The Sopranos And The Tenors

"I'm making it up as I go." I said to nephews Caleb and Ben, both staring at me on a Friday afternoon while seated at their individual electric pianos.  

I hope that their 11 and 9 year old selves haven't figured it out yet but, that admission?  It applies to a lot of things in my life at the moment! Lol. 

But the situation I meant for it to apply to - for the purposes of that afternoon and for this blog - was piano lessons.  

About a year ago we were covering introductions and talking about some basic music terminology and I found myself challenged because, as someone who is BARELY a musician, - lol - I've found I am also barely a music educator.  

Poor kids.  Lol.

Anyway, we were talking about melody and harmony and the difference between the two.

We settled on some definitions that I think I'm still, to this day, pretty pleased by.

"Melody - the notes on the page, the ones you sing, the ones that make a song sound familiar."

"Harmony - the notes that usually aren't on the page, the ones you hear in your head that when you sing them make the melody sound more beautiful."  😊

As it turns out, just about anything worth listening to contains a strong melody and a strong harmony that both have to be proficiently played in order to make the maximum amount of impact.

That's something I hope my brother's boys are picking up on in our weekly piano lessons and something that I hope that I continue to possess enough character and integrity to be able to teach them. Because it is vital to so much more than just a flawless performance of "God Is So Good" (which my nephews can play like little Mozarts, by the way... in case you were wondering).  

You have to have a main theme that is capable of taking on occasional tinges of pain and sometimes supporting a dissonant note or two if you're going to craft a quality musical composition.

That's a no brainer.

I think life is meant to be symphonic and so those rules apply to developing our own sense of personal ethics just like they apply to combining chords together into a well played song.  👂

And we've all been doing that these last 18 or so months, haven't we?  

Developing ourselves ethically?  Or at least trying to.

And just like Nick trying to pretend he's qualified to teach children how to play a musical instrument, most of us are finding that as we attempt to craft life philosophies that are everything that they should be that we're all kind of just making it up as we go along.

Should we be on the side of the folks who want to enforce mask and vaccine mandates?

Or the side of those who say that all of this has moved at a pace that we should be uncomfortable with and is setting dangerous precedents where things like government overreach and personal liberty are concerned? 

What would Jesus do if He were living through what we've all been living through?

Would He roll up his sleeve?  

Would He encourage faith based abstinence of any modern medical treatment?  

Would He give us His blessing to lead a charge against those who want to limit our involvement in our communities and local economies until we shutup and do as we are told?  

Would He tell us that His will is for us to be doormats?  Or lab rats?  

That it's all for the greater good because vaccines are supposed to protect the vulnerable among us and protecting the vulnerable was a core tenet of His earthly ministry; widows and orphans and such?  

I don't know about you but I see people who I know love Jesus and who care about what He thinks of how they live their lives doing ALL of those things right now.  

It's not easy to identify what part of the song is the melody and which is the harmony right now, is it?  

If you're anything like me, you hate this.  lol

You hate it because the harmony is supposed to be clearly distinguishable from the melody and vice versa and if we can't even figure out which is which, how are we going to functionally teach our kids what music is even supposed to sound like?  

The truth is we need both in order for the song that God is trying to compose to be able to be played. 

And that's frustrating!

If you've ever been in a choir, lol, you know how awful it can be when the different sections start competing to out sing one another.

It's usually the sopranos who let themselves get carried away first.

They are the easiest to hear and our ear gravitates towards what they're doing by virtue of the fact that the most recognizable refrains of whatever song is being sung are *usually* being sung by them!

Not to mention the soprano section usually has a pretty high number of ladies in its ranks.

Most women in choral groups sing soprano.

And the more of them that there are, the easier it begins to feel like you're being drowned out if you're singing any part other than theirs.

Men in church choirs usually let this go on unchallenged until the final rehearsal of the Easter cantata or Christmas pageant or whatever type of concert the choir is being expected to be in tip top shape for.  Lol

That's when that tenor section develops a collective consciousness and really starts to bellow.

Like a group of humpback whales, they sing from their guts and over power their female counterparts until the communion glasses in the serving trays on the altar begin to create ripples of grape juice within not unlike what we see happen when a T-Rex is approaching during a Jurassic Park movie.  

And the sad thing?

Everyone is convinced that this loud, over powering shouting match is exactly what the people listening in the audience WANT to be hearing... everyone singing their loudest and mixing their voices in such a way that the original cadence of the music is completely lost.

2020 and 2021 have been, for me, like sitting in that concert.

You're all singing on blast and it's self indulgent noise that's giving me a fucking headache.  

Seriously.

Can you all please just shut up?

I'm forgetting how to love you and I was never very good at it to begin with!

I need it to be something audibly palatable again.  In fact, we ALL need that!

I need there to be a healthy skepticism of government and big pharma and Dr. Anthony Fauci... but I also need those skeptics not to let their imaginations run away with them!  I need them to stay rooted in reality and not try to sell me on the idea that there's no way back from all of the wild things we've experienced as a nation these last 18 months and change!

Because with God, there's always a way back.

Sometimes it's a one way ticket in the belly of a fish but by one means or another, He'll do whatever it takes!  Lol.  👂👂

Sticking with the original metaphor, I know that with God there's always a way back because of a musical concept known as resolve.

