The Divine Truth

True story. I'm only two degrees away from witnessing this.

A young Methodist pastor, preaching one of his first sermons, took on the topic of the Apostle Peter and crafted a message intended to calm the fears of a congregation facing some significant changes ahead. He sset out to encourage them to be steadfast in their faith.

He did very well, at first, speaking about Peter's faithfulness in Proclaiming the messiahship  of Jesus, quoting Jesus, "Upon this rock, I will build my church." In his enthusiasm and youthful naiveté, he didn't fully understand the meaning of his words as his message reached it's central point and he proclaimed, "What this church needs is more firm Peters."

You can't make this stuff up folks.

Digital Disengagement

Digital Disengagement

I'm confessing upfront that I don't know where this experiment will lead, but I do know that I must do it.

I have been spending too much time engaged with the Internet lately. Between my work (Digital Marketing Agency) and my personal 'play' in the realms of Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn and Four Square, I have been constantly engaged with the digital world. I enjoy all of the connections that this interactive world allows. I have people who I know and value only via the web and others who share with me in the flesh-and-blood world and enhance that sharing via the virtual world. I enjoy the pace of interactions, the laughter, the positive massages and the extension of myself that Digital allows me.

My work involves some measure of interaction on the web, as well. Yet, when I really analyze my work-related time (and I have this week), very little other than email and research is critical to my goals vocationally.

I do enjoy the digital world and its constantly changing and ever teaching environment keeps me stimulated and growing, but I am paying a price.

Here's the rub. I've noticed some changes in my life - more my experience and enjoyment of life - that just won't do. I will not go into the details here, but will generalize my concern thus: I am not a natural child of the digital world and to continue to process and engage at such an intense and constant level is tiring and is changing the way I think, process and most importantly the way I care for myself.

So, here's my confession. I will be backing away from the Internet. If you are a regular reader here, you will likely not notice a difference in my blogging frequency. Blogging, as I practice it, is less about frantic, quick thought and more about thinking, writing, and creating. I'll not stop blogging. I am backing off of Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn in terms of frequency of interactions. The same is true with my non-work related email interactions.

I will be blocking time (some of the 86,400 seconds of every day) for non-digital engagement, and limiting my online time with a timer. My commitment is to the next 21 days. Already, this weekend as refreshed my spirit as I have only spent 3 hours online and left my iPhone sitting by itself for hours at a time. I have spent the newly reclaimed time: hiking, reading, listening (just sitting and listening) to music and song lyrics, playing with my dogs, and talking face-to-face with family and friends. I like it.

Wish me success.


Photo taken October 2008, Appalachian Trail Hike

All This Talk About Change

Change

Another second ticks past

Another moment that won’t last

Time again yields to nothing new

Leaves behind victories and youth

Those who thought one life could change

Our world from scandal and pain

Belief that hope and desire

Would cast water upon the fire

Yet failures and callused minds

Bind with broken promises finding

Brilliant victories heralding

Vanquished limits and proclaiming

Without giving merit to those

Whose lives already tried and lost

Upon the battlefields

Of soil and polices

Note: image courtesy of Free Digital Photos

Relief - A Tale from the Seaside

Before the lightning flashes, clouds roll in bringing with them a promise of relief from the incessant heat and the potential of a light show over the sea. There is nothing so comforting as a summer evening thunder storm at the coast.

Their regular appearance with their own assembly of sound, light (amazing light) and a palpable embrace. It's the drop in barometric pressure, so they tell me, that creates the change in the air. the air seems to at once feel lighter and more dense with moisture as it brushes against you: an ascending wave of breeze upon breeze. The air smells of salt and sea just before the storm.

Perhaps the sensations are so powerful because of all bare skin; the taut, tanned skin of youthfulness, proclaiming would be eternal beauty and undaunted vigor, feeling every ray of sun, every grain of sand, every coming drop of rain.

Memory tells the story now... Here I felt the world, alive and full. I felt the storms. Here I would grab you by the hand and rush to the beach as the clouds darkened the sky and the breeze began to chase us. Sunbathers scattered for shelter and we would run against the current of people to the beach and scurry like sand fiddlers into the large wooden float box positioned with it's one open side facing the ocean. There we would settle in, giggling and shuffling into our place among the sandy floats, into each other's arms and wait for the show to begin.

Drops would fall, making small dimples in the sand and then give way to sheets of rain, blown sideways by the wind folding them like sheets - waving to us. The light would fade and burst in flashes. Then the moment would come when, framed by the window of our shelter we would see a jagged bolt of lightning descend in to the sea. We would shut our eyes and capture the image of that bolt now cut into the fabric of our souls as we felt the thunder - thunder into us. We would hold each other tightly as we shared the storm between us. I remember your bare back hot beneath my hands, the texture of your lips, and the taste of you.

Lightning flashes. Clouds roll in, bringing with them the promise of relief...

