Maybe if I Let My Brain Write


This is my brain talking, so sometimes what comes from my typing doesn’t make sense. I decided to take my restlessness the past couple of days and write it down to try to cypher what the missing puzzle pieces are.

After the initial shock wore off and months have gone by since my brother’s passing; I feel lost or maybe I feel I have no purpose any longer. I laid in bed last evening so restless, unable to slow my brain down.

I was wishing and worrying about life. The more I told myself worrying bears no fruit, the more I worried. I worried about some big financial problems that are going to be facing me straight on today.

I wished I had a partner in my life so money didn’t weigh so heavily on my chest. I felt so alone last night. I was thinking about how many people I do not know in this small town; but also realized that the only contact I make with the living are my family and elderly people I take care of.

I hate it that when it comes time to go to work, I want to run the other way. So many times since Al passed, I want to mentally vomit, when it is time to take care of yet another human that can’t do it for themselves. The next thing I do is kick myself mentally for thinking that way. It is not the patient’s fault they need help.

I have seen my blog go down steadily, and yet pick-up new followers. This is probably due to trying out the waters in other areas of writing. Yet on the other hand, sometimes I feel something nagging at me to give it up. It feels like someone is telling me I served the purpose of writing while Al was here, now let it rest; he is gone.

I think I feel lost in life. I feel that no one really knows me but my family. I wanted to teach about MSA but have never seen a door of opportunity open for that. A part of me hates me for thinking I have to be noticed, and once again I give that up to my upbringing as a child.

I spent days, weeks and many months trying to prove to my family that I was worthy of a good comment, or a pat on the back. Here, once again, I am searching for something again. It is ridiculous when I think about it. I don’t need any acknowledgment, God made me the way he wanted.

And yet, here I sit, feeling lost. How can someone at 60 years old feel lost? It is the purpose, that drives me insane. I have no purpose. I exist. I work some hours per week. I hate it that I can’t work more due to my Diabetes, and yet I buck at the idea when it is time to go to work.

I work at trying to search for a job. I pray about it, that a job that is good for me shows itself. I tidy up the house. I check the mailbox each day and pay the bills when they arrive. How much fun is that?

Is life supposed to be fun? Well at times I believe it is. Sometimes I can picture myself sitting here in front of the TV, waiting for nothing. That is a morbid thought and I don’t like it.

Well I let my brain get those thoughts out and yet I find no peace in what I wrote. I don’t know what the problem is, I just know there is a problem.

me today

KICKING UP STONES


KICKING UP STONES

Walking the road

Kicking up stones

Mind wandering

No place I know

Skies wide open

Doors seem to shut

Looking out yonder

Feel lost for most part

Must be a place

Where I can feel used

Place a smile on my face

A twinkle in my eye

A purpose in life

Still wandering this road

Kicking up stones

No answer I find

No feelings for sure

Drifting through life

Hours ticking by

Kicking up stones.

Written by,

Terry Shepherd

Terry’s Thoughts in Poetry (Facebook Page)

11.04.2014

 

 

 

 

kicking up stones

One Voice, One Opinion


One Voice, One Opinion

I was reading in an article in the local  paper about religion and churches. No, I am not here to pick on what church you go to, and I am not going to say a word about whether you go to church or not.

At first when I was scanning the article my mind was thinking, sour puss. Yes, I described this person as someone who is going to church other than Sundays to get help. She wasn’t getting the help…

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One Voice, One Opinion


I was reading in an article in the local  paper about religion and churches. No, I am not here to pick on what church you go to, and I am not going to say a word about whether you go to church or not.

At first when I was scanning the article my mind was thinking, sour puss. Yes, I described this person as someone who is going to church other than Sundays to get help. She wasn’t getting the help she was hoping for. She was given various reasons and so now she is venting publicly. In a way I guess, I thought she/he was just rebelling; trying to get back with words.

As I read through the words I was a little concerned because some of this writer’s words hit home with me. I personally don’t go to church at this time, and I have written about it in past posts so I won’t get into details in this post.

But I have recognized some of the words. Elaborate churches, people sticking with people. A church on every corner. Refusal of help. Evidently, there is more to the story than what I am reading, but I have to stop and think about it.

I can remember back to a time when I was in a situation that I was forced to look to a church for just food. I went to a few in my home town on foot, as I had no vehicle; but received basically the same words. If you don’t belong to this church, we can not help you.

That always bothered me. Whether I went to or belonged to this one or that one; this wasn’t the point. The point was, I was hungry and starving.

I have seen churches in reality and on TV programs that were so big my home could be placed inside of them and never be seen. I do always admire the huge stained-glass windows.stained glass window They are exquisite, especially when the light catches Jesus hanging from the cross.

I have been involved with a few churches for several years. It takes a while but I can pick out the group. By this I mean the ones who dress nice, have lots of money. They are on every board and everyone wants to be like them, well some people do.

What is a church? This comes from only my brain, my thoughts. It isn’t meant to degrade or pick at anyone. But to me, a church is a building. A cold steel, brick or wooden four-walled structure.

It can have plain or beautiful windows. It can have golden-oak doors or simple like a school door. But what is a plain or fancy building without the contents that are inside?

A church today is a place where people can come together to praise and worship God. Could we do this at the lake, out in the open, at the city park? Of course we could. What about a home or a business that has closed down. Could we convert that already standing building where many seats could be placed? Could we add a stereo with lots of speakers or maybe a piano? Yes we could.

What is the purpose of going to church on Sunday or for that matter any other day of the week? Is it to show off our clothes or our money? Is it to judge? Not in my opinion. We all know in our hearts, there is only one judge.  I can see this type of behavior any day of the week. I don’t have to go to church on Sunday to get even more views of it.

My dream church would be a building. A plain building not boasting of how much money it has. It would boast of parking lots full of cars. People walking down the side-walks, anxious to get inside before they are left to stand in the back because the seats are all taken.

A god-fearing man who loves God more than life itself would not stand behind the pulpit and preach to or at me. He would walk among us, talk with us, listen to us. We would sing many songs, raise our hands in the air, praising God. We would bow down on our knees and ask God for forgiveness. We would spend a great deal of time together, maybe in circles or groups.

We would listen to each others  problems. We would pray right there for each one who is suffering. When you walk through the front door you would bring food. Maybe canned, or bread, vegetables or dairy.

We would place it in baskets and after our final prayer for each other, the needy could fill their sacks to help feed their family throughout the week. Finally, there would be fellowship. Outdoors if possible; a gathering, a picnic. A time to share our food one with another. A time to get to know the new family or single person that came this morning.

A time to volunteer your time and talent would be made available, but no pushing. It is just a fact that when we feel loved and cared about we want to help. When we feel like we are equals of the heart and mind we want to dig in. We would leave the services with a sadness and yet anxious to be able to go back again.

Do we need big churches with huge investments and clicks of people or fancy clothes? No, we need a family, a foundation, a common ground. We will help each other and those that need help on the outside, just as Jesus did. No questions asked, no red tape, and if we don’t know the answer or don’t have the ability to help, we will help you find the answer.

To me, this is the perfect church. The building, the people, a common denominator of God and love and sharing. I am ashamed that this writer had an experience where these feelings arose. As I end this post, I think back to what I have read in the Bible. Jesus fed strangers. Jesus wore plain clothing. Jesus healed the sick. This is what we were born into this world for. Our purpose is to help others, share the word of God, and love one another as we ourselves want to be loved.

Thank-you for letting me have the freedom of choice to express my thoughts.