The song isn't finished until there's resolve.

The simple chord structure that opened whatever piece you're listening to, it finds it's way through a complex mine field of harmony in order to resurface at the song's conclusion.

And when it does?

You appreciate it more than you did than the first time you heard it, don't you?  

Because after it's waded through all the deep waters it had to wade through to attach itself to all the complex harmonies that it encountered, those simple opening chord structures have proved themseleves.

You and I listening to them didn't give them validity.

The listener doesn't advocate for the song's initial chord structure to prevail!

It just does and it gains a validity we find ourselves moved by emotionally all on its own and with the passage of time.

There's no substitute for time when you're letting yourself become emotionally invested in a beautiful song.

And if 2020 and 2021 are compositions that the Almighty eventually intends to turn into something beautiful, that is something that (just like everything else He's ever done!) is going to take TIME!

Ear worms need time to fully form in their cocoons. 😊

So maybe you can stop yelling at me about how selfish I am for not wanting to take a vaccine that hasn't had time to be put through the traditional years worth of tests that every other vaccine gets put through?

And maybe I can stop listening to the talking heads on the conservative news stations that want me to believe you're a socialist.

Maybe we can all just agree to give one another the TIME we need to figure out how all these intricate pieces of music are supposed to go together and make something that when played appropriately will glorify our Father in Heaven.  

Maybe, ironically, the one thing that we most need to make this attempt at a global hymn sound amazing is grace!

And maybe we need an example we can let our souls marinate in that illustrates how sad it is when grace is withheld.

I'll attempt one!

One thing I've come to really grieve as a result of living through the pandemic is the loss of respect for a journalist I personally used to just really love.

One Mr. Anderson Cooper.

I wish that I could sell him on the virtues of remembering what it is to take your time to learn the part you're supposed to be singing. 

See, like me, Anderson spent the majority of his life in the closet and didn't come out until he had a contract with a major cable news network and was a well established television personality.

I remember people giving him flack for taking the time to figure out exactly how and when he should reveal his sexuality to his television audience and I remember thinking that those people should sit down and shut their damn traps!

Anderson often reported live from countries where he, his crew, his informants - any of them could be compromised or even killed if it were known that he was gay.  

It took time for him to figure out how to live authentically in the way that was best for him and for the people he loved.  I remember thinking that if *I* was going to be a person who says that he believes in grace that those were not things I should begrudge or shame him for wanting to consider.

I just wish now that he would grant me the same courtesy.

His newscast has become a bully pulpit in which he and his guests routinely chide people for not taking any of the various available Covid vaccines while out and out calling us "selfish" for our part in the continued loss of life.

It's an astonishing lack of grace being practiced over on CNN these days.  😞

Anderson, my friend.  I would never have told you you were selfish or responsible for the loss of life when you took your time figuring out how you felt about coming out.

Even if I could prove that your hesitancy to own your sexuality resulted in people committing suicide who maybe wouldn't have it they saw you being brave enough to own your orientation a little sooner than what you did.

You had to take your time to figure out how you were going to contribute to a complex symphony.

And Covid is no different, sir.  

So it may attract advertisers and earn you Nielsen ratings when you play clips of people obnoxiously refusing the vaccine on grounds that seem baseless.

Just like it earns Fox those same ratings when they play videos of alleged Ph.D's saying that the vaccine is reprogramming your body's DNA to turn you into part chimpanzee, part eggplant.  lol

The sopranos and the tenors have to stop competing and start realizing they're all supposed to be singing their individual tunes in a way that complements their counterparts.

We are so far apart... and so close to death... that it doesn't seem like we'll ever be able to come together and make beautiful music again.

Like Caleb trying to learn to play the notes from the treble clef while Ben tries to learn to play the notes from the bass clef.  

Or...

...like the two trees my in laws gifted us when we bought our house last year.  😊

Zach, being very in tune with his libra indecisiveness, scoured the internet when his mom and dad told us that they wanted to purchase some trees for us to plant on our new property.  

Ultimately, he decided on two gingko biloba trees.

I'm a plant geek and have been since my summers working in the Lawn & Garden department at various Walmart stores through high school and college.  

I wasn't overly familiar with this variety but I figured, hey, why not?

When they arrived, Zach diligently plotted out where they both would go.

On the west side of our front yard, on one side of the sidewalk that leads to our front door he planted the tree that I began to think of as my tree.

On the east side, he planted the one that I secretly thought of as his tree.

It's going to take a lot of time for those two trees to mature and grow independently of one another before they even come close to having their branches extended out far enough to touch one another.

But when they do?  Damn, that's gonna be beautiful.

And in the meantime, we just have to let them grow at their own rate.  

Never thinking of them as being in competition with one another.

Never thinking that one has to survive and dominate in a way that would overshadow the other.

Just letting each tree respond to its own plot of earth in a way that will permit maturation.  

The pro-maskers and anti-vaxxers need to do this same thing.

Zach & I need to do this same thing.  😊

The Big Guy and I are coming up on five years of marriage on September 3.  👂👂👂

I don't know about all of you but our marriage has hit a few rough spots courtesy of the pandemic.  Lol

We both have individual values that we place on the roles of science, government and our overall sense of personal ethics.  

