A Lo ve That Never Fails

Some of you are so thirsty for this type of love. A love that never fails. Those who should have loved you didn’t. Those who could have loved you didn’t. You were left at the hospital. Left at the altar. Left with an empty bed. Left with a broken heart. Left with your question “Does anybody love me?”

Please listen to heaven’s answer. God loves you. Personally. Powerfully. Passionately. Others have promised and failed. But God has promised and succeeded. He loves you with an unfailing love. And his love—if you will let it—can fill you and leave you with a love worth giving.

So come. Come thirsty and drink deeply.

Ralph Lauren Jeans

Dark as a chocolate Hershey bar
He starred silently out the window
Admiring a scenic view
That paled in comparison to the
Magic that danced in his eyes.

He wore a pair of Ralph Lauren jeans
That clung to his body
Like lovers cling to each other
On a moonlight walk.

The breeze coming through the window
Caused his shirt to sway
Around his motionless well toned body
As if in celebration of being close to him.

Quietly
I stood in the shadow of the moment
Wishing that I possessed
The aura of evening’s Beauty
That held him
Spellbound.

I envied the breeze
That glided across his nipples
And I longed to be
The Ralph Lauren Jeans
That danced
So close around his
Magic.

The Wrong Places

Am I asking the wrong questions? Or am I searching for truth in the wrong places?

Are you a false person? Are you truly who you say you are? If so, why are you so lonely? Please forgive my boldness, but why are you alone? Tell me; your god and my God, is that the same person? Are you truly spiritual? Or was that just a ploy to make it appear that we have something in common? Are you truly as vain as you appear to be, or am I being a bit too judgmental?

When you tried to kiss me, did you expect me to turn away? You said you’re not all about sex, but sex has been the topic of your every conversation. What happens when your sexual appetite is hungry for something new and different? Are your relationships based on how satisfied you are sexually? Is this the reason why you’re lonely? Please forgive my boldness again. Is that the reason you are alone?

You said tonight you want to give me your body. But like the song says, what happens “when the night hits the morning sun?” Will your love and caring for me fade? Will there be any intimacy—or just sex? Should I be happy and look forward to waking up next to you? Or will I awake to find you gone.

Can you truly love one man, or do you need a host of men to define your worth? Are you dealing with the painful process of longing for someone or something left behind, or are you dreaming of what’s ahead? Is your desire to be happy, all about your happiness and less about mine? Do I really fit into the equation or am I just someone you want to check out. Your statement to me of “Man, I wonder, do you look as good out of your clothes as you do in them?” makes me question your intentions toward me.

What if you taste me, like it and want to come back for more? Will you be upset when I tell you that I don’t like the way you taste, or the way you smell, or the way you kiss? Will this bruise your ego? Will this ruin your chances of happiness? Or am I just a pawn on your chessboard? A challenge? A conquest? A prize? A truth revealed?

What if, the moment after you offered me that hell-of-a-body you’re so proud of, I told you the truth: You’re a nice guy, but—like colors and whites–we don’t mix. You don’t stimulate me and you don’t challenge me. Will you recover from my harsh words? Do you remember your own words? “I’ve never been turned down.”

Will you ever get over that fact that you recently met a man who looked you right in your eyes and said, “Sorry man, you and me, it will never happen”?

Tell me, am I asking the wrong questions? Or are you searching for something or someone in the wrong places?

Jerri's Journey

Saturday, Sept 26th, I got a disturbing call from my mother informing me that my sixteen-year-old niece had been rushed to the hospital. She had fainted while attending a party. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, her heart stopped beating, but the paramedics were able to revive her. Once at the hospital, she was attached to a respirator. According to the doctors, she suffered from “Ventricular Fibrillation.” I can only imagine how rough things were for her mother. Especially to learn that your child heart has stopped and she may be brain dead.

