But did you die?

They say that writing is supposed to be therapeutic.  Today I found out that my brother is back in jail and I just needed to write my feelings.  I am not posting this for sympathy but maybe my words can help someone else who has someone they love who keeps making the same mistakes over and over again or maybe it will help the offender realize what they put their friends and family though when they don't change. D. A. Acevedo ***** I take a look at my phone and see an hour old text Call me as soon as you get this is all that it says Is Papi dead and has there been an accident These questions run though my head My finger shakes as I select dad’s name Of course… Your brother has been arrested He is back in jail I’m sorry I’m in a meeting I’ll call you when I am done My only reply is Of course… I am rather shocked that I don’t feel at all I expected some tears But he has acted odd Ever since his probation ended last month Something had been off Of course…

Have a life filled with wonder. It is so easy to fall into a rut.  I get up, get the kids ready for school, drop them off, pick them up, eat lunch, put the kids down for nap, try to do homework, go to work or school, attempt to spend time with my wife, maybe watch a show, and then get a little sleep so that I can repeat it all again the next day. The weekend comes and I attempt to relax.  Rinse; lather; repeat. Before you know it it’s a week later and the to do boxes are mostly checked and everything starts over. I had a dream the other day that I had turned into a kid again.  In the dream I played and imagined.  I looked at the world and was filled with curiosity.  I didn’t know why flipping a switch turned on the lights, and it didn’t bother me.  I didn’t care about bills, car repairs, or what was happening on Facebook.  The biggest concern was whether or not we had any Totino’s Pizza for lunch.  As the saying goes, the world was my oyster. Levi building a repair station.

            No one who was taken from this box has come back.   I didn’t know, or perhaps I didn’t want to know, how it was that I found myself here.   It was dark, so dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.   Periodically, a blinding light would shine from above and when it finally receded, those who were left would breathe a sigh of relief.   Originally there were twenty of us.   Our names didn’t really matter; just the fact that we were not alone was enough to calm most of us down.   We’ve searched the walls by feeling the perimeter and have not been able to find an exit.   I had felt my way to a corner, thinking that whoever or whatever has been removing the others would be less likely to find me if I was huddled away in a corner.   I sat down to try and think when the bright light erupted from above again.             Throwing my arms over my head I attempted to see what was above me when I was scooped up out of the corner.   Without thinking, I tried to flail a

“And he will answer, ‘I tell you the truth, when you refused to help the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were refusing to help me.’ Matthew 25:45 This past week was a missions week at church.  To those who don't know, once a year my church brings in many of the missionaries that we support.  They share their struggles, triumphs, and plans.  It help bring home that what we do as a church matters. I was reminded this week that I have changed. I remember when I was young that I couldn't watch one of those "help the children" commercials without tearing up.  Now however, I found that in many instances I just didn't really care.  I would try to justify myself by saying that I am focusing on my families needs or that we already give financially, but really I have just hardened my heart.  I don't really pray for those I've committed to pray for as much as I should.  I don't really think about Valerine, the child we help support Ghana, t

American's praise the individual.  Men, especially, are pushed to be self reliant, quiet, loners.  We struggle to tackle life's problems ourselves without ever asking for help.  By doing this we are proving we are strong, right? “The word "We" is as lime poured over men, which sets and hardens to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and that which is black are lost equally in the grey of it. It is the word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which the weak steal the might of the strong, by which the fools steal the wisdom of the sages.  -Ayn Rand We do it alone.  We pull ourselves up by our bootstraps.  We can blame no one but ourselves when we fail.  We achieve success by only caring for ourselves.  Right? Earlier this month I took time to get away with a group of men.  While we were spending time together we were learning some of what it means to be "Sons of Grace."  One of the biggest points I took

I cannot help but to notice that there have been a lot of heated discussions going around lately.  The “drug use is a disease” vs. “drug use is a choice” has been sparked from Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death from an apparent overdose.  There is also the freak-out people have had because coke’s “superb owl” commercial had a gay couple in it.  I even read about people bashing a member of a Christian band because he said Bruno Mars rocked the halftime show . You may be asking yourself why I bring these topics up.  Well, folks, I’ll tell you.  I know this may be a shock to you but people’s view on having a relationship with Christ is impacted by the way you say things.  I am by far not perfect.  I say things I don’t mean in ways that I shouldn’t.  I struggle to be a good example for my kids and I try to live in a way that would make my heavenly father proud.  However, I have been seeing a bunch of people who call themselves Christians freaking out at each other because they have a differ

Sorry for the absence my friends, but I'm back!  I've started doing these weekly creative writing prompts hosted on Writers Digest .  I wanted to post it here as well for you all to read.  I hope you enjoy. Paranoia is something I struggle with on a daily basis.  I regularly feel as though I am being followed.  I can sense people looking at me, when I walk around town.  I’ve voiced my concerns but no one believes me, not even my girlfriend Heather. “Oh you are just being silly,” she would say.  “Why would someone be tracking you?” “If I knew that then it wouldn’t be so unnerving,” I would reply. I do my best to be normal.  I don’t let fear keep me at the house.  I attend classes in person even though every fiber of my being screams for me to take the courses online so I can stay home (where it is safe).  I really try to not let the paranoia run me, so you can imagine my distress when I received the following email on my phone as I stopped by my usual breakfast joint on