They don't always jive.

But I think we know we're both in concert together.

I think we both know it's not a competition; that we both need to make allowances for one another to feel the way we feel and be as messy as we need to be as we continue to try to figure out how to be in harmony with one another on the issue of Covid-19... and every other hot button issue that comes along.  

I feel honored and privileged to be in a marriage with someone who gives me that grace.

Anderson Cooper's sorry ass certainly wouldn't ever give me the consideration that Mr. Zach Bieghler does!  LOL!

Even if all my branches grow out exclusively to the west and all of his arc out eastward towards the rising sun, eventually I have full faith that they'll intermingle on the other side of the world even if they fail to take the easiest route to achieving close contact - just reaching out towards one another across the sidewalk in front of our humble, little home.  💗

The melody is always the part that sounds familiar.

It's the part that takes on sharp edges and adapts when it encounters dissonant harmony somewhere in the middle of the song.

That's the musical theory behind my love for my guy and his love for me.  

And it can be the theory behind how we all learn to love one another again if we can just get the competition to come to a close...

...between the sopranos and the tenors.  

--------------------------------------------------

👂 = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6SEbXTRwZQ

👂👂 = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRxLhwUsvVk

👂👂👂 = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh0egzgsfcU

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The Most Exciting Part (Originally Authored Fall of 2007)

A few weeks ago when I flew home to see my parents I saw something that has been stuck in my mind ever since. 

There at however many thousands of feet in the air we were hovering over the great state of Oklahoma I saw... a PlayBoy.

Now, before all those of you out there who have been praying that I'd be set free from my the chains of my "Divisive Lifestyle" start shouting your hallelujahs let me expound. 

It wasn't the magazine itself that intrigued me. Heck, I didn't even see inside it (nor did I WANT to see inside it!). It was concealed in a backpack sitting on the floor at the feet of it's owner, who was sleeping contently (and drooling a little bit, actually) as his private collection of leisure reading material spilled outta his backpack for all the world to see. 

Only the top of the magazine sporting the infamous bold-cap red letter banner head was visible.

Now, maybe anyone else could have just observed the situation and then cast a judgmental gaze while whispering an accusing "Pervert!" under their breath. 

But I was much too intrigued to play the part of hypocrite.

The reason being was because sticking very prominently out of the top of the magazine was what appeared to be a bookmark!

The entire flight home it drove me absolutely crazy. I kept looking down at it while munching on pretzels and sipping diet coke and thinking... Why would anyone use a bookmark for pornography?!? 

Did the guy have THAT much trouble keeping up with the storyline? 

I imagined him getting off the plane once it landed in Wichita and heading to his hotel... unpacking his suitcase and storing his clothes in the dresser drawers. Perhaps he'd have some dinner with a colleague and then go back to his room to relax. He'd pick up his magazine and say "Now, where was I?" Turning to the bookmarked page he'd exclaim, "Oh, yes, the part where the girl was doing degrading things in the nude! That's right!"

The plane landed, the guy woke up and we both exited. Had it been a layover I really think I would have had to have asked him what the deal was... But my Mom, who I hadn't seen since before Christmas, was waiting for me and I was very anxious to see her... thus, my curiosity went by the wayside.

I actually didn't even think about it again until the other day while doing a little bit of browsing a the local Christian bookstore. 

They had a whole array of bookmarks on display. 

Most of them were those laminated ones the size of playing cards that have names and their meanings printed on them.

I, of course, had to look to see if they had one with the name "Nicholas" on it. 

Used to be I could NEVER find anything with my name on it. But I guess now that there's a whole generation of us "Nicholas"'s in out twenties merchandise with our names on it is more readily available.  

Such was evidenced in the fact that there was about 30 "Nicholas" bookmarks in stock at the Christian Bookstore where I was shopping. 

When last I checked my name meant "Leader of Men". That definition had been the one I'd found while completing a project in Jr. High where we had to look up the meaning of our names and then write an essay on "What God Expects Me To Accomplish" based on what we found.

Lol... sidebar: "What God Expects Me To Accomplish"... yeah, we were CLEARLY firmly founded in the whole "Salvation Not Being By Works" doctrine... lol.

Anyway, I was surprised see that the meaning of my name had been slightly modified since the last time I'd checked. 

The bookmark had my name in large cursive writing. In a smaller font set below it it read "He Who Ushers In Change". 

And as tacky as it was with it's exaggerated fonts and waterfall background I found that that meaning set very well with me, actually. 

Recently while meandering down Austin's infamous 6th Street with some friends on a Saturday night I saw a lady wearing a tee-shirt that read "THIS is Freedom?".

And while I know that it was actually a commentary on the way things are currently going down in Iraq and the populace's distaste for the current leader of THIS country, I found that the sentiment was also appropriate when applied to my own frustrations with the faith. 

Frustrations that have been with me a LONG while. 

Frustrations that I hope will continue to anger me enough that I WILL become one who ushers in change. 

I am far from perfect. But perhaps perfection isn't a prerequisite when aspiring to help people to see things differently. Perhaps duplicity can best be pointed out to others by someone well versed in its routine. Lol.

