my careless contagion

The Giving Tree is a metaphor for ... well, giving human beings. I use it here that way. I realize Shel Silverstein was a certified creep . And, I know many now say the book is a metaphor for enabling and abusive behavior. I don't disagree. But, looking at the book without any of that, what is your first impression? It's sad, of course. But, it's also hopeful. And, it is about endless giving, which is beyond my comprehension. I believe that is how Jesus tells us to live. We are to give until there is no more to give. And then give more.  I know a person who exemplifies that giving spirit. This post is dedicated to her. After I learned more about her father, I saw where she got some of her tendencies. And her big heart that loves God and His creatures. I thank God every day I got to know that girl. I fell in love with her heart and will love it forever — even after I die — because it reminds me of God's love. She is the giving tree. She shows God's love. She makes me...

It was time once again for a trip to Nebraska, this time to check out a little town and see if it would be a nice place to live. I made this trip with my ex and my son (who felt awful, the cause of which we never ascertained, half of the trip). It was an interesting trip. Good things and bad things happened. Shall we? We stayed in Kearney, "the Sandhill Crane capital of the world," at what I'm told is the finest place in town, EconoLodge. My son simply referred to it as "the Lodge." He was excited, even taking photos of all the rooms (all two). He especially liked the bathtub, since he doesn't have one at home. He also liked the blueberry muffins for breakfast. But we did more than lounge around the hotel room and take naps. We also visited places in town, namely the many parks. My son didn't feel well for most of our trip, but we managed to see some sights. We left in a driving rain, but the sun soon came out and left a rainbow before us.  But all was n...

Sometimes it is necessary to issue apologies. Celebrities do it all the time, at the risk of being canceled otherwise. Well, I'm no celebrity, and there is no risk of me being canceled, except by God. But, sometimes we have to say we're sorry.  So, I'm sorry. There. Done.  Oh, wait. I should probably get into detail a bit.  I apologize to my ex, whom I slew a great deal on my blog. She's an ordinary human being. She is flawed. I didn't need to ax her asunder as I did. I wouldn't want anyone to tear me up the way I did her on these pages. I'm sorry for that. For the record, she seems quite happy without me and has no intention of letting me back in her life. She must have been happy to unload me.  I apologize to my parents, who did the best they could raising me. They did a lot to make sure I got the right opportunities and missed out on things that were less than savory. As for their faults, all I can say is everyone is human. There are no perfect parents. A...

Someday, to someone, who is out there somewhere, I will say these words. Not these exact words, and maybe not even said out loud, but, at the very least, it will be communicated by an important part of my being — my heart.  I pledge to protect you, provide for us, give you my name, my honor, my heart, my being. Every part of every fiber of me down to my very DNA. I don't seek to make you mine. I seek to give you everything that is mine, from the mundane to the noble. My hopes. My dreams. They cover you. They cover us.  You are safe. You carry my name. But, more importantly, my prayers blanket you. The language of the love a man has for a woman has been slighted, slaughtered, and lost. But I speak that language to you every day in a thousand ways, and often without words. I'm not special. But I speak the ancient language of a man who loves a woman.  You were gifted to me by Unseen Hands. I accepted you and the tacit agreement to always love and cherish. The world has forgo...

Emma Watson, full name Emma Charlotte Duerre Watson, was born in April 1990 (in Paris), when I was almost 13 years old. Unrelatedly, my ugly yellow and gray mountain bike, which I received for my birthday that year, I still own. Moving on. I know what you're thinking. Is this yet another one of Joshua's slobbery fan posts about a girl he will never in a million years be with, much less meet? Why, yes. Yes, it is. And haven't you written about her before? Boy, you ask a lot of questions. Since when has that stopped me before? On with the show!  Emma embodies perfection. I know, some of it is celebrity/studio perfection. It's a nice image, though. At a time in history when everyone is revealing all their garbage, she keeps a pretty clean image. The way she talks. The way the words flow out of her. Her mannerisms. The way she walks. Her head tilt. Eyelashes batting. The glow of her skin and the spark in her eyes. Her laugh. Her smile. Oh, her smile. Or when she scrunches h...

She doesn't exist beside me but she will  someday she will hold my hand through thick and thin through sickness and health through poverty and wealth Even if I have to create her breathe her to life somehow she will be there Even if I don't know how I will find a way and form her out of clay and quivering breath I ache for her Hope for her and wait for her to join me someday What she looks like I don't even care what she feels like in my arms doesn't even matter she is made for me and I will treat her as the best part of me Created by desire and thousands of prayers made out of love and hope and years of plaintive tears What a woman If I hold her hand will I feel flesh or her naked soul? If I embrace her will I feel warm skin or my soul touching hers It doesn't matter what the world tells me I know she's out there It doesn't matter what my thoughts tell me my heart knows I tell my heart to wait be patient, be still sit quietly before God But I feel my heart ...