Meeting the Ferryman

Sadly, you have died.

You are surprised by this, knowing death was the inevitable end for all, but never truly considering it would happen, could happen, to you.

You are you after all, and such a thing has never been so real and yet at the same time felt so foreign.Death is one of the myriad of things that happen to other people, not you.

Yet here you are.

You stand in what appears to be a dimly lit cavern.There is a large expanse of water in front of you, a still, black mass that is both ominous and welcoming.

You are able to see as you always have, but at the same time you have the sense of being outside your body, as if you are merely a spectator. There is no way to gauge how long you stand here. Alone.

Waiting for something. There is no way of knowing what comes next, but you know you are where you are supposed to be.

Where you must be. And somehow that is enough.

It never even occurs to you to look behind you.

And so you stand.

The light is dim at first, so faint that you think you are imagining it. As it draws closer, you realize it is coming from a boat, or more accurately, above a boat. A lantern is hanging from a hook that is attached to a pole at the prow of the worn, ancient looking vessel.

In the center of the boat is a tall, too thin being wearing a gray, hooded robe. You can not tell if this being is male or female, and you sense that this is entirely the wrong sort of question to be asking anyway.

A sense of deja vu hits you. This all seems so familiar, yet the story escapes you, barely beyond the reaching fingertips of your mind. Slowly and unstoppably, the creature extends it's hand and gently and firmly motions you to come forward.

You obey, your body acting independent of thought.

"Your feet will get wet. I'm sorry but there is no way round it. No harm shall befall you if your steps are quick."

The voice is old and ill-used, but there is an undercurrent of kindness underlying it. And an air of finality. Of endings.

You step into the water and feel it's warmth. Somehow you can feel the water...beckoning to you and you are tempted for a fleeting instant to linger. Suddenly you are reminded by the warning of the creature to step quick. Or did the creature re-utter the words? You are unable to tell, but you fairly jump into the boat.

Your sudden entry does not disturb the boat at all. In fact you seem to not have any effect at all. It's almost as if you are not even there, or are too insubstantial to make a difference.

The creature motions for you to sit down, and you do.

It uses a pole to push away from the shore, turns the boat around until you are pointed toward what seems to be the vast, unending center of the pool.

The light of the lantern is fierce and seems to be fighting back the hungry darkness. You sense that the darkness would gladly envelop you if given even a moments chance. A small shiver goes down your spine as you consider what that might be like.

"Don't" the creature hisses.

Instead you look at your odd companion. As you look, it almost strikes you that you recognize this creature. It is similar to being at a mall, and seeing a face in the crowd, and you think you know the face. Only to realize the impossibility of it being the person you knew, as that person is far removed from where you are. And upon realizing this you quickly look away as to avoid uncomfortably meeting the eyes of a stranger.

You find that you don't fear the creature. Before you know it, words are coming out of your mouth.

"Do...do I know you? Have I seen you before?"

The creature stops pushing you along and turns to look at you.

You see the face and it starts to become clear to you. You start to understand.

"I should hope so" the creature says, with an odd note of humor lacing its words. "For you have seen glimpses of me throughout your life. All through life men and women have tried painting me, writing of me, singing of me, sculpting me. It was their attempt to understand and come to grips with meeting me someday. The ones that thought and felt like you do are the ones that wove the images that caught your imagination. They stuck there. Not always remembered or easily recalled, but lodged there all the same."

"ah". You know it isn't much of a response, but no other words come to mind. You find it is hard to make conversation with the ferryman.

And yet you do. Somehow you find an easy flow of conversation with this..thing. As the ferryman pushes you forward, you talk as if with an old friend you haven't seen in years.

"I would that you would share some humor with me, as it is been very long since my mouth has known laughter or mirth."

Your mind reels. "Wait, you want me to tell you a...joke?"

"Yes, if you would be so kind. It is rare that I am able to converse with those I transport. But there is something different about you. Something enjoyable that transcends even endings."

Your mind races. What type of joke do you tell the ferryman of the river Styx? One joke falls into your mind. It just might be the last joke you ever heard. It was told to you by your teenage nephew, and as it turns out, it is quite dirty. Certainly it isn't appropriate to share such humor with a creature such as this? And yet nothing else will enter your mind. So you tell your joke, hesitantly at first, but with increasing enthusiasm as you share your tale.

