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Catch Me

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Catch Me

Pastors, social workers, nurses, doctors, organizations, and ministries are, by design, places where people get help. The help comes in many forms but the places which offer assistance are staffed, mostly, by people who want to reach out to the unfortunate among us. These unfortunate ones are not always poor, addicted, homeless, challenged mentally, grew up with poor role models, but many do bear one or more of these burdens.

The urge is to rescue them. To be the hero in the story of their lives. To sweep in with our resources and connections and leave them in awe at how their lives are now healed and whole. However, it doesn’t take long to discover we may want to help but we do not have the power to change their lives. Only they can do what needs to be done. They must be the hero, their own rescuer. We can provide them with the tools and skills to begin the transformation but they do the work of lasting change.

It is this way for all of us. Too often we want the easy way to self-discovery, enlightenment, and fulfillment but there is no easy way. It is a journey both inside of us and out. We will have company on the road of life but the steps to the destination must be our own.

blessings,
@BrianLoging (Twitter)
thewannabesaint.com

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My friend, role-model, and father passed away early this morning a little after midnight. His fight was over and he was ready. He sat up one last time as if to say, “It’s my time. I’m coming home.

The house seemed empty today when we returned from all the breathless running around one does after a loved one takes their final breath. Even though he hasn’t been home in a few weeks it seemed he had just left the house. Keys, hats, computers, movies, his chair all still in their proper place. It seems this is still his house, his home. But…it’s not. Sure, there are memories and experiences. A lifetime of highs and lows to relive for the rest of our time on this shadow side of eternity but he has moved and left a forwarding address.

I sit in the quietude with his presence still lingering. I think about all of the rough days he’s had over the last 8 months, the noises of the machines which were keeping him alive. After we received the phone call we drove over to the hospice house to say our; “Goodbyes.” The room was so still. No beeping, whirring, pumping, dripping, nurses checking in. It was motionless and the silence was deafening. My mother began to fill the atmosphere with soft cries, and soft words to her best friend and lover of the last 40 years. My brother and I standing in the background, witnesses to a heart affair which is rare in this world. Finally, after a few more kisses from her on his hands and cheek, we left all thankful we’d never see that room again and that he had moved on to his permanent address.

And now, we are left to carry on. To occupy a house which isn’t home without him. To learn to adjust to a new normal we didn’t choose. To loosen our grip on this world, this place, because we know home is waiting for us on the other side.

blessings,
@BrianLoging (Twitter)
thewannabesaint.com

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