I live and will die by a list.

Being retired doesn’t reduce the length, just the content.

Now without pressures of a taskmaster or rigid deadlines I get to pick and choose how to spend the remainder of my days.

And as all the business left unfinished at the end meets with the giant eraser in the sky, I will finally be free, untethered to everything I thought ever mattered.

I set my tolerance bar high on purpose believing I might somehow convince people otherwise and that they’d eventually come around.

It’s taken way too long for me to accept the fact that it’s not my job.

In faith, culture, and politics, some folks are steadfast to fight and die for their convictions in the name of progress which I consider irrational reasons.

But they’re impervious to arguments for change.

I suppose they believe the same of mine and they would also be correct.

The difference is mine are held with vision for conserving what’s proven good for humanity, believing that history is still the wisest teacher in the room and change is only good when subject to history’s lessons.

People are different but finally realizing and accepting that harsh truth still remains sadly dissatisfying.

It’s not my job anymore.
Lesson learned.

Thoughts and prayers.

Drug dreams.

15 years clean I’m still waking up skittish and chaotic from the consequences of meth.

However rare these days, the dreams now empathize with perspectives of family members and institutions I wronged and betrayed during my decade of active addiction.

How crazy I made them all think and feel wondering what the hell was going on with me.

So I wake up, shake it off, and pray away a bad start to my day and thank God for the experience but not its effects.

No longer—by the literal grace of God—persecuted by it but thanking him for the different points of view.

More than awake,I’m awakened.
Let’s call that a blessing.

Seven months retired and I’ve never slept so much or so often in my life.

I’m re-tired at least 3 times a day and my body is taking full advantage.

I’m not traveling to exotic ports of call.

I’m not volunteering or sharing old man wisdom with disadvantaged youth.

I can’t even stay awake long enough to spend my kids’ inheritance.

I nap.
And I’m having a wonderful time.

Wish you were here.

I’ve always had a thing about the need for prayer and a responsive God, until I realized that I believe that same God became man, died for my sin, and came back to life.

Believing in the latter requires lots more faith than the former.

In the latter instance, God knew what I needed long before I did and provided the perfect solution without my request.

So to call on me to pray without knowing if it will “work” is by far more of an exercise of faith and even moreso an act of submission.

Prayer doesn’t have to “work” according to my definition but creates the climate for him to make necessary changes within me.