After getting this disturbing call, I stopped what I was doing to pray. At that moment I remembered the book I was currently reading. “Wherever You Go, There You Are.” The book’s message is beneficial: Focus and meditate on the present moments in your life. In that moment of silence and prayer, my mind and every fiber of my being was focused on my niece Jerri and my prayer for her. I remembered that when she was born she had some congenital heart defects; however that was no longer important. What was important? The here and now. My prayer was, “Lord, she’s only sixteen, please heal her.” She is good kid, a good student, good daughter, and has a wonderful child-like quality, even at the age of sixteen. I have to admit, my prayer had a specific motive and a purpose. It was intended to go from my heart, to Jesus’ heart, to the God the father, the Supreme Infinite Source who answers all prayers.

As I prayed, nothing about my prayer represented my physical or mental state or status in this life. Everything about my prayer said to God, “I’m not worthy, however; Please don’t ignore my prayer.” The prayer was simply from a man whose heart was in tears for his niece. Whose heart was aching for his love ones. A man who has the faith to know that God can heal and work out this situation for His glory. What was the purpose of my prayer? I was not sure she was saved, and I could not imagine her or anyone else in my family spending eternity in darkness. This was my prayer’s purpose, and the moment it was released, my prayer was on a specific journey.

I called a few friends to inform them what was going on and ask them to please pray for my niece. Later, I searched the Internet travel web sites, for a plane ticket to get home to comfort my sister. However I was reminded that prayer works from any location. I picked up the phone, called my sister. What was in the tone of my voice? Firm sincerity. I had approached God's throne room with confidence and I needed her to do the same. I suggested that she wipe her eyes and go into that hospital room and comfort her daughter. Hold her hand, rub on her arms and whisper in her ears that everything is going to be fine, and that we are all here waiting for her to come back.

No one can begin to imagine what Jerri had been through. Her journey started that morning; I’m sure with happy thoughts of hanging out with her friends and having a good time at this party. She went from fainting at a party, to being rushed to the hospital, to her heart stopping, to being declared brain dead. The journey she took was not one of her own choosing. I can only imagine the journey her mother was forced to take as she heard this disturbing news of her daughter being rushed to the hospital.

Jesus did something similar. However His journey to die on the cross was planned. Jesus died on purpose. No surprises. No hesitations. No faltering. There is a story in the way a person dies. The way Jesus marched to his death leaves no doubt; He came to earth for this moment. To die for you and me.

It is possible that maybe my niece Jerri was born for this moment? To wake our souls from this sleep. To help those in our family who were not aware of what God can do. Maybe this was God’s plan, which He formed long ago; He knew what would happen to Jerri. However, He also knew what would happen because of our prayers.

I am truly blessed that God set aside this moment in eternity to listen to our prayers. It was not about the words released from my mouth, but more about curing the agony in my heart for those whom I love so much—for my sister who was dealing with the possible loss of her child, and for my niece who was standing at death’s door. We all have have to thank God for Jerri’s journey. It has reconfirmed God’s love for us and strengthened our faith in Him.

The result of our prayers was that my sweet niece Jerri opened her eyes at about 2am that Sunday morning.

Jerri’s unplanned journey. Wow. Is one of God’s wonderful miracles. Amen.

An accidental cut or a self-inflicted wound?

It has been said that we see God that way we see ourselves. Maybe this is the reason some of us find it so easy to push Him away when things are not going as well as we want, or as well as we think things should go. What happens is we become disappointed and turn our own away. Why? Because some of us may feel that He has not, or is not willing to meet our needs. So what do we do? We kick Him out. However, can we ever really kick God out?

When I was younger, my kid brother would bug the heck out of me, always wanting to hang out with me or follow me around. As much as I yelled at him, or pushed him away, the little pest would just continue to bug me. Sometimes it drove me crazy. Even when I thought I had ditched him, I would look around—and there he was again! This is exactly how God was with me. Hanging around me all the time, and, in my own way, I treated Him like I treated my kid brother. I started to ignore him. How did I ignore him? Any way I possibly could. Sometimes I got into situations that were painful. I was not a hellion. However, I would quietly seek out painful situations. The more the pain, the better. All I wanted to do was to stifle the sound of His voice. There was nothing accidental about this. It was all self-inflicted.