I can think of no better example than the practice of a local ex-gay ministry that I recently learned of back up in Wichita.

As is the case in most ex-gay ministries, there is one house for women trying to conquer lesbianism and one for men trying to conquer homosexuality.

I learned of Wichita's ex-gay residency program in the year that I spent living back at home. I even visited the church that hosted it a few times and met some program graduates many of whom, even after a year (and several thousand dollars, I might add) spent daily consecrating themselves in the Word and asking God to change their orientation were still gay as blazes.... 

The brave ones would actually admit it.

One of them, a guy I became friends with and who I'll call Samuel, had reconciled his faith and orientation after a year of "treatment". 

The few times that I visited the church with him we would sit together and he'd fill me in on what was going on. Together, we'd marvel at the afore mentioned "duplicity". 

One Sunday the pastor stood up to announce that the Men's Ex-Gay House was going to be spending the upcoming Saturday doing yardwork at the Women's Ex-Gay House. 

Samuel chuckled and chortled under his breath.

"What?" I whispered to him, curious to know what had made him laugh. 

Samuel took an ink pen and wrote on the back of his bulletin, "Tell you at lunch"

Later over Panera he filled me in...

"The yardwork day... they do it every year. It's one of like a million exercises that they say they had us do because 'only when we make serving others in Christ's love the priority it should be will we have less of a desire to selfishly concentrate on deviance'. But then you get there... you start mowing grass and bagging up clippings and working up a sweat and the leaders of both houses have it all coordinated. The counselors running the lesbian house have them all go to the windows to watch the men from the gay house doing all the yardwork. Then the counselors supervising the men go around and tell them that if they're getting too overheated they should take off their shirts. It's not about 'Christian Service' at all. It's about teaching lesbians how to be horny for shirtless gay men."

I want to scream the slogan from that lady's tee-shirt when I hear things like this... "THIS is freedom???"

THIS IS FREEDOM?!?!?

Then I want to dig out the bookmark that I ended up buying that day at the Christian bookstore, hold it up to the sky and ask God "How, when, and where will I be able to live up to the meaning of my name? When will I get my act together enough to truly be able to effectively 'usher in change'?"

The way I remember, "If the Son has set you free you are free indeed." Beating your vices isn't something accomplished via learning new ones... and victory isn't secured just because you learn how to exercise socially accpetable sins in place of sins that aren't (lust for the opposite gender over lust for the same!)!

The verse in I John reads that if we ask "...anything in accordance with His will" that we can have faith that we "...will receive it"!

Thousands have spent hours on their knees before God asking Him to change them... some claim those prayers are answered. Many of them end up faking their victories... getting married... starting families... only to be discovered hooking up with male prostitutes in a gay bar in the wee hours of the morning years later.

But most (thank you, Jesus) MOST finally realize... If God says I can ask Him for anything... and that He'll give it to me if it's His will... and I've asked repeatedly... and He hasn't given it to me... then maybe just maybe it's not His will for me to change.

It's exhilarating to take God at His word. And it's scary because most people get very angry when you do so. 

Because it's in those moments that you start down the path towards actually BEING someone who can usher in change.

The only frustrating thing is the process. 

You start an exciting process... the story builds momentum... the plot's building towards this grand crescendo and then - you have to stop.

Right in the middle.

Right when it's getting good.

Because even visionaries have to take time to do the everyday things like paying bills, maintaining relationships with family, and working towards climbing the corporate ladder.

You realize that just because you're capable of being an agent of change doesn't mean you have permission to stop being a responsible adult.

And that's where the concept of a bookmark comes in quite handy.

Some may use a laminated piece of plastic in order to keep track of which topless blonde bombshell they were last looking at...

But you and I can take it to a whole new level. 

A passion to see things change... to see things come full circle and witness a world be re-born where people are acceptable because and only because Jesus says they are...

Just fold your heart in two and bury that passion in the crease... 😊

Perhaps I'll Die (Originally Authored April 20, 2009)

There were no Bible verses that came to mind when I had to make the decision I was about to make. 

And I hated that. 

I wanted some sort of obvious instruction from God that the action I was about to proceed with was the right one. 

But no such assurances were available.

It was just me... here... in this moment. The only thing needed to secure some peace seemed to be this one undone action that with one flick of the wrist could be performed... and the only thing stopping me from doing it was the knowledge that once done it could not be undone.

My thoughts raced. If I was going to do it I may as well do it now... while his back was turned. I certainly couldn't ask for a better opportunity. 

Better this way with his gaze fixed on something other than me... I didn't want his last memory of me to be one of feeling betrayed.

Come on, Nick. Just do it! a little voice inside my head urged.

So much conflict... was obedience or rebellion the right response? Could I really say goodbye to him? After all this time was now our final moment together?

I suppose this would all be a heck of a lot easier if I hadn't already lost him once.

Back in February when I moved to San Antonio from Austin I found myself confused as to why he hadn't made an appearance in my final days as a resident there. 

Yes, it had been a while since the last time I'd seen him but I guess on some level I just expected that he'd show up at least once more before the last box was loaded onto the UHaul trailer and I said goodbye to the city forever.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I made my peace with it (without really acknowledging that that was what I was doing) as I spent that last night falling asleep on the sofa where so often he had come to find me.