At the end of the story there is silence. Your last words linger in the humid air. The creature turns to you, looking straight into your eyes. The "face" is solemn and gives nothing away. Your mouth is just starting to open so you can issue an apology when you see the corner of the ferryman's mouth twitch. Upward. The beginnings of a laugh. The creature's mouth opens and a low throaty chuckle emanates from the deepest part of this ancient being.

And the ferryman laughs, and laughs- until you are joining in. Now you are both fully belly laughing, tears running down your face. You have never laughed like this before, not in life. You are no longer laughing at the story you told, you are laughing for the sheer joy of laughter. Entirely caught up in the moment and the absurdity of the moment. Who knew the ferryman of the river Styx had a bawdy sense of humor?

But, as this is the place for endings, the laughter slowly fades away.

"Thank you" the ferryman says. "Truly it has been ages beyond measuring that I have experienced that. You are unique, as I have said. Because you have given me a gift that is well beyond your comprehension, now I give you a gift in return. A gift such as one I have not given for many millenia.

I give you the gift of returning. We still must complete the journey. But when we get there I will bring you back. And also, I grant you one last gift. You may take one back with you."

If this is you- who would you take?

Illicit Desire

If we are being honest, many of we Christians have desires we are embarrassed about. Desires we would rather not have. Desires we know we are not supposed to have. And yet they are there. And have been there for as long as you can remember.
And you don't know what to do with them.
Perhaps you shame them in yourself.
Perhaps you indulge them in secret.
Perhaps you have chosen to ignore them, but the darn things keep popping up and demanding attention, no matter how much we pray or keep trying harder.
You have told almost no one about this.
What would they say if they knew???
You could lose that eider position. You could lose reputation. You could lose a marriage.
So you suffer in silence.
You feel trapped. Sick. Stuck.
You are tired of the "bumper sticker counseling" others give you when you start to talk about it a little bit.
When you hint at what is stirring inside that shames you. That desire, that sin you keep committing.
You are told to "bring it to the cross" and "put it under the blood". And you would love to do those things but you don't really know what they mean or how to do them. And you feel stupid asking. Cause shouldn't you know???
Or they toss out a bible verse hoping it will act as a life preserver. And then they walk away promising to pray for you.
And it never gets brought up again.

Some of you have no idea what I'm talking about. And that's OK. I'm glad you don't.
But there are those who know exactly what I'm talking about.

If this applies to you, i have a request. An "ask", if you will. So yes, i have a big "ask".

Reconsider the desire. What would happen if you stopped shaming it? What if this is just a symptom of something deeper going on? What if this is really an unmet need and it tries to get fulfilled through this desire?
What if you talked to a pastor or counselor about this?
Yes. It will be hard.
Yes. It may result in loss.
But you and i both know you can't keep going like you are.

I'm too fat

As many of you know- because I use Facebook to record much of my life- I was at Carol’s parents house this holiday weekend.Yesterday morning we were getting ready to go to the church where she grew up. It is the type of church where many of the men where suits and ties. Even it's 90 degrees out. Knowing this, I brought some of my more decent clothes along. Although if it were up to me, I would wear shorts and a t-shirt if I was going to meet the pope. "Decent" clothes is a relative term, and for me that means the pants aren’t denim and the shirt has a collar. That's right, I brought along one of them “fancy collared shirts”.

Here is the problem and where the comedy starts- I hadn’t worn it for, oh, about a year. I’m a last minute packer- I only need 10 minutes- so I grabbed the shirt along without thinking.
Yesterday morning, as I’m about to get ready I remember that the shirt was a little tight the last time I wore it- and I haven’t lost any weight since then.
in fact I’ve gained some- cause when I am about to diet my brain thinks it’s an excuse to eat more- “Won’t it be an even MORE impressive story the more weight I lose? I’ll be even more proud of myself!!”- and then I have a slim fast shake the next day and think “this sucks- I don’t want to be skinny THIS badly… maybe a scoop of ice cream would help next time”

So I’m putting the shirt on and realize- OH NO- this doesn’t fit at all. I mean, I COULD have buttoned it, but the minute I would have sat down, the button that was just above my navel was sure to give way. I mean, just holding the shirt together would be asking a lot of these buttons. They would be going above and beyond the call of duty.
Can you imagine what would have been going through the minds of those buttons as I went through the morning?
“Dear God- is he serious? We can’t cover that wide expanse! It’s like a prairie of fat!”
“Whope- here we go! Just….barely….fit”
“And there we go! All units report in- How are we doing? Carl, sorry about this pal, but you have the belly button area. How are you holding up there?”
“ We are holding on captain- it’s a tight one- but we have coverage and sorry to say- some stretching.”
“It’s to be expected soldier- it’s like you are the Hoover dam down there- you can do it!”