The way I was thinking, I had heard enough about how God felt about homosexuals, and I was not going to be a part of a religion that taught hatred. As much as I wanted to be with God and to be a Christian, it had to be on my terms, not God’s. There was no way in the world was I willing to become one of those, bible thumping, ‘Honk-if-you-love-Jesus’, kind of Christian.

God quickly let me know that my thinking was all wrong. His words to me were, “When you’re ready to come to me, just come. But come to me correctly. Come to me with all your junk, all your habits, and all your mistakes, all messed up, all confused. I promise, whatever you are going through, I will take care of it.”

Believe me; years ago I was going through a lot. I was always a very quiet kid, and grew up to be very aloof. So I suffered in silence. As previously stated, I had heard many lies about how much God hates homosexuals, which really did a number on my mind. From that point, I decided that I was the worst person in the world. I felt that no normal remedy could save me. However; what I learned about that is, thinking you’re the most horrible person in the world is no different that thinking you’re the best. It’s giving yourself a place in the universe you have not earned.

I have to thank God for enlightening my heart with these words, He said. “I understand the pain you have as a black, gay man, and I love you.” I have to tell you, these words were a joy for my ears to hear and a salve to my wounded heart.

He also opened up my mind to the understanding of the torn curtain. The curtain, represents Jesus body. What happened to the flesh of Jesus, also happened to the curtain. What happened to His flesh? It was torn. Torn by the whips, torn by the thorns. Torn by the weight of the cross and the points of the nails.

Don’t spend your life in pain. Don’t accidentally separate yourself from God because of your sexuality. Don’t inflict pain on yourself by denying Him the opportunity to show you how much he truly loves you.

Be comforted in knowing, that in the horror of Jesus’ torn flesh, we same-gender-loving individuals will find the splendor of an open door.

Comfort

I think I may have given this week’s posting too much of myself and too little spiritual inspiration. Are you ready? Here are my thoughts:

In my efforts to identify a topic that will inspire you, one word flashed in my head repeatedly: comfort. My blog’s goal is to offer comfort, and my book, Lullabies of Mercy, is subtitled “Comfort for the African American, Same-Gender-Loving Person. Having its own agenda, this word decided to take up residence in my mind and became permanently etched in my brain. I researched the word “comfort” and I found the synonyms: enjoyment, exhilaration, satisfaction, relief, repose, happiness, peacefulness, pleasure, compassion, and snugness.

Recently while getting dressed to go the gym I was propelled into a moment that left me feeling almost paralyzed. This moment just snuck upon me and smacked me cold. In this moment, millions of clear petals started to fall from some invisible, blossoming tree. I realized that I was powerless against these petals; I could not stop them from falling. I picked up the phone to call a close friend but changed my mind and tossed the phone across the room in frustration. I realized that although he could offer comfort, he did not have a willing heart. I jumped up to change my now drenched shirt, tied my sneakers, wiped my face and headed out to the gym.

On my way to the gym, I wondered, “What was that?! What triggered that?!” Then the word came to me again, “Comfort.” A small voice whispered to me, “You’re in need of comfort.” “Hmm, interesting,” I thought. “Comfort.”

After I left the gym, I drove around making a mental list of things that offer me comfort. To my surprise, at the top of my list was sex. I had to be honest. I was craving sex. However; I knew I needed more than just the sexual activity; I wanted caring, affection and passion. My skin was hungry and needed to be touched. Yet; even with vast, relentless demands of this craving I knew I only wanted this comfort from a certain person. The person that I’m in love with, sadly, he does not exist.

There is a certain level of comfort that can be gleaned after sex. Nevertheless, the issue I have is that I seem to have developed unfathomable mental barriers that only allow me to have sex with the person I love or with whom I have made a firm commitment. Interestingly, my heart has to know that the feelings are mutual before my body can fulfill the actions.

