Category Archives: Regret

Woman-ipulation

You gave me something that you could take away.

You gave me…hope.

You made a promise.

You convinced me to love.

 

And then you took it away.

It was a planned removal.

A calculated risk.

 

A manipulation of trust.

A conception of sin

That turned out to be the best thing that could have ever happened to us.

The most horrid, mean-heated, demon-ization of our relationship manifested into the biggest blessing.

You left me.  And I’m grateful.

 

 

(Not) Making Love To The False Prophet

I shall use this as an opportunity to reference a lesson that I’ve spent the past three years learning.  When I thought that I was in the presence of God, I was instead being protected by him (which is far more personal). I endured a storm so harsh, others could not have survived it.  But I came through unscathed.

I’d been fooled and conditioned into thinking that I was on the path to blessings.  All along, however, I was being led by a temptress who called herself the dream maker. My naivety cloaked her harmful ways.  And although she could spew scripture and scoot in and out of sanctuaries unaffected, she was no angel.  To the contrary, she may have been a minion–a false prophet indeed.

I’m safe now, but she’s only begun to call upon the next like a siren.  The next guy is the son of a preacher man. That guy may not stand as a good a chance than I because, as a descendant of a holy messenger, the bounty is far greater.

I pray for his soul; that the Lord create a hedge of protection around him; and I pray that he is more discerning than I was.

Much has been written about false prophets, but as I searched for images, this is what I discovered instead.

False Prophets Mimic the Spirit of God!

The Story will be told by many men.  It will be a story of a woman who claims to be the heir to the throne.  She will argue that if she has to prove her legacy, her challengers simply lack faith.

She demanded that each man she tempted believe in her. In doing so, those “kings-to-be” will have a Devine connection to the Almighty.  It was believable.  I admit that I too conceded. I tasted the forbidden fruit, and it came easily. Am I condemned as well (for trusting this wolf)??

Do we chastise the ones who believe the lies?  Do we judge the fools?

God protects the children and the fools.  The children do not know better, but the fools are in peril because of their simple ignorance.

“Tomfoolery is alive and well,” she used to say!

In short, she was a liar!  Or was she??  She choose a narrative that was not genuine. And she sold it.  A sucker is born every minute…every minute that he spends with her.

Her entire story was a cover up of a life she choose to live–a life of ill-repute and a life of regret; a life that could have been forgiven by her Savior. She may never gain forgiveness because she choose to lie about it instead of testifying.

After searching many scriptures, this one gave me every certainty that I was in the midst of a raven:

“If a prophet, or one who foretells by dreams, appears among you and announces to you a sign or wonder, and if the sign or wonder spoken of takes place, and the prophet says, “Let us follow other gods” (gods you have not known) “and let us worship them,” you must not listen to the words of that prophet or dreamer. The Lord your God is testing you to find out whether you love him with all your heart and with all your soul. It is the Lord your God you must follow, and him you must revere. Keep his commands and obey him; serve him and hold fast to him. That prophet or dreamer must be put to death for inciting rebellion against the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt and redeemed you from the land of slavery. That prophet or dreamer tried to turn you from the way the Lord your God commanded you to follow. You must purge the evil from among you.”‭‭(Deuteronomy‬ ‭13:1-5‬ ‭NIV‬)‬

She inspired a higher belief in God (accidentally).  Having survived her clutches, I am affirmed that He protected me. I was bathed in the blood of Christ.  Her plan was foiled. She did not mean for me to get closer to Him.  She wanted my essence for herself.

While in the midst of a spiritual attack, during a fast or consecration, I would to say to her, “are you ReAlly surprised that these attacks would come now?” I’d say this to her each time we witnessed God’s glorious works; each time he protected us from certain destruction. Any time we weathered a spiritual attack, we knew He’d protect us.

She must have secretly been crossing her fingers.

My prayer today is simply that the Enemy release His hold on her life so that she not be destroyed nor damn her victims.

Peace be unto her, for I refused to sleep with the enemy nor make love to the false prophet.

Waiting For the G-Pumpkin


Waiting on anything that you truly want is as necessary to the process of having it…as it is to appreciating the process.  

Analogies  Not everyone one understands them. Let’s break it down.  To want something is to earn it OR have it given freely.  But to have it given freely devalues it worth.  To EARN it is to appreciate it AND develop an intrinsic value far greater than what was even anticipated.  

Slow it down.  Break it down…

Anticipation

Honor the process.  Know the process.  Adhere to the process.  What’s the process?!?  It’s hard to wait on something when there’s a lack of understanding.  It’s difficult to adhere to a process when the standard keeps changing.  It’s impossible to stick with the process if it doesn’t exist.  

Linus asked Sally to join him in his wait.  Together they waited on the “Great Pumpkin.” He had waited for a long time. He believed. He subscribed to a legend that the rest of the world had long since given up.  He was the last to believe, and his belief system could not be rocked. 
Sally, on the other hand, just loved Linus.  She believed in him. They had love languages that were very different.  He was a affirmed by her belief in him. She was committed to serving him. Together they could compliment each other. But there was a lack of communication. 