I awakened the next morning and did my best to digest the reality that he had opted to remain absent... did not want to see me... and there was no explanation.

It hurt. I cannot lie.

Well, imagine my surprise when just a few weeks later he showed up again! Here I had thought that our swan song had played in it's entirety and no sooner do I begin to accept it then the little guy makes a surprise appearance!

He always did know how to make an entrance... and this time was no exception. 

I was unpacking the last of my moving boxes the day that he showed up and I heard him before I saw him.

As I lifted the corner tab on a cardboard box labeled with a Sharpie marker as "Christmas Ornaments" out he flew on a jetstream of glitter and tinsel debris. 

He buzzed angrily at me for a few seconds and my mouth dropped open at the sight of him. I couldn't believe it! The little housefly from the apartment I had lived in in Austin had survived being packed away with some random holiday decor and had traveled as a stowaway all the way to my new digs in S.A.!

I had tried to kill the little rascal a million times after the day he flew in the front door of my Austin apartment. 

I'd swat at him with rolled up newspaper or various pieces of junkmail... but the little guy was fast and would always fly up into the high corners of the ceiling anytime he felt too threatened. 

Eventually I gave up and just accepted him as an additional tenant. 

I always stayed out of his way and for the most part he stayed out of mine.

Once moving day began creeping up on me I lost track of him and figured he'd just flown out the same door he'd flown in...

Never did I imagine that this whole time he was devising a plan to transfer to my new city of residence with me!

And even though he had always been something of a nuisance the truth is (as you might imagine) I had developed a fondness for the little guy. In all honesty, when he came buzzing out of that cardboard box a little something in me was happy to see him again and even hoped he might stick around.

Mr. Fly was the only familiar face I'd seen in a long while and, as pathetic as it may sound, the only real friend I felt I had in a much larger radius than what I'd really like to admit.

I continued settling in to my apartment and Mr. Fly did the same. I'd spy him buzzing around the apartment as I'd lay in bed at night and watch TV... wondering if he'd missed sharing living quarters with me as much as I had with him.

When I found a spiderweb in one of the lower kitchen cabinets I pulled him aside to let him know about it so that he'd be sure to stay away... I couldn't tell exactly but by the way he rubbed his two front little legs together I think he was highly appreciative to be informed.

Mr. Fly and I were soon just as much a symbiotic pair as we ever were.

And then... one day... I began to feel very, very sick.

One night when I was feeling particularly feverish I quietly got up out of bed and crept into the other room where my laptop was. 

I logged onto WebMD and began to do a little research about what kind of health risks were involved in sharing living quarters with someone of a caliber like my roommate's. 

I was saddened to see that house flies are shameless carriers of all types of germs. Mr. Fly, as much value as he was in the currency of familiarity, was likely making me very ill.

And so, possessing this new knowledge, the inner turmoil began.

Was it better to be sick and happy? Or well and lonely?

Nothing felt familiar in San Antonio. And as ridiculous as even I admit that it sounds I was heartbroken to think that the one soul I felt like I had some sort of genuine tie to I now needed to sever my acquaintance with... and for the second time no less!

I suppose I always knew this day would come, though.

Because it doesn't matter how much you love someone... if all they do is hurt and sicken you... the time will inevitably come when you have to say goodbye.

Which brings us back to the place where this narrative started...

With me... in the kitchen... with an old rolled up Prevail Sport underwear catalogue.

Mr. Fly is sitting with his back to me just inside one of the counter drawers that I left slightly ajar the last time I was in it. 

He's perched atop a postcard of a stained glass Jesus... right smack dab in the middle of the Messiah's face.

And I have a decision to make.

Do I really want to kill you, Mr. Fly? Do I really want to say "goodbye"? It's true... what I get out of our friendship is a very minimal amount of pleasure but it's good to feel good... even if only a very little. Is it worth subjecting myself to whatever harm you may continue to do to me just so I can have the tiny pleasure of holding onto you for as long as I can?

Mr. Fly stays perfectly still... I creep toward him with the rolled up catalog raised...

"There was an old lady..." I sing, inching ever closer. ( 👂 )

Mr. Fly's front two feet come up off of Stained Glass Jesus' face and begin to intertwine.

"...who swallowed a fly".

Mr. Fly reverts back to his original position.

"...I don't know why... she swallowed a fly..."

Now or never, Nick. Time to let go... time to move on. There are greater relationships to be had than with a dirty little housefly who will only serve to make you sick over and over again...

And as Mr. Fly does an aerial 180, I bring the song to a close and SWAT!...

And no sooner than the words have left my mouth... "Perhaps she'll die!"... than Mr. Fly is a greasy sticky spot in Stained Glass Jesus' goblet of stained glass wine.

I open the drawer to retrieve the postcard and wipe it clean. "Sorry, Lord." I apologize, "Didn't mean to ruin Your beverage."

And as I put Stained Glass Jesus back in his kitchen counter drawer I look at Him & I feel led to ask, "Do You think I did the right thing? Ending an unhealthy relationship? Was it the right thing to do since obviously he was content to pretend we could always be friends even while constantly presenting a threat for harm?"