Bottled up in me was something that I was willing to offer and something I so greatly crave. Something deep inside that had no immediate possibility for expression or consummation. Maybe it was this need for comfort which allowed the invisible blossoming tree to grow. Maybe this is the reason I was so powerless at the moment the petals fell. This moment actually forced me to reach out beyond myself for something my heart so yearned for. Somehow, I was able to get a tight grip on it. Maybe I had nothing to do with getting a hold on it; maybe the releasing of the petals offered my body its own temporary relief. I now can see that my need for comfort was much stronger than my craving for sex.

However; I’m still yearning, craving, for the man of my imagination and strangely; I wonder, if this perfect figment of my imagination yearns for me too. How can a figment of one’s imagination yearn? My mind still speaks, “I seek the comfort that only you can give. I’m holding back. Keeping it bottled up.” Will you come to me? Will you satisfy my skin’s hunger? Will you let me taste you? Will you allow me to explore your body and satisfy that itch? Will you satisfy mine? Afterwards, will you allow me to hold you through the night while the Infinite Source nourish and comfort our soul?

Are you living your own life?

Somewhere in the future, when the top layer of the river of my life is iced over, ask me about the mistakes I have made. Ask me whether my actions and behavior are my life. Some family and friends have eased their way into my thoughts, and some have tried to help or to hurt; ask me what difference their strongest love or most virulent hate has made. When I speak, will you listen to what I say? You and I can turn and gaze at the silent river and wait. We know the current is there, hidden; and there are comings and goings from miles away that formed the stillness exactly before us. What the river says is what I say.

The question I consider is, “Ask me whether what I have done–my actions and behavior–are my life.” As in the case of the river, it can only function for the purpose for which it was intended to function. For some of you who are reading this entry, these words may appear to be nonsense, possibly nothing more than my creative use of language and logic. If I were to answer the question, I would have to say, “Of course what I have done is my life! I have nothing else to compare it.” However, for other readers, these words, when applied to oneself clearly penetrate the heart and are disquieting.

These words remind me of the moments when I possess the clarity to see that the life I am living is not the same as the life that is yearning to live in me. In those moments, I sometimes catch a glimpse of my true life, a life hidden like the bubbling river beneath the prison of ice. It is then that I wonder, “What am I meant to do? Who am I meant to be?”

When I was younger, I thought and focused a lot about my vocation. Having a good job was important to me. At least until I learned that one’s vocation is not just simply choosing a career; it is listening to your life, and learning what it is truly about. If this is not done your life will never represent anything real in this world.

By all appearances, things were going well with me, but my soul does not put much stock in my appearances. Searching for a path more purposeful than what the world could offer, I started to understand that it is indeed possible to live a life other than one’s own. Fearful that I was doing just that—but uncertain about the deeper, truer life I sensed hidden inside me, uncertain whether it was real or trustworthy or within reach—I would snap awake in the middle of the night and stare for long hours at the ceiling. My first thought was a simple, yet powerful prayer. “Lord, please, have mercy on my soul.”

Why the prayer? I was haunted by the fact that I am a Christian and a homosexual. I was haunted by what I was taught as a kid about Christianity and homosexuality. My own thoughts about these issues did not matter, because when we are young we are taught to listen to everything and everyone but ourselves, to take all our cues about living from the people and powers around us. Some of my thoughts were about myself, God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, happiness, relationships, honesty, monogamy, trust, rejection, fear, intimacy, spirituality, family, and friends. Whether or not I would grow old alone or with someone. Some were unreal, a distortion of my true self—as must be the case when one lives from the outside in, not the inside out. I had simply found a “noble” way to live a life that was not my own, an inauthentic, derivative life spent imitating others instead of listening to my heart.

One thought that stumped me was the thought, I–the act of simply being me—was in the hardest battle of my life. The battle of “Me vs. Me”. I finally concluded, “Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do with you. Before you tell you life what truths and values you have decided to live up to, let your life tell you what truths you embody, what values you represent.” From this vantage point comes clear wisdom. Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am. I must listen to the truths and values at the heart of my own identity, not the standards from outside by which I must live, but the standards by which I cannot help but live if I am living my own life.