No matter how much they trusted each other, their goal was not the same.  He sought clarity. He held an energy that was built on belief and eventual delivery.  He was excited for the story he’d be able to tell.  Victory would be his!


She wanted to be by his side.  She wanted to support him.  She looked forward to the victory, but she was not as committed to the process.  She needed proof.  She was no fool.  She wouldn’t wait forever.  She trusted him, not the process. As a matter of fact, she didn’t even understand the process. 

In the end, she gave up.  She waited and waited.  She watched the signs.  She grew cold and weary.  She asked questions, but received no answers.  She could commit no longer.  

In a disappointed rant, she walked away.  She looked back as he yelled, “just wait, you’ll see!”   

It wasn’t about the “Great Pumpkin” at all.  It was symbolic.  She waited on him.  He will continue to wait.  He will surely ask someone new to sit with him in the pumpkin patch.  But it won’t be Sally.  It won’t be Sally!

Dear Bed

How have you been?  It’s been too long.  My apologies are many but I await your apology too.  I know it won’t come because you will never knew why I left you for so long. You don’t even realize that you were wrong for me.  And that I was not at all what you needed. 

My new adventures have taken me away from my true love.  I will miss you. But I am awake now.  I will is you terribly. 

I long to sleep with you again–to hold you tight. Parting is such great sorrow.  Alas, I have moved on. My new life awaits.  

Bohemian Qween


Last not, at the spot
She was hot!
A single rose
From head to toes
The power of her flower

Where did she come from?
I didn’t spot her when I came in
Holding a single stem
Wearing a ripped dress
Was an ol’ lady in the corner

She smiled, I ordered a bottle

“Your finest wine, Chappy!”
“Coming right up, snappy”
But those glasses are so narrow
I’ll have another
Another?
And another!
“Hello, pretty lady…

Are you new around here?”
She didn’t speak;
Just poured me another glass,
While I caressed her a..

Are you my bohemian qween?

She still said nothing.

In the distance I heard this:

Gee, Daddy is Pissed!


There comes a time when being carefree and jovial is more of a liability than an asset. Parenthood is no exception.  I admit that I am much harder on my son than I am on my daughter.  I love them both but my tolerance levels are on par with their acceptance of me.  

It’s important to convey how important my children are to me. In a world that is full of disappointment, my children are a reflection of my best efforts to make the world a better place.  My love for them both cannot be quantified.  However our love for each other is evident.  

The circumstances by which each of my children were brought in to this world were distinctly different, and like most families may contribute to why my daughter is treated differently than my son.  Five years apart, the age different between them is the same as that of their parents.  I married their mom when I was 24.  She was 19.  Neither of us were mature enough to recognize the gravity of our decisions.  But with the birth of our daughter, we found a renewed hope and a desire to live right.  

We had a home with a lot of potential. I had a promising career and good credit.  We were rooted in the church and innocent enough to believe that as long as we did more good than harm by the end of each day, we were managing the world around us.  

My wife nurtured our daughter and most times      enjoyed watching me dote over her.  We shared our parenting responsibilities and I was so proud to be living “the dream”.  

Honeymoon periods end, marital bliss fades, and the typical family disputes arise.  Only true love prevails, so the first separation brought with it a reality check.  My son was conceived on the other’s side of a reconciliation.  But the damaged relationship hadn’t healed.  

Insecurity, disappointment, and mistrust welcomed my son into the world. Sadly, by the time he was three years old, his parents were divorced.  He can not remember a time when his mom and dad got along.  But his older sister had plenty of memories of family trips and dozens of holiday photos of mommy and daddy embracing her cuteness.  

This dynamic plays out as we endure the teen years.  Dylan doesn’t even flinch at the thought of an unpleasant interaction between his parents.  He’s never known a happier time.  Conversely, when his older sister Emily witnesses a civil conversation between “mommy and daddy” it comes with surprise.  It’s been so long.  It’s almost cause for alarm!

“They are smiling?  And they are talking about me and my plans to travel and work and camp and dRiVE?!?”  The thoughts that must go through her head.  

If there was ever something that my ex-wife and I are most passionate about, it’s our kids!  Sometimes support and custody, consent and childcare are ideals that are convoluted by control and resentment.  But we are not without our differences in opinions.  

Court involvement exacerbates problems but we are still learning to co-parent.  I figure by the time my son gets to high school, we will have a mastery of it (I hope).  

My daughter, however, has begun to test our limits and may infact hope to capitalize on our handicaps. I’m grateful that the preteen years were painless.  We even enjoyed three more uneventful teen years.  But it’s happening.  The anticipated freedom that comes with a driver’s license out weighs the worry of teen suitors. 