Nobody wants to be out and about in pants or a shirt that are too tight- well unless you are one of those people who wear pajama pants in public- because let’s be honest- at that point you are way past caring what anyone thinks about how YOU look. These people are either married and they would be waaay too expensive to divorce or they are super committed to being single. Why do these people congregate to Walmart and Cedar Point? It’s like moths to a flame...moths to a flame.

Can you imagine if I had went to their church dressed in the ultra tight shirt? That would have made a good impression on her old friends.
“ Hi Pam, this is my boyfriend David- he never says no to seconds. Please don’t stand in front of him- we call that the “line of fire”, unless you don’t mind the prospect of losing an eye.”
To which I would meekly wave. “Hi. I like desserts, too.”
“Yes you do.”

At some point I would have had to sit down.
And the buttons would have panicked.

“Um- what is lard ass thinking? Is he SITTING!!!!???”
“ALL UNITS- ALL UNITS- RED ALERT- THIS IS NOT A DRILL- we have an imminent seating emergency”
“Whaaat??!?! You have to be joking captain- how much does he think we can take? I’m only one button, not a miracle worker!”
“Settle down Carl! Focus! This is why we train! You survived the Thanksgiving incident! Hold on soldier! That’s an order.”
“I’ll try sarge, I will!”
“Hold….We are going down- REPEAT- we are going down- here comes the pressuuuuurrree! WE ARE SEATED- REPEAT WE ARE SEATED- All units report in!”
“Sarge this is Chuck from the neck region. we are good here.”
“Phil from the chest area- have some gappage but holding”
“Good! Good! Carl! How are you holding up??”
“Can’t….hold….threads….straining”
“Carl! Good god man! Fight! Fight! You can do it!”
“Too...much...pressure...tell my wife I love her!!!”
“Caaaaaarrrrrllll!!! Damn. We lost a good button today. I hope you are happy you fat bastard!!!”

And with that, the button just above my belly button would have flown off, having done more than it’s duty. And even worse, it would have probably embedded itself in the neck of the poor person in front of me- possibly severing their spinal cord and paralyzing them for life.
“Martha! What happened to you! You are in a wheel chair!”
“Well, I was at church and this fat guy with a tight shirt sat down behind me.”
“Ah, So sad…”

Yeah. I have an active imagination.

So instead of crippling someone for life and angering buttons everywhere, I decided to go to plan B. But I hadn’t brought any other nice clothes.
So I got the girlfriend.
Fun conversation.
We discussed a few different options- like leaving the shirt unbuttoned- you know- go 2004 fashion on them all. Which might have worked if it wasn’t for the U2 shirt I would have been wearing under it. Cause, you know- I wanted the layered look.
She vetoed this idea.
And then she got her mom.
And my sweet girlfriend wanted to know if I could wear one of her dad’s shirts.
Cause now I am like a homeless guy.
“Excuse me sir- can I borrow your shirt?”

Not only is the embarrassment spreading to more people- there is an implied insult here. We need to know if her dad is as fat, or fatter than I am.
Thankfully, he was about my size. To be fair- he is 3-4 inches taller than me, so it looks better on him. And plus, never insult a man when you are wearing his clothing. It’s gauche.
My hope was that he wouldn’t recognize the shirt I was wearing.
No such luck.
I walk down the steps and he is standing right there.
“Hey, that shirt looks familiar…”
Yes.
Yes it does. And should. Cause it’s yours. I would wear the one I brought, but I didn’t want anyone to get paralyzed…

I’m afraid Carol’s parents think I am weird.

