Over the years so many products and people have offered promises to completely change my life, by now I should rightfully be only a shell of the man I once was. However, the only thing I’ve found to be 100% effective in creating lasting change with a five star rating over billions of evidence-based case studies is the taking of one free sample of life in Christ for which I’ve since become an enthusiastic ambassador.

Be humbly confident in who God created you to be.

A favorite leadership podcaster, Craig Groeschel, posted this and I paused to check if I believed him.

I listen to a dozen different podcasts every day through which I have learned a ton about life, love, leadership and a bunch of random facts to impress others if ever inclined.

But this one made me take pause.

At 63, I’m disappointed.

I know that by my final breath, I may have filled my purpose in being born but might not be fulfilled in doing so. I have way too many unwritten stories, a couple impossible reconciliations yet to make, and more refinements in my character than time on my hands will ever permit.

Be humbly confident in who God created you to be.

I’ve few problems with the humility part but zero self-confidence that I’m anywhere close to the summit of achieving who I was created to be.

But does anyone?

Living is full of unfinished business, and I’m confident of only one thing, that unfinished business may be just what keeps us moving on.

The mind is a terrible thing.

The places it takes you for answers unknown can be to the most terrifying of scenarios.

As sentient beings we have extraordinarily low thresholds for ignorance, ambiguity and uncertainty, often prone to crazy possibilities which, in the moment, seem eerily more satisfying than no explanation at all.

But behind this problem is the actual one, a condition which reminds us of our humanity. Essentially, a control issue.

God only knows the truth of this.

Read that again, because therein lies both the answer and the solution all wrapped into one.

If God is omniscient and all-knowing, it’s the first sign that we aren’t. That’s not our job.

Today, this is where I am.

I needed to write my thoughts down. That’s how I work out tough times and reel myself back to sanity.

It pours from my pores

And drips from my lips

This sweat is profuse

From my nips to my hips.

The drenching continues

No matter my pose

If it doesn’t stop soon

I’ll need to change clothes.

Water in, water out

Now I’m peeing a river

This summer’s too hot

I’d much rather shiver!

It will be very soon and not very long

Our cohort of voices all will be gone.

Six feet under and all out of time

A generation’s voice silenced as mime.

Tradition, convention, old fashioned beliefs

Stole by the grave and its myriad thieves

Sensible, logical, for centuries held

Replaced by such lies that all history’s repelled.

Who then will remain to defend common sense?

No remnant of voices to speak, and hence,

Very soon it is coming, and not very long

Our cohort of voices will soon all be gone.

I wander the streets with nowhere to go,

No roof or shelter from winds that blow.

With belly growls and hair of mange

I scour for scraps, I find loose change.

Just a young woman, lost and alone,

With dreams and aspirations entirely unknown.

I never thought I’d end up like this,

With no one to turn to, no one to miss.

Nights are frightening as dignities are sold

From doorway professions by others more bold.

Commuters rush by in their busy lives,

Ignoring my pleas and deaf to my cries.

Yet still I hold fast to a glimmer and cope

And someday I’ll find a messenger of hope.

To rise from the ashes of this daily despair,

And find some place to be loved and perhaps even spared.

But for now I keep walking these streets on my own

With hopes for someday a place to call home.

Until then I’ll fight to just stay alive

With dreams intact, yet so many whys.

Not everyone wants help. The longer they remain homeless the more adaptive they become. Life on the fringe hardens the heart and soul enough to buffer against any change.

But Sean is back. Says he missed a call from HopeLink I set up for him this week.

To those of us in this line of work, the drive to help is no trivial pursuit but until you can be trusted, you play their game awhile longer. At some point, words and actions stick like chewing gum to a shoe on a hot summer day and they’re forced to stop just long enough to consider the solution and the One behind it.

And while some homeless people would rather remain that way than accept a hand up, it’s one of the hardest truths to embrace when it goes against everything you believe and work for.

But the higher value must always be for one’s autonomy and a respect for it. As with anyone, the first and best intervention is always and only to try to be their friend in a friendless world.

Meanwhile, here at Celebrate Recovery we are patient, knowing that while we aren’t God, we are each the pipeline to Him.

Pray for Sean. I think he’s close.

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 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 another 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 definitely won’t accommodate my retirement dreams. And the little bit of savings and investments I’ve accumulated 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 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 63 year path for anything.

My trek and experiences along the way have ultimately made me a very rich man 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 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.