It wasn’t confusion, or even a faulty premise that took a left turn somewhere.

But in those few minutes of an early morning conversation with God when seeking some collective noun to describe an unsettling set of circumstances which—individually—don’t add up to much, but together seem overwhelming and more than I could wrap my head around even after a third mug of coffee.

This, my friends, is where God lives and works and demonstrates his namesake.

So while I chip away to find some meaning and purpose to this cluster of concerns before they take me down a rabbit hole into an abyss of emotions, thanks be to God my hope is already being knitted into a fine explanation and sensible outcome.

Mornings like these are the very essence of faith over fear.

I grew up and never once questioned my Dads income, it was never a discussion. Rich kids were those who bought lunch not brought lunch.

We didn’t eat a lot of fast food because it was considered a treat, not a food group.

We drank Kool-Aid made from water that came from our kitchen sink with real sugar.

We ate fried egg sandwiches, or even tuna (which was in a can not a pouch), PB&J & grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, but mostly homemade meals consisting of meat, potatoes, and vegetables, and meat loaf or beef roast on Sundays always at the dinner table.

We grew up during a time when we mowed lawns, pulled weeds, babysat, helped neighbors with chores to be able to earn our own money with which we bought vinyl records.

We by no means were given everything we wanted.

We went outside a lot to play, ride bikes, run with friends, play hide and seek, or went swimming.

We rarely just sat inside. That was for when you got in trouble.

We drank tap water from the hose outside, bottled water was unheard of.

If we had a Coke, it was in a glass bottle, and we didn’t break the bottle when finished. We saved it and cashed it back in at the store for a refund.

We watched TV shows like Leave It To Beaver, Gilligan’s Island, Happy Days, Bewitched, The Brady Bunch, Looney Tunes, The Flintstones, The Jetsons, Sanford and Son, Disney on Sunday night, McHales Navy, Andy Griffith, and I Love Lucy.

After school, we came home and did homework and chores, before going outside or having friends over.

We would ride our bikes for hours.

We had to tell our Mom where we were going, who we were going with, and be home when the street lights came on!

You learned from your Mom instead of disrespecting her and treating her as if she knew absolutely nothing.

What she said was LAW, and you did not question it, and you had better know it!

We watched what we said around our elders because we knew if we disrespected any grown-up we would get our butts whipped. It wasn’t called abuse, it was called discipline!

We held doors, carried groceries, and gave up our seat for an older person without being asked.

We didn’t hear curse words on the radio in songs or TV, and if you cursed and got caught you had a bar of soap stuck in your mouth.

“Please, Thank you, yes please, no thank you, yes ma’am, no ma’am yes sir, and no sir were part of our daily vocabulary!

A lot has changed in just one generation.

Something over which an addict has no control are the contents of dreams while sleeping.

But upon waking, dream states have real consequences.

Addicts dreaming of using again experience all the triggers, situations and feelings associated with active addiction, no matter how long they’ve been clean.

Waking with all of these renewed and on the table is a breeding ground for real life relapse.

The mind is both a wonderful thing and a terrible thing.

The ruthless enemy attacks within from our past experiences and would love nothing more than to trigger another succumbing.

Just shaking it off with distractions and another cup of coffee isn’t sufficient nor effective.

The power held by our dreams must be met with the confidence of our salvation and the renewing of our minds in a one-two punch wearing Holy Spirit gloves.

When it comes to the realm of imaginations, remember Jesus Christ is the real thing.

In the end, some days are just mediocre.

You say you gave it your best, but deep down you know it wasn’t.

You could have done more or done better, but the net result was that it was just ‘okay’—enough to get it done and, to your credit, still likely more than most would do.

Settling on some point between sensational and satisfactory is a dissatisfying dysphoria for otherwise truly exceptional performers.

Despite rationalizing about how insanely too busy you were to give it your all, the day ended leaving you wondering “maybe there’s a better way” so you don’t risk that gradual spiraling trajectory down to a “just okay” standard as concession to accomplish all you must.

This dilemma is everyone’s and the case for pretty much everything noble to which we set our minds and passions.

We are only human.

Enter zealous with good intentions…exit disappointed with less than enthusiastic results.

It’s human to be a critic of what you missed and also human to miss critical parts of what you did well.

Mediocrity is neither aspiration nor inspiration, but sometimes, it just is because we are imperfect beings.

And without a few of life’s mediocre moments, our shining ones wouldn’t look so shiny.

This time, I was in college.
Already working 40 years in my career field, getting my degree after the fact was merely symbolic. But on a campus that went for miles and at my age now with no short-term memory for where my classes were held, every day was Groundhog Day, consisting of 5 long and aimless jogs, finally stumbling into the right classrooms out of breath at the wrong times. The dismissal bells marked my arrivals with no time to rest, loathing the next trek to another forgotten campus classroom. Anxious and under pressure, it would be a miracle if I finally got (not earned) my degree at all without keeling over from a heart attack beforehand.