The most recent failure

You blew it again. After promising that you wouldn't- You did IT again. You promised so many people. You said you were done. The last time was going to be the last time. For real. Except now there is a new "last time". Your promises feel like blowing on a dandelion- each promise like a different seed of hope- yet after the failure it's like watching each of those seeds float away- never to be seen again. Unsubstantial, lost and meaningless. The addiction- the sin- is the reality here. At least that is how it feels. 

You try- at least you think you do. But in this moment all you see and feel and hear is failure. You must try harder next time. But you tried to try harder and here you are again. In fact, you have been here so many times it is like a path a dog makes in a fenced in yard. Yet, you also refuse to quit. You keep at it- you dust yourself off and try again. For how can you give in? What stalks you will surely kill you if you give in. There is no doubt in your mind about this. it is fact. 

And there are those who depend on you! You must do it for them! For you can no longer do it for you. You? The tape recorder in your head tells you that you are, and always will be, a failure. And who are you to disagree? The failure is so fresh, so recent, that arguing against the disparaging messages feels extremely futile. You fear they are right. You feel that the best part of you is a lie or hopelessly lost. But you try to fight for them. For those who love you and believe in you. Because you know that each failure is another slap in their face, another blow to their belief in you. Another explosion rocking the foundation of your relationship with them. Soyoutryagain

I know what you do. I know what you try to do to prevent another failure. You are incredibly harsh to yourself. I can almost hear what you tell yourself- after the failure. 

You lousy, worthless piece of shit. How can you do this again???You must be a very special sort of stupid. What kind of person keeps doing the very thing they know is destroying them??? What a waste of time. LISTEN YOU IDIOT!!! You HAVE to stop doing this!! You will lose EVERYTHING if you continue!!!

And on and on and on it goes. You hope the self flagellation will cause enough pain that you will never, ever do this again. 

But it isn't working. 

Of course it isn't. 

Please hear me here-

Your cursing yourself is stemming from your brokenness. It is a type of brokenness. And brokenness can't heal brokenness. Pouring brokenness on top of brokenness doesn't lead to healing. Ever. 

You don't need to be more convinced that what you are doing is wrong. You've got that part down REALLY well. 

What you need to do is stop the destructive self talk. 

IT ISN'T HELPING. IT IS HURTING YOU. It is adding to your hurt. And your addiction was originally born out of your brokenness. Increasing your brokenness increases the hold of the addiction. 

I know you can hardly go to God with this. Surely he is sick and tired of you and your pleas for help. 

But you are wrong about that. Does he like what you are doing? Of course not. But he likes you. He loves you. When Jesus died for you, he didn't die for all the sins you have committed up to this point in your life. He also died for the ones you are GOING to commit. 

Shall we go on sinning then? You know the answer to that. 

But maybe, just maybe, you can stop the voices. Stop the self hatred. Try it. 

I'm sorry, but you are going to fail again. Especially with abusive self talk going on. 

See, I believe you can be free. It's really, really difficult and it can only be done in community and openness and vulnerability. It's going to take some time chief. 

Your progress isn't lost when you fail. Really. When you mess up at work do you have to go back to college to re-earn your degree? Of course not. Your recent failure didn't derail all your progress or learning. Being free isn't measured by how much time lies between your failures. It is measured by what is going on in your heart and soul. 

Go easy on yourself my friend. And if you need to talk to someone, i am here. Really. 

Dare we Mourn?

I have enough friends on Facebook to know that some of you are not in a good place right now. Life just doesn't seem to be going your way. You had plans, dreams and desires and somehow it all seems to be falling apart despite your best efforts. And you don't know how much longer you can hold on.

I'm sorry you are going through this.
It can be difficult to know what to say to someone who is hurting.
The difficulty is, there really are no words that will take away your pain.
And the equally difficult thing is that so many people pretend that there are.
I'm sure you have heard all the well meaning, but ultimately unhelpful, trite sayings that get trotted out there.
"Don't worry, this won't last forever"
"It will all work out for the good!"
"Just put it under the blood" (A common Christian saying)

It's not that these sayings don't have truth in them, it's just not the time to be using them.
When you are at a funeral for a child who has just passed away, or a spouse, or a beloved relative or friend, please don't tell the bereaved that their loved one is "in a better place".

