  Again, I'm sorry.  But, I understand addiction.  Actually, many people do.  It is nothing but selfish.  He chose escape over living with and facing his problems.  And he chose a needle over giving his children a father.  It sounds simplistic but it's not.  It's a choice. 

"The greatest burden we have to carry in life is self; the most difficult thing we have to manage is also self." -Hannah Whitall Smith

I respect and love Philip Seymour Hoffman's work.  He always had a kind smile and was a good person .  Of that, I have no doubt.  He had success I'll never know, worked with some of Hollywood's most talented and accomplished more than many people could in his career.  And, still, he was dissatisfied and empty.  He was alone.  I'm sad at his loss.  And, for his children.  Unlike the writer of the post above, I believe Philip Seymour Hoffman had a lot more work to accomplish.  His talent was too large for anything less.

It's ok to be disappointed and mad at the decisions he made.  It's also ok to be sympathetic to his struggles and his addiction.  

We can mourn the loss of another great actor.  

As I've been looking through the articles and pictures of him online, and there I saw him a little differently-- I noticed a compassionate soul with a little sadness behind those eyes.  I wish he would have made a different choice.  I wish he would have put down his needle and reached out again for help.  I wish he was still here... and working... and happy.

Here are some of my favorite roles of his:  Doubt, Before the Devil Knows Your Dead, Mission: Impossible 3, Capote, Along Came Polly, Cold Mountain, 25th Hour, Almost Famous, Magnolia, The Big Lebowski, Boogie Nights, and Scent of a Woman.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Hoffman.

Brice

The World in Slow Motion

The world bustles around, being busy and planning and doing and moving.  It's humbling when we can't.  Sometimes, we are forced to stop-- to slow down and rest.

Today, in Kansas City, is one of those days.  A snow storm covers us and has brought the city to a slow crawl.  Schools are out and many businesses are closed.  The snow still falls, dense and quick, accumulating over everything.  It's beautiful.

So, what do we do when we are forced to slow, when we are forced to rest?  Are we restless?  Do we try to keep moving while hating every minute of being stuck wherever we are?  Do we catch up on our chores and clean our homes?

I am. I do and I did...lol.

What then?

What do you do?  Do you rest?  Do you focus on taking a breath? Is it possible to empty your mind and enjoy the quiet moments of days like today?

The world is in fact a busy place.  It can overwhelm and overtake your focus from more important things.  It can distract.  I remembered that this morning as I forced myself to take a walk.

I am fortunate enough to live and take care of a farm in southeast Kansas City.  It's slightly more than 40 acres, half open and half wooded.  It's beautiful and peaceful.  And on days like today, I'm forced to slow down and really look at what's surrounding me.

So, I took a walk this morning as the snow fell fast.  My feet crunched on the fresh fallen 4 inches as I walked back into a deep part of the wooded property and I found a quiet spot on a fallen tree and sat down.  I closed my eyes.  The cold specks of snow pattering against my face and clothes; my breath, a cloudy puff at every exhale.  And silence.  Rest.  I could almost hear the snow settle to the ground but not quite.  It was beautiful.  I sat there, in that beauty, for what must have been close to an hour.  I walked around a little more, just watching and observing.

God slowed things down.

He gave a day where I'd have to stop and be reminded that I can't always run.  Sometimes, I have to walk.  Sometimes, I have to rest.  Sometimes, we have to remember what life can be outside the ebb and the flow and the rush of it.

Sometimes, we need to just be in a world slowed down.  Rest.

Brice

Where I've Been, Part Two: The Story of Love

I am loved.

The power of that phrase and believing it, is overwhelming.  But, I do believe it.  Now I believe it.  I am loved.  And I love.  This is probably the hardest concept to get across without sounding elitist or like some horribly unsatisfying romance movie that tells no truth but all fantasy.  That is dangerous.  I am no expert.  There are no experts.  There is only experience-- it can only be learned through living and losing (in my opinion, of course. Like I said, I'm no expert).  That is what I've learned.

The fantasy is ...happily ever after.  And the truth, well, the truth is far more complicated than those three satisfying words.  The truth is joy through heartache, love through constant work, peace through conflict.  Even then, truth is more than that.  It's complication, timing, sacrifice, trust, fear, hope, failure, laughter and tears.  And even then, so much more.

For the longest time, I thought love was the fantasy; easy, romantic... the slow motion of her movements across the room, locking eyes and falling in a love that would last forever with nothing bad ever happening.  Ever.  What a fool I was.  But, I was young.  I wanted love and didn't know what that was.  I just wanted it.

Because of that, I failed a couple relationships.  I hurt and I was hurt.

But, I don't want to focus on failures.  At least not right now.  It's not the Where I've been I want to focus on, it's not the purpose for today.

The purpose for today is to share what I'm learning about myself and about the things that have saved me in my own journey.  

I learned that I longed for love from others but not from God and not from myself.  How fulfilled can you be when you don't love who created you or the person He created in you?  How can you possibly love another person when you hold yourself at such low esteem.  I learned that the hard way and am still learning that.  It's still hard for me to be loved and to feel worthy of that love, whether it's from myself, God or anyone else.  I think the one thing this world is exceptional at is tearing down the goodness we have in ourselves and replacing it with inadequacies, self hatred and worthlessness.  As C.S. Lewis described it in Perelandra, "All beautiful on the surface, but down inside-- darkness, heat, horror and stink."