We’ve all awakened from this dream at some point. Mine just happens to be at 3am on a Saturday morning, pissed that I missed the opportunity to sleep in but so relieved to have woken up when I did.

That this time I was in college and not junior high, and carried an extra 40 pounds, fully grey and wrinkled, God was obviously mistaken. This scene was a dream that belonged on nights decades ago when I wasn’t waking up four times to go pee. So why now? It doesn’t fit my season of life.
Or does it?

I made myself a strong coffee and sat down in this very chair prompted to type in ssa.gov. I don’t know why that was the only website I felt compelled to consult at 3am this morning.

Let’s just say my benefit statement clearly won’t accommodate my retirement dreams. And the little bit of savings and investments I’ve accumulated over the decade since I swapped 8 of my prime earning years for 8 years of using drugs, on paper at least, my retirement years won’t be very golden.

I can only surmise that this poorly placed dream of constantly falling behind and arriving late to the game of life was connected to my own self-inflicted consequences of 8 years of bad decisions for which I’ve very gratefully been completely forgiven.

Practically speaking, I’ll either need to die much earlier than planned or live the lives of all the struggling senior citizens I’ve met and helped in the past ten years of my employ.
But I wouldn’t trade my path of 63 years for anything.

My trek and experiences along the way have ultimately made me a very rich man inside and in the things that matter most. Three wonderful adult children, three and soon to be four beautiful grandchildren, a few enduring friendships, and a faith that promises to deliver me to actual streets of gold once I’m gone.

My point? When you’re awake enough to realize you have what matters most of all in life, bad dreams, in the end, are just dreams. I’ve no time for fear or anxiety about my regrets, but I have plenty of time left to spend with and bequeath riches upon those whose continued presence make life as close to heaven on earth as I can know for now.

Live for today, and let tomorrow worry about itself.—Matthew 6:34

And with that, I need a second mug of coffee. Happy Saturday.

Nearly all today’s big social issues have, at the core, some primary sexual component.

Originally gifted as the procreative means by which humans continue to exist and civilizations thrive, it’s become a reckless plaything now a noose around society and its sexual frontier of pursuits and abuses.

The end game will lead us to self-annihilation.

Ironically, the very gift that should keep giving life to all species may in fact become so erratically employed that it will bring about our extinction.

Humanity has a knack for corrupting good things, oftentimes to its own demise.

I start each morning with acknowledgment that I’m a weak and vulnerable man, powerless over what are otherwise admittedly feeble but good intentions apart from a faith which guides me blindfolded through daily minefields.

Like you, I’m tempted in a half-dozen ways from which I could very easily slip up from my convictions and slide down that rabbit hole to self-destruction and certain disaster.

While triggers these days seem smaller, they’re a lot more widespread and plentiful, planted within my purview, hoping I’ll pay them just a brief acknowledgement.

Just enough, given the opportunity, to take root.

“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain” was the warning in Oz that poignantly illustrates this personal battle for me from a very young age.

You’re susceptible to your own rabbit holes, but you have means of avoiding them if you’ll make it your mission to humbly do so on your knees this morning and every morning.

I wish you many victorious successes today and every day.

Maybe you’re different, but as an addict on multiple fronts, I’m hounded relentlessly by thoughts, circumstances, and entities wanting to drag me back down to the depths where I once willingly lived but to which I have since died.

Evil pursuit of my soul won’t cease in this lifetime and I’m resigned to that.

But the pursuit of my soul was also made by another who has since claimed it as His own.

Possession, being 9/10ths of the law, today clinched the last 10th.

War is real and war wants a victor.

So I surrendered.

I woke to no pretty cards or basket this Easter morning.

No chocolate bunnies, eggs to hunt, and without a single peep from anyone.

Yet never have I felt more remembered in my entire life.

HeIsRisen

In that day…

The eyes of the arrogant will be humbled and human pride brought low; the Lord alone will be exalted in that day.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭2‬:‭11‬ ‭NIV‬‬

In that day…

Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes and clever in their own sight.
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭5‬:‭20‬-‭21‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Lately, there’s been a lot of speculation about exactly when that day is, yet all we know is that no one does

People would rather waste time supposing they are clever enough to figure it out than to take the necessary step to avoid its perilous consequences.

I don’t care much anymore about the end times and last days or the end of the world as we know it.

I care about the people I know and love who, at least for now, won’t be joining me into the next beautiful life ahead.

If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭7‬:‭9‬ ‭NIV‬‬

But I’m poignantly aware I’m not here to make their decisions but to stand firm and gently beg them to decide for themselves on that truth of which I have been convinced.

Because it will make all the difference,
in that day.