Note: image courtesy of Free Digital Photos

The Puppet Man

The Puppet Man

pull the string, watch the dolls dance

blood runs from my finger tips

maybe this time it will change

calm my fears or ease my pain

see my marionettes take your stage

watch your laughter, feel your rage

safely sitting

program in hand

three cheers for the puppet man

pull the string, watch the dolls dance

blood runs from my finger tips

maybe this time it will change

calm my fears, ease my pain

i see your faces, swoons and frowns

watching fixed, puppet take puppet down

they're not real, you carefully remind

while i silently die standing behind

pull the string, watch the dolls dance

blood runs from my finger tips

maybe this time it will change

calm my fears, ease my pain

with human hate they dance for you

showing the worst the we can do

superb! delight! encore' you shout

so once more the toys come out

pull the string, watch the dolls dance

blood runs from my finger tips

maybe this time it will change

calm my fears, ease my pain

the lights are gone, empty isles now

i fall broken, wondering how

these hands will heal, gather strength again

so, you can watch through my gift, friend

pull the string, watch the dolls dance

blood runs from my finger tips

maybe this time it will change

calm my fears, ease my pain

see my marionettes take your stage

watch your laughter, feel your rage

safely sitting program in hand

three cheers for the puppet man

*note: i wrote this poem a few years back while struggling with managing the internal demands that i often felt from others' external behavior around me. i think as children we often take on the role of performing for the 'big' people in our world - and although maturity requires us to grow more autonomous, we many of us struggle well into adulthood to perform for others... it is only a problem when the price is our very health, peace and well being.

**Photo used by permission

Bound - A Poem about Moments of Self Doubt

bound

the knot tightens

the grip of self within self

constricting fists of self hate and loathing

mauling my soul

doubled over in pain

breathless from the impact

blows of fury born of hatred and distrust

disemboweling my being

healing hands, where are you?

gentle touch of truth, come

come, come

release me, untie me, free me

i am weary with waiting

I Don't Remember Being Forgetful

Let me just first say that my memory isn't that bad. In fact I have an excellent track record of memorizing lines for plays, poetry, and countless talks, speeches and other messages. However, if you ever visit my family down in South Carolina, within 15 minutes you will begin to hear stories about my childhood and one of them will no doubt be about my forgetfulness.

There was the time when I was 7 or 8 years old that my mother sent me to the front yard to empty the waste basket into the large metal outdoor trash can. For those too young to remember (there's that memory again) they look like this.

So, out I went to empty the trash and apparently while on my way back to the house I came across one of the neighborhood dogs wandering through our front yard. Dogs wandered in those days (can you imagine that, or do you need another photo).

Now it seems perfectly reasonable to me that a 8 year old boy would stop and play with a readily available dog. The story, as my mother tells it - endlessly - is that i came back inside (after a prolonged time) happy and clueless of the fact that I had left the waste basket in the front yard. Therefore, I am forever deemed "forgetful."

To me it is a simple case of priorities. Which is more important: an empty waste basket, or a wandering dog?

That's my story and I'm sticking to it - like white on rice.

Beautiful Day

One day last month I had the privilege of meeting not one but two of North Carolina's nicest and most beautiful women: Nadia Moffett, Miss North Carolina USA and Lauren Ashley, Miss North Carolina Teen USA. As you can see, I was thrilled.

What is more, both ladies were well spoken, professional and honored by their role.

Lauren Ashley, Miss NC Teen USA



Nadia Moffett, Miss NC USA

An Open Letter to Hallmark

Dear Hallmark:

Thank you for your wide and creative selection of cards. As a man, it is most helpful that you provide me with cards that speak of love, commitment, passion and adoration between a husband and wife. At each season and holiday, when I reach to purchase a card – I am glad you have thought through these details for me.

I would like to make one request, however. Can you please not design these cards to appeal to me just in order to sell them? Yes, I like brown, tan and other earth tone colors. I am a bit uncomfortable holding flowery, glitter laden and sparkling cards that sing love songs. And yet, even at the risk of making me uncomfortable can you NOT design any cards that will result in my wife saying – “How nice. You picked this one because you like the colors – didn’t you?” I promise I will buy whatever you sell, just help me out will you?

Sincerely,

Theguythatlikesearthtones…

Can Kim Come Out and Play?

"One of the most obvious facts about grownups to a child is that they have forgotten what it is like to be a child." - Randall Jarrell

I know many creative adults, and I think adults – as a whole – get a bad rap. We are creative, fun, innovative and playful creatures. The idea that adults, by virtue of their age and place in society, have lost the desire or ability to be playful and creative is bunk. Bunk I say!

Even the most conservative minded business professionals I know are ready to laugh and dream if given a moment to do so. Perhaps it is the fact that children who grow up must develop some ability to set aside play and work through periods of methodical and measureable activity that is seen and misunderstood as losing the child-like gleam of creativity. Just because we can suspend fantasy doesn’t mean we have lost it – or its power.

The perspective of a child might be that we are not willing or able to play, when in fact it may not be a smart time to lay aside work and reason for fancy. The challenge, for us as adults, isn’t so much to learn how to play. Our challenge is learning when to play (enough) and when to be serious and analytical – and even that statement isn’t right because good creativity is often hard, detailed work. The issue is about balance in how we spend our time, how we rest and relax, work and produce and remain energized spiritually.

Carl Jung reportedly scheduled time each day, for a period of years, to simply go outback of his home and play. This play allowed him to better free his inner creative self and in some measure reinforced the most profound pieces of his thinking – his work.

I guess I’m advocating that we give a little thought to how much time we are spending in the realms of the adult and child each week… I’m just saying.