And while maybe, yes, that was a lot to be asking of a postcard - I felt somewhat betrayed.

Jesus genuinely didn't seem to have an opinion on the matter.

And that, perhaps, made me more sad than anything.

I had lost a relationship that I'd been holding onto pretty tightly... and I'd finally made the decision that to continue to do so was detrimental to me... and all I really wanted was His opinion on the matter...

And as I quietly searched my heart I found I just couldn't hear Him offering any commentary. ( 👂👂 )

And so, not knowing what else to do I went to the front door, turned the knob, and let it swing wide open.

I got into bed intent on letting it stay open all night as I slept...

Because perhaps that way someone new could fly into my life... and maybe this time it'd be someone I could love without abandon...

...Someone who wouldn't make me sick...

...Someone I'd never have to worry about saying goodbye to...

Someone who maybe even Jesus would have a strong enough opinion on to share His thoughts with me

And with that thought came a smile... and dare I say it? It almost felt like it wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside...

And I hopped into bed and fell asleep as the children's song played on a loop in my mind.

"Rest in peace, Mr. Fly." I whispered.

And with that I said my final goodbye.

*parts of the previous blog entry may or may not be entirely metaphorical in nature.  

Soundtrack For This Week's Blog

👂 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiESiO6tLM8

👂👂 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IpbkUAItGk

Prophets, Clowns & Imaginary Boyfriends (Originally Authored March 27, 2009)

There are moments of life where God is so close you could swear you could touch Him if you tried.

I'm not talking about moments like when you're about to make the decision to buy a new car or a new house and you feel that He's standing beside you telling you whether it's the right decision or not... undoubtedly He IS there in those times too! But the times I'm talking about are different.

These times are times that, regrettably, are few and far between. Times when God is more than an idea or a concept... more than someone you read about in a dusty old textbook... more than the sum of all 50 gadgillion Hebrew words and phrases used to refer to Him.

Times when He's right over your shoulder... His breath on your neck making every hair stand on end.

Times in your life when you encounter Him.

Times that are your own personal equivalent of a "burning bush" or "road to Damascus".

Times where your imperfection doesn't prevent Him from breaking all the rules as we've come to understand them... from doing something that is so uniquely aimed at you and the journey that you are on that no matter what argument anyone might EVER present to you stating the contrary you are eternally convinced... He's real.

I've been lucky in that I've had a couple of these experiences in my short life...

Everyone leaves me more breathless and in awe of my Creator than the one before it.

I know, I know... Nick! We don't read this blog for Oprah-esque indoctrination! Where's the zing? Where's the punchlines? Where's the sarcasm-infused funny anecdote?

Sorry, kids. Maybe next time. Today, I'm hell bent on being thought provoking.

And the reason why is because on Friday... yes, THIS Friday... Nick turns twenty frikin' seven.

And I find that nothing gets you thinking about the journey you are on with God like turning another year older.

And as I reflect I find that I'm still in awe of what He's done but, ironically, not really sure what it is He's ultimately trying to do.

I love to compare life to a connect the dots puzzle. It's something that I've done in this blog before.

And it's something that I'm trying to do this morning.

Let's say the "dots" are those intense moments I've been speaking of... where God is so undeniably present and speaking that you can practically smell the Shekinah Glory Haze settling in...

Each time you discover the path to a subsequent "dot" shouldn't your picture look a little more complete?

I aquired my first "dot" a few years back. I'd been a Christian since my Sesame Street years but it wasn't until I was 23 that God first took advantage of the opportunity to showcase His ability to make those hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I was finishing up my first year of Bible College.

It was during the last chapel service of the year and my "Charismatic Christian College", as was their custom, was determined to close the school year with a charismatic BANG. lol.

The director had pulled all his Pentecostal strings and secured one of the best known "spirit filled saints" to come close out our year of chapel services.

His name was... well, let's just call him "the prophet". It's not a stretch to call him that either because he was regarded in the charismatic Christian world at that time as a bonafide, genuine prophet.

I was skeptical (as was usually the case being a southern Baptist born and raised boy in the land of Oral Roberts) but figured if nothing else it was worth donning the required chapel dress of shirt and tie to go say goodbye to a few friends before the year closed out.

As the chapel session commenced, the elderly Mr. Mills ascended the stage and took the podium and speaking slowly and with purpose called the graduating class up to join him.

He then proceeded to speak over each one of them... including personal details from each of their lives in his spirit filled schpleels over each person that he never could've known!

I was more captivated than had I stayed home to watch Sylvia Brown on Montel.

As he finished speaking over each graduate he would pause before moving on to the next person and then proclaim a scripture reference to the recipient of previous "prophecy".

The student would scramble to fish a pen and scrap piece of paper out of their notebooks and write it down so that once they descended the stage they could look the verse up in their Bibles and hopefully gain insight as to how it may help reveal the particulars of their future ministries.

I found myself totally engaged watching all this unfold.

I wanted to sneak onstage and pretend that I was a year two student soon to be graduating! ...to see what the esteemed "prophet" had to say to me!

But instead chapel ended and I drove back to student housing to change out of my shirt and tie and into my blue WalMart vest to head to work.

