Little Locked Boxes of Pain
In everyone's soul is a box of pain. Tattered cigar and crayon boxes filled with memories and moments we would rather forget but don't. Boxes that really should be thrown away, especially since every time one is picked up a side of it falls off or the bottom falls out. This is the time we should gather the contents and throw them in a fire. But, more times than not, we grab the masking tape and put it back together. As we do, we take a tired moment to go through the contents one more time. Reliving the pain, the terror, the betrayal, the confusion, the depression...then splash our faces with the old tears kept in a little brown bottle inside the box. It stings, but it is familiar and somehow comforting. The twisted comfort of self-pity, self-loathing, contempt for "her", "him", "them", mom, and dad. Then, as we try to close the tattered lid, our eyes meet with the eyes in some yellowing photograph underneath a sacred "Dear You" letter. Trying to reconnect to the pictured person, we stare into the eyes of someone who broke our heart, who lied, who stabbed us in the back, who told us goodbye, who remined us we are not good enough.
Sometimes in these boxes are little locked boxes. These are made of iron, steel, and every other unbreakable material. We keep these boxes locked. Some have keys we wear around our neck on a chain no one can see. Some don't have keys anymore. They are locked forever. We know what is each of these boxes. The contents are mean and magical. Not magical in the good way. It is quite possible to retrieve the contents at any time, only to hurt someone or to push someone away. Then, magically, the contents go back into the box, locked away for future pain. These are the boxes we refuse to empty out. We think we need these. The locked boxes are protective and destructive. Most of what is enside of each has a similar quality, "I'll never forget" or "I'll never forgive you" or "You will never get to me again" or "I will never let you off the hook."
All the keys look the same too. While each has a different shape and number of teeth, all are wrought from the same material. One would hope it would be simply love, but that seems too easy. One would think it would be closure, but that is too neat. What makes these keys is complex and layered with pain, joy, love, hate, strength, and weakness. And besides, only God really forgives.
Winds of Change
Alert: God is moving, in my life and yours. It is up to you to look for His leading, signs, and the wonders.
I received an exciting phone call from a fabulous cousin who lives in New York. She has been pimping me up to her cousin who works for a prestigious marketing/PR/ad firm. We are meeting at a party on Monday. She even mentioned the need for male news anchors...go a head and laugh, but that would be cool! I was reminded today that I have been thinking small...as far as opportunities, what I am worth monetarily, and creatively. I have been working in low paying education jobs for so long, I don't know how much money there is to be made in other more creative arts...which is where I belong. This isn't just about money, it's about the 8-10 hours a day I spend away from the people I love most. ALL my time needs to provide a sense of well being and accomplishment. So, onward and upward!
The best part is, my cuz told me not to cut my hair...this has been bothering me lately!
Edge of Forgiveness
Today is the day that sorry just won't do
I can't take the pain I inflicted on you
Now I am where I don't know what to do
Except say I'm sorry again, and I love you
I reached down and took a shot
I hit you square in the heart
I used my pain to bruise you
Used my pain to hurt you
So I sing from the edge of forgiveness
Waiting to hear her call
And I sing from the edge of forgiveness
Wondering if I'm worth it at all
I've searched and cannot find, a way to rewind
But there are no take backs in love
I've been here before, time after time
Please don't take back your love
Now I am where I don't know what to do Except say I'm sorry again, and I love you
Copyright© 2006 Stradasphere Music
Pitch To Bonds...I Mean Estrada
I am one proud father! Tonight, for the first time in the 6 long, grueling years of watching my son play Little League baseball, I saw a 12 year old kid get intentionally walked! The batting team was down by one, and some lanky, long-haired kid with a pointy chin and and attitute walked up to the plate. The opposing coach called his team in for a pep talk. Then, something that has only happened a couple time before (according to a long standing Little League coach), they pitched out to the batter! Some parents were freaking, especially a certain beautiful, brunette mom who was almost in tears! Then not much longer after the first pitch, OTHER parents were yelling, "Pitch to Bonds!"
Well they walked the kid...and I am the proudest father in the Paradise Valley East Little League! They pitched out to MY BOY!! The ultimate respect for a ball player! Yes, the next batter made the team pay by tying it up BUT, they intentionally walked my boy!
I have never been prouder of him! Not even when he hit an in-the-park home run and I had to buy him an X-Box wireless headset...but tonight my son received the greatest respect a ball player can receive...an intentional walk.
He has his smirk, and is a bit tired of his old man talking about it BUT, tonight my son was intentionally walked. Something that, as legend has it, has only happened once before in our league.
Not bad for the son of an old rock and roll guitar player!
Congrats Alex! See you at Chase Field! You are one of the great ones already!!