The reason why we do this is because we are just not comfortable with grief, sadness, or lament.
We want to offer a cure, hope, a way out as soon as possible.

Those things are needed and will come.
In time.
But we need to get better at determining when those times are and when those things are needed.
We throw those things out prematurely because other people's pain makes us uncomfortable. It intrudes on our own sense of well being.
We dare not let it intrude to far on our own state of being. For we all have all been there.
We have all felt our own times of emotional agony and despair.
And we do not want to go back there for obvious reasons.
So we inevitable put up a wall of platitudes to keep their pain away from us. We dare not take their pain on us. We don't want it.
They can keep it, thank you very much.

But as believers, this is NOT what we are called to do.
We are called to MOURN with those who mourn.
And that means ENTERING it with them.
Attempting to feel what they feel.

I know, this is hard.
it is counter cultural.
They really did this much better centuries ago, and in present day- in some other cultures.
But here in America?
We don't like to be sad.
We will do all we can to avoid it.
So we trot out niceties to the hurting and get away from them as soon as it is polite to do so.
Or we hope they just "get over it" if it happens to take longer than the time we allot for them to recover from their heartbreak.

In biblical times they actually had professional mourners! I think this is extreme, but they saw an importance to it that we do not.
Or will not.

Can you imagine someone approaching Jesus carrying the cross on his way to be crucified?
"Hey, it will be ok!"
"Don't forget God loves you!"
"Maybe if you would have had more faith..."

No.
This is absurd.
There
is
a
time
to
grieve

Sometimes you just have to be present.
Or listen.
Or weep with the person whose life has been shattered.
Or just hold them or hold there hand.

Stop trying to rescue them from it.

What isn't your job.
And none of us are any good at it anyway.

On Sunday, May 31st, the community at Solomon's Porch Community Church wants you to know we are trying to get better at this.

We are going to have a service for people like you.
We want to be with you in your dark time.
We are not going to try and fix you.
We are not going to try and rescue you.
Instead, we simply want to offer us to you.
We will stand beside you.
We will hold you, if that's what you need.
We will listen.
But ultimately, we want to love you right
where
you
are

And in order to do this well, we also need people who are NOT in a bad place to support and love those who are.

Please come join us.
And invite others.

Resumes and Health Clubs

Resumes and health clubs

To walk with God is difficult.

Should be difficult.

It is a dangerous journey that threatens to upend everything you have so neatly woven together. For this God is very concerned about your authenticity. He demands that we drop the mask, stop pretending we are something other than what he originally thought of when he thought of us.

For he knows that we will never be happier than when we live out of who we really are.

He will lead us into rooms in our minds that we would rather leave locked up.

Painful memories.

Shaming times.

We would prefer these rooms stay dark and hidden from everyone, including God. But this is much like a child playing peek a boo. The child believes that if he shields her eyes, she can no longer be seen.

We know God sees it all.

And yet like our parents of long ago, we are much adept at hiding.

We place our own fig leaves over our areas where we feel vulnerable and declare to all that will listen that "we are fine".

And we all use more than words to communicate this.

For it is essential that people believe we have it together.

How often do you find yourself giving your resume, as it were, to impress people?

I did this just the other day at the health club.

I ran into a guy I went to high school with.

He was popular. I was not.

He was on the football team. I was very much not.

I hung out with kids that played D & D. (but I didn't play because of how evil it is- but that's another story)

There I was, talking to him, slipping things into the conversation (subtly, I thought) that I hoped would impress him.

Why would I care?

Why did I need and still want his approval?

This God will take away your fig leaf.

But he will not leave you naked and shamed. He has something else he wants to cover you with. The permission to be...you.

But I'm afraid you must do some hard work before you can achieve that.

You must enter those dark, dusty rooms. And to do that you will have to talk to someone else about them. What is in these rooms and what it is you did, or what happened to you.

You can not go into these rooms alone.

They are more than you can bear, which is why you locked them up in the first place, yes?

And please stop the nonsense that you will go in there with God alone. Just you and God.

Stop it.

You need to do this with a trusted and beloved friend AND God.

Trust me, God will be there.

For quite often these rooms are not really empty.

Our enemy knows of these rooms.

He loves to operate out of them.

He knows the messages they contain.

For each shaming, difficult time in our life certainly carried a message with it as well.