That night as I lost myself in the endless beeps and blips of 32 WalMart cash registers operating all at once at full capacity a lone bottle of Borden brand strawberry milk came rolling down my conveyor belt.

"Is this all for you tonight, sir?" I asked the customer to whom it belonged, not really bothering to make eye contact.

Cue God and "dot one"...

"That will be all." said the voice of the "prophet" from earlier that day in the chapel service.

I looked up and without hesitation asked, "Are you... um... did you prophesy at a morning chapel service at the Bible Institute this morning?"

The old prophet smiled and said, "Yes."

I quickly relayed to him that I had been in that day's chapel service... that I had wanted so badly to join my year two friends on stage and get a prophesy of my own... that I was in awe of his gift.

The old man didn't say hardly anything. Just asked me to double bag the glass bottle of strawberry milk.

I regained my composure and tried to maintain my professionalism, replying, "Of course, sir."

I handed him his receipt and he left.

About half an hour later I felt a tap on my shoulder as I was waiting on a price check for Malt-O-Meal.

The old man had come back. He handed me his receipt and said, "You might want to take another look at this receipt, son."

I took the slip of paper from his hand and just stood there, confused, as he toddled off.

He had circled his total - $4.29

He had written the abbreviation "Isa." over it and inserted a colon between the '2' and the '9'.

Needless to say I finished my shift and hurried home to my Bible.

I found Isaiah 42:9 as quickly as I could, doing my best not to tear the practically transparent sheets of paper that composed my student Bible.

It read, "The former things have taken place and now new things I declare... before they spring into being I announce them to you."

I fell asleep that night feeling that God was just so close... and KNOWING that He had orchestrated that 'chance' encounter... that He needed me to know He was always going to be taking me new places to meet new challenges head on... that He'd be faithful to give me fair warning and that He'd always prepare me for whatever He had for me to do.

It may sound stupid to some... but to me that moment was a defining one in my walk as a Christian.

As was "dot 2"... but we'll come back to that one in a minute.

For now I want to move on to "dot 3".

Mainly because it's so fresh in my memory.

See, it just happened yesterday.

Maybe it was timed to be a birthday gift to me from God...

I'd like to think so.

It's almost astounding how different a person I am today from that 23 year old WalMart cashier enrolled in Pentecostal U.

At (almost) 27 I am far more aware of my humanity... and other people's as well.

And that's not the only difference!

At 27 I'm three years out of the closet! That's something that the 23 year old Nick would've NEVER imagined to be reality.

I've allowed myself to fall head over heels with a total of three guys in the three years that I've been out.

And in between the beginnings and ends of those relationships I've had plenty of opportunity to get a grasp on the concept of loneliness.

I deal with it mostly by blogging. I came to realize early on that "...nothing had overtaken me except that which is common to man." Basically, I figured if enough people were on this journey to constitute founding a website (the now defunct GCN, or, "Gay Christian Network") to help support them, then I may as well chronicle my coming out process for others to be able to relate to... and feel less alone.

Boy, howdy, was THAT ever the thing for me to do!

I can only call it a "God Thing". People find my two GCN blogs in the oddest fashions. They read... they respond... they make me realize that imperfect as I am that I am doing EXACTLY what God has for me to do by being obedient to talk about things as they happen!

When people know they aren't alone I think it's easier for them to hold on and keep trucking until THEIR next big "God Moment".

I'm humbled to be able to help folks do that on some small level.

But sometimes it's the loneliest of the lonely that find me.

And sometimes I'm every bit as lonely as they are - and they have just no idea.

Case in point: a myspace message that I received this past Friday.

It was from a music minister in a small Texas town.

He was 38 years old. Not an unattractive guy by any means. He typed saying,

"I have tears in my eyes as I write these words, Nick. I have wanted so long to do what you're doing. I wish that I could be brave... I've known I'm gay since high school... I've never told anyone - not even my wife! Sometimes I wonder if she knows. Every day is a battle because I have this secret that I alone have the burden of keeping."

He went on to say,

"Reading your words I think I've never heard such beautiful honesty... It's your kind of beauty that I feel most helpless to try to ignore my admiration of..."

My ego is getting bigger by the minute but as I keep reading red flags suddenly go up...

"...I think what I need is to try to figure out what it is I really want to do in regards to this problem. Maybe if I can just be with someone I trust long enough to figure out how I would really react in a guy to guy sexual situation I'd discover that it really is all just a psychological hangup..."

...Oh, no....

"...my wife is going on a women's retreat next week... I don't think I could ever do what those guys in the movies do but do you think that you could come be with me one night while she is away? Not to do anything too extreme but I was thinking could you just come to my house and jerk me off?..."

And as I read it... I wished that I was half as strong a Christian as he thought me to be.

I wished he knew that I was just as weak and lonely and confused and vulnerable as he appeared to be most of my days... especially one week before another birthday.

And operating out of that loneliness I did something else the 23 year old Nick probably wouldn't have ever expected me to do.

I pointed my mouse at the little printer icon at the top of my screen... I printed the message containing the lonely music minister's phone number... I folded it up and I stowed it away in my wallet... telling myself I didn't know why but in reality knowing exactly the reason.