A few years ago, in leui of a well deserved consequence, I choose instead to lecture my son.  Emmy intervened.  She said, “don’t you think he’s had enough?”   Brakes!   Caught completely off guard, I warned that unless she was preparing to take one for the team…   The conversation ended abruptly. 


On a prememptive strike I pulled my son aside and recalled the incident. He remembered vividly.  He was wise enough to see the mounting tension. He’d watched as his mother and father conferred over parent stuff.   He even commented, “Dad, that’s the longest I’ve ever seen you and mom talk…”

But I wasn’t upset by mom.  I was upset at the general willingness to ignore Dad–that plans were made without my consultation.  And although I recognize that the path to adulthood is paved with independence and the neglectful willingness to rebel against parents, not here.  Not now!

As a father, I don’t apologize for speaking up.  I certainly don’t regret putting my foot down.  My demeanor is usually pleasant, but once I’ve become vocal, I cannot be stifled.  The thought of it inflames me.  

This time, my anger was heavy.  It was direct. It was poinyant. It was also misdirected.  I love my daughter, and would never deliberately hurt her.  But I will not allow poor decisions to manifest into a disregard for common sense.  

“What’s the big deal, Dad?”  Or I believe that the comment she made was that she’d much prefer to go to camp this summer than to go to work…and that earning money for a car wasn’t that important.  Yesterday’s discussion  turned into today’s request.  This evening, Mom suggested that Dad contribute to the driver’s ed “behind-the-wheel” course.  But now driving has suddenly become a desire?  Yet no effort went into earning her own money?!?  Because she’d prefer…?

Dad’s can I get a hand here?


Every father hopes to see his kid off in a safe reliable car (hopefully one that he’s fortunate enough to provide).  I was blessed with that great fortune.  My dad gave me his old truck when I was fifteen.  I had two years to prepare.  It was a hardship that I truly appreciated.  But he also made it possible for me to mow lawns for cash when I was fourteen.  My ability to get my license was contingent on my hard work.  It was more than understood.  I was reminded frequently!!


Because my dad was better off in his career when I came of age, he was able to do for me in ways he’d regretted not being able to do for my siblings.  I was the youngest.  

My daughter is my eldest.  I’ve convinced myself that with planning, devoted parenting, and a lot of help from the Lord, I’ll be able to do for my daughter (and son) what was offered to me.  

But I need a little help from the kids.  Not financial. Not physical.  But emotional.  Appreciation!  Enthusiasm.  Effort.  When Dad is taken for granted though, all bets are off. 


I model intelligent decision-making. I share. I work hard, and I rarely ask for help.  I’m not just a father.  I’m a man.  I have dignity.  I have pride.  I’m kind, but I’m stern.  And dammit I expect respect.  

Somewhere along the way, my kindness was mistaken for weakness.  When I’ve had enough, the beast is awakened.  I roar!  And my point becomes crystal clear.   My own upbringing may be to blame.  I’m ultra tolerant and watchful for results.  I learn from my mistakes, but I’d prefer to learn from someone else’s mistakes instead.  


I’m not a good dad.  I’m the best dad (that I can be)–but only because I do what I’m supposed to do.  The fact that not every dad is able or willing does not make me good.  They have to bare their own cross.  


Everyday brings with it a new opportunity.  I have high expectations of my kids.  They have no excuse for failure except for their own unwillingness to try.  Mediocrity seems to be  accepted collectively.  But individually, we must work hard to achieve.  I once argued with their mom that academic achievement is not a way (of life); it’s a standard.  


I mean what I say.  I’m not just picking fights. Every experience we’ve had brought us to this very moment. I won’t waste it!

Clichés anyone?  Every moment brings with it an opportunity…

I speak up.  I asked my son recently to come from his room and help out in the kitchen.  He mustered some attitude.  At eleven years old he is primed and ready for conflict. Every request triggers a response. 

My son kicked over the cat food which caused all the “fur babies” in the house to react. He then complained that there was a reaction to his action…   The dog growled, the cats ran, and the turtle withdrew in his tank.  

I had to seize the moment!

I’m certain the neighbors heard me stammer as I begin to bellow–loud enough for everyone in my home to hear.  

I proclaimed, “disappointed?  Good!  Mad? Fine!  But get used to it!  Because you’re only months away from manhood!  Biblically you should be preparing for the rights and responsibilities of a man!  And you know what?!?   No one is going to care that your feelings are hurt!  No one is going to ask if you are ok.  No one cares enough to help you out because you’d ‘prefer’ to play and not work!!!”

I saw this glisten in his eye, and I knew I’d gone too far.  My sheer volume rumbled the room.  My voice carried.  I knew my daughter could hear and she knew that this declaration was really for her ears.  I killed two birds with one stone…and I felt…awful. 

My son lipped, “I’m sorry,” while my daughter never peeked from behind her bedroom door.  

Gee, Daddy was pissed!   Now a tear runs down my face.  I’ve got nothing left (until tomorrow).