Do you know the message given from your wounds?

Just a hint- it isn't warm and fuzzy.

No. These are the messages that cause you to erect a false self.

That feed those things that you hate about yourself.

And it is vitally important to the enemy of your soul that you continue to believe these messages. Did you know that the message from your wound was crafted just for you? It was designed to shut you down. For your enemy can not have you connected with all that you really are. He fears that. He fears YOU. For as you connect with truth about you, when you discover what God decided long ago about you, you will threaten the enemy’s kingdom. And this he can not have. So he designs ways to take you out.

And yes, God allows it at times.

Obviously, or these shitty things would not have happened to you. But he knew that as you worked your way through these things, with his help, you would be able to have more compassion, would become stronger for having gone through this. He actually TRUSTED you with these experiences. For true growth only come through struggle. No matter how dark. God will help you and strengthen you if you will enter the rooms.

You have to go into those rooms. Light must be brought to the darkness.

For if you don't, you will continue to let that hurt control you.

Stop playing peek a boo.

Will it hurt?

Yup.

Will there be tears?

Most likely.

Don't be afraid my friend.

Go there.

Do this.

And if no one else will go there with you, I will.

For reals.

But you dare not go there.

You must.

For the sake of those that you love and that love you.

Do it.

Shame-full

Picture this with me. 

A little boy sits quietly in class. He is partially focused on what is going on in the classroom, as 8 year old boys are wont to do. His thoughts can't seem to stay in one place, but instead they drift along like leaves blown by the wind. At the front of the room there is a chalkboard that dominates most of the front wall. His teacher's desk is off to the left of where he is sitting. His legs don't yet reach the floor when he sits and he is idly swinging them. 

The wall on his left is mostly made up of glass. There are various projects and posters taped there, and the amount grows as the school year progresses. He looks between and beyond the various items taped to the glass to the outside world. 

Where he would like to be. 

What little boy doesn't? 

But he knows he needs to be a good boy. 

He needs to listen. 

Mommy and Daddy want him to do well in school. They say it's 'portant. 

Daddy always gets his serious face on when we talk about school. 

His serious face sometimes makes me want to giggle, but he doesn't like it when I try to be silly when his serious face is here. 

So the little boy remembers as the teacher drones on. He tries to pay attention, but it is SO hard!

The sunlight streams through the windows, creating a dappled pattern on the floor that ever so slowly moves across the floor. 

Although the boy knows what is coming up soon, he chooses to ignore it as only little boys are able to do. As if by ignoring the unpleasantness coming up, it doesn't exist. Perhaps there won't be reading time today. 

He hates reading. He thinks it's dumb. The truth is, it doesn't make sense to him. The words and letters seem to be doing a dance in his head. The letters won't behave or introduce themselves properly to him. Every time he looks at them, they are like strangers he has never seen before.
And yet, this does not seem to be a mystery to anyone else but him.

Other kids can do it. 

But he can't. 

Well, other than Oscar. He can't read either, but everyone knows he's "slow". The other kids call him stupid. 

The boy does not want to be like Oscar. 

Someone no one likes. 

But he is afraid that he is like Oscar. 

Oscar wants to be his friend, but even at this young age the boy knows this can't be. Not if wants any other friends. 

When reading time comes, they are the only 2 that don't get to stay in the room. 

They have to leave. 

He tries to forget the time he learned, was cruelly taught, that he was...slow. The details have faded some, but that is mostly in contrast to the shame that illuminates the memory like a blazing sun. The details are shadows compared to the intensity of that light. 

He wanted to say the words. He tried. He tried HARD. 

But he couldn't do it. The words were an enemy that refused to leave his mouth. Instead they only partially escaped, as if they were being torn apart in his mouth and only shreds of them remained. 

He remembers his face growing red as the words and his mind and mouth entered into a fatal battle. 

"Th...Ther....There....w....w.....was.... a.....lav...(no)...a lov...loveelie..."

Every time it was like this. He couldn't do it. BUt the first time was the worst. He could hear the beginnings of snickers around him. The entire planet seemed to be focused on him alone. And their consensus was the same.
This boy is dumb.

The teacher was trying to help him along, trying to sound out the words. Like a parent trying to help a toddler to walk.

It didn't help. It deepened his shame.