So, I stopped looking in this world.  I spent years reworking how I felt (and sometimes I still feel it but as I've mentioned before, healing is a process of a lifetime) about myself and reconnecting with the beauty that I've been given in life.  It surrounds me and all of us every day! We just lose it because it gets drowned out by everything else in this world and we lose sight of where we were looking.  I started loving myself again.  I started feeling confidant in who I am.  I wasn't worried about who I was pleasing or not pleasing or offending or not offending, I wasn't worried about who would ever love me because I was slowly coming to realize that God really does love...me.

I gave up looking for the fulfillment of earthly love because I was filled with spiritual love.  His love.

Then, out of nowhere... There she was.  He sent me someone to share this life with whether I felt ready for it or not. And, what is most amazing about that?  She went through almost the exact same process as I did.  We worked to understand first God, then ourselves and others.  Simple as that.  

Love is redemption.  God loves all of us.  We love ourselves and each other because of that.

I am loved.  She is loved.  We are loved, all of us.  Because He is Love.

Brice

Where I've Been, Part One: The Story of a Boy

I've had three fathers.  The first, God. The second, biological. And, the third, a step father.  All these relationships have their own stories, their own downfalls, their own redemptions and their own grace.

Over the past five years or so, I have been "in process" of relying on, seeking out, and letting go (in that order).  It has been-- for lack of a better word-- hard.  There is a lot of healing happening which is always amazing, but it takes work.  And it's a lonely job.

I was a boy...alone.  In time, I came to know that, in my childhood, I was protected and distracted from the difficulties surrounding me.  So, I really wasn't alone.  A better way for me to look at that time would be watched over.  There was a peaceful presence.  I couldn't tangibly feel it, see it or hear it, but it was there...watching, leading... I came to understand this later in my early thirties.  Time brings clarity to everything.  Eventually.  What I see clearly is that my first Father was always there; my silent God, but strong and evident.  

I have taken Jeremiah 6:16 to heart, which says, 

"Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." 

Over the past few years, I've read several books relating to the topic of fatherlessness and viewing God as Father.  The Jeremiah quote is from John Eldridge's Fathered by God.  It, and Fatherless Generation by John Sowers, along with Donald Miller's To Own a Dragon, have been instrumental in this journey of reconnecting with God as Father as well as opening myself up to what manhood truly looks like through a biblical perspective.  

The really cool thing is that, in this journey, I've reconnected with my biological father.  A few years ago, I was approached with the possibility and was lucky enough to have some good people and mentors in my life to help me figure it out.  I don't regret it.  I have enjoyed the hard and slow process of relearning everything about him (and him relearning everything about me).  It's difficult but the best things in life don't come easy and are worked for over time. I'm looking forward to where this goes.

So, there's been growth.  There's been healing and beginnings of healing-- we all know this is constant. And, with all things good and growing, there are those that must be released and lost.  This is the sad truth with my step father.  So, I have let him go.  I pray for him with forgiveness, not forgetting, and hope that the good in him wins.  There is darkness there.  We all have it.  But, we all don't have to have it.

It's been a long, hard and tattered road with boulders and sinkholes and drifts.  I've come a long way and I'm still walking, still climbing and pushing through.  If any of you can relate, I hope you can too.  Keep moving, keep taking steps.

And for all you fathers out there who aren't estranged from your children, I say this: Thank you.  Keep loving them and being present.  Show them the truth.  Be love.  Take it up a notch.

Brice

First steps. Again.

Every journey begins with being brave enough to move; to propel yourself forward, lifting your leg and setting your foot down into what will be your first step.  Sometimes it's easy.  Sometimes the circumstances you are in are ones that you just can't wait to get away from and start anew. But, sometimes, it's hard.  Sometimes fear grips that ability to propel yourself.  Sometimes it keeps that leg from lifting and taking that one simple step.  Sometimes... it just takes awhile to gather the courage you need to take a breath and move.

So, here I am.  I'm taking my first step.  Again.

Starting over in anything is frightening every time.  I've lost count of which start over i'm on but I know it's been a lot.  Honestly, all I need to give that step forward to is this new one.  All the others got me here but they are already taken.  They are the past.  They are my mistakes and my failures; my weaknesses and my losses.  This step is new and so am I.

Most of you don't know me.  And, depending on where this blog ends up, some of you will know me (hello!).  None of you truly know my journey and what it has taken me to get here.  None of you will know what it will take to get me to where I'm going.  There will be a select few who will be standing by me (as I stand by them in their own journeys) in what lies ahead for me and to those few I say, "Thank you".  You've become the very thing that God knew I needed.  And here we go.

So what's next?  Well, I don't know.  I'm ready to see where this first step takes me.

Relationally, I'm getting married in May and I can't wait to share the rest of our lives and our own journey together and with God.  By the way, being that I'm 40, I never thought I would ever find someone for me.  Just when I had given up and became all right with the idea of singleness for the rest of my life, BOOM! There she was.  She is an incredible blessing.  And I'm thankful.  I'll write more about that story another day.

Also, I want to connect with you.  Old friends and new.  At least as much as I can and as much as any of us can.  I'm sure we can give and receive plenty of grace as we attempt to do this.

Creatively, I hope to stretch and better my writing and perhaps finish some or any of the stories I have rolling around my brain-case.  I think I have some good ideas up there.  Maybe you can help me figure out if they are or not.  And maybe I can help you with yours? If you are writing as well, that is.  If you're scratching my creative back, then I should be scratching yours!

Spiritually,  I'm continually growing.  Anyone who says they've got it all figured out is flat out lying.  No one is perfect on this earth and everyone needs help to get past and keep moving beyond their own stuff.  Again, you help me.  I help you.  In community we will be.

In closing, I can say that I don't really know what I'll be writing about.  Just life and stories in some form or another.  Just me.  And you.  Us.  I hope that works.

First step taken.  Now, on to that second one... whew...

Brice