And it stayed there... nestled between my Visa check card and my TGF HairCutters Valued Customer card until yesterday... when I had dinner with a clown at Chick-Fil-A.

Lol.

Her name was Cee-Cee.

She was finishing up entertaining at an in restaurant birthday party as I carried my tray of nuggets and cole slaw to the outdoor patio.

She followed me out, straightening the red curly wig atop her head as she stumbled onto the brick laden concrete and concealing a tired look of fatigue underneath a face of white and black makeup.

She made eye contact...

"You got the only table in the shade."

"Um..." I replied, not sure what I was supposed to say.

"I've been on my feet all day in size twelve clown shoes. Don't make a girl sit in the sun. This makeup melts right off."

I laughed and Cee-Cee took it as an invite, pulling up a chair.

"I'm Cee-Cee." she said.

"Nick." I answered, smiling in between bites of cole slaw.

"Nick," Cee-Cee said, "I'm not gonna lie to you. I'm a 38 year old clown with two kids and a mortgage and you look rough even to ME!"

Laughing I responded, "When did this chain begin employing 'tell-you-like-it-is' circus rejects?"

Cee-Cee grinned. "Honey, I haven't had a cigarette since 10:30 this morning. Ima tell you like it is clown suit or no clown suit. Now can I swipe one of those nuggets?"

And with that I began one of the most enjoyable conversations I've ever had with another human being... and it was with Cee-Cee The Clown.

After about forty minutes of getting to know one another and a lot of one liners delivered so flawlessly that it impressed even ME - Cee Cee got down to business again.

"Ok, sweetie, we got ten minutes til my husband is picking me up from this gig and I still don't know why you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

" I don't know." I said, sighing. "Blame it on the fact that I'm turning another year older in a few days."

"Bitchin'," said Cee Cee, "...need any party entertainment?"

I stared down at my empty container of cole slaw, not responding.

"Oh, come on kid! You're at the age where birthdays should still be fun! Go out, get hammered! Then take the boyfriend on home and have some hot birthday sex!"

"Ugh." I literally groaned.

"What? No boyfriend? You're kiddin' me! You're cute as all hell!"

"Well," I said, "it's not that I can't attract them... lately, the challenge is getting them to stick around... not go looking for a 'trade up'."

"Well," she stated, straightening herself in her chair, "you ARE kinda a smart ass. Maybe that's why."

I laughed and then, deciding to make myself totally vulnerable to this complete stranger - this angel in clown makeup - I dug out my wallet.

I removed the print out from the music minister on myspace.

"Ain't like I don't get any offers..." I said, tossing the folded piece of paper across the table to her.

Cee-Cee read the letter and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Oh, ********, honey!" she exclaimed.

It was then that I lost it. Like an utter loser I began tearing up... on the patio at frikin' Chick-Fil-A.

"Oh, babe." the clown said, "You deserve so much better than this! You know what we're gonna do? We're gonna tear this letter up in a million little pieces," she began ripping as she spoke, "and we're gonna dump what's left of your honey mustard all over it!"

I smiled again, the tears subsiding.

About that time, Cee-Cee's husband pulled up.

I half expected him to be driving an itty-bitty car with at least five other clowns in the back seat.

"That's my ride, kid." she said, her chair legs scraping against the concrete as she stood to go. "You have a Happy Birthday! And don't you worry. You'll find yourself a good man to have that birthday sex with next year, ok?"

I shook my head as Cee-Cee the Clown jumped into her husband's Camaro and the two peeled off.

I took my tray with the shredded message and dumped all of it into the trash.

And then I drove home thinking about Dots 1 & 3...

And late last night as the ceiling fan whirred and as I tossed and turned in bed... God reminded me of Dot 2...

The day that I made my first post on GCN...

Or, more specifically, the morning that preceded that post.

The morning I came out to myself.

Ironically, THAT was on my 24th birthday.

Of all the dots I've thus far accumulated in this puzzle... dot 2 is my favorite... because it's the most intimate.

I could tell the story again.

But in the aftermath of my dinner with Cee-Cee the clown I think it's so much more poetic just to re-read it as I originally posted it in that first post I ever made here... On May 2, 2005 I wrote the following:

"You know this morning I woke up... and as the sun barely peeked in through the blinds I felt God so close to me. I was in one of those only half conscious states and I just remember smiling at the light falling on my face. It wasn't long & rehearsed or said out of piety... it was a sincere and simple 'I love you, Jesus' that I found myself whispering there in that moment.

'I love you too... I'm pleased with you.' Yeah, talk about the kind of stuff that'll make tears well up in your eyes. But that's what I KNOW I heard... And next... Lord, I can't believe I'm admitting this... Next I felt what I can only call the invisible presence of another I have yet to meet there in the bed next to me.

He has dark hair... not all that tall or short... just the right height. God, He smells amazing like CK1 and vanilla... He's intelligent and while not softspoken not obnoxious either. He gets my jokes and on Wednesday nights we pop popcorn together and watch "Lost" after church. We hold hands at the mall and don't care what other people think. He lets me hold him while we sleep and never complains that I'm too clingy or sentimentally driven. When I kiss him I know that He's the one (as unacceptable as I'm sure any