She didn't do this with any of the other kids.

But HE, HE needed extra help.

After this, while outside at recess, one of the kids asked the boy if he was a retard.

He shoved that kid.

And got in trouble. 

A note was sent home and he got a talking to. The boy promised to never do it again and that seemed to make the serious faces go away. 

The boy's dad tousled his hair and hugged him. The boy liked when his dad did this. Then he knew everything was ok again. 

But his dad wasn't here.
And it WAS time.

Reading time.

Dear God no....Please....

The teacher looked at the boy and asked he and Oscar to go out into the hall. It was reading time and they had their "special helper" out in the hall.

He dejectedly rose to his feet while looking at the floor. He slowly trudged out the door, refusing to make eye contact with any of the other kids. His cheeks didn't get quite so red as they did the first few times he was sent out, he was becoming accustomed to this. 

Slowly accepting the implied message. 

But this day, the normal special ed teacher wasn't there. It was a different man. 

The boy became more anxious. He looked over at Oscar, who gave a minimal shrug of his shoulders. 

The man saw their confusion in the boys faces. 

"Ah. Yes. Your normal teacher couldn't make it today. He is out for a few weeks, so I am here to replace him. We are here to help you read, is that right?"

"Yes sir" both boys replied. 

The man sighed. 

"You know how pathetic you two are, correct?"

The boy looked up in shock. He did not know what the word "pathetic" meant, but it didn't sound kind. His eyes widened as the man continued. 

"Listen here you little shits. I can't believe they are even wasting time with idiots like you. You are stupid and always will be. Those other kids in there." the man said while pointing at the classroom door. 

"They are smart, good kids.

You are not.

Oh, are we crying now? You should cry you retarded little ass. My God, you must be one of the dumbest kids I have ever met. You can't even read????

I have a 4 year old that can read. You must be twice that age! Wow. What a couple of morons I have here! Why don't you two just pick your noses or whatever for the next 20 minutes. It would do as much good as trying to teach you anything. What a waste of time."

Now imagine. 

Imagine you knew this boy. You liked this boy. You knew him to be a good kid. You knew he was dyslexic. He didn't choose it. He didn't ask for it. And yet he was. 

Imagine you walked up behind this man as he said this. You heard it all. You saw the look on the boy's face as all this was said. As his little soul was being seared. You saw the tears running down his cheeks as he absorbed this message. 

If you dare, go there emotionally. 

How does that make you feel?

What do you feel towards the man saying these heinous things? 

What would you do to him? 

What would you like to do to him?

What would you say to the boy? 

What would you do?

Do you remember the first time you felt shame? 

What happened to you? 

What message was given to you? 

Did you believe it? 

Do you still?

Have you carried that message with you over the years?

Does it drive what you do, the decisions you make, the friendships you seek out, the relationships you desire? 

All of us have an internal monologue, a self talk. 

Sadly, for most of us it is negative. It is abusive. 

And quite likely, some of the words you use are very similar to the first message carried within your earliest shame events. 

You see, a message was communicated through the shame. 

A message designed just for you. 

A message crafted to lodge deep within you. 

The message was intended to be accepted by you as truth. 

The message may not have been verbal. But it was certainly communicated to you, wasn't it? 

What do you say to yourself when you blow it? 

What words do you use? 

What message do you give you? 

Are you abusive to you? 

Picture yourself as the child in the above story. Change the circumstances to fit your narrative.

Your story. 

Pretend you can talk to the child version of you. 

What would you say to you knowing what you know now? 

What would you do? 

Now turn and look at the one delivering the shame. 

And see your own face. 

For when you abusive yourself after "blowing it" are you not sending the same message the original shame wanted to deliver? 

Silence the shamer. 

Embrace the child. 

Tell them what they need to hear. Or just be present with them. 

The only way we can heal a wound is to enter it. 

Otherwise we will subconsciously keep recreating scenarios where we had undesirable outcomes, hoping they will turn out the way we wanted and needed them to. But when we do this, instead of getting new outcomes, we get the original shame message reinforced. Furthering the damage. 

Increasing the need for more self hatred. 

Further driving in the message. 

Further crippling us from being who we really are. 

Stop the pattern. 

It's hard but you HAVE to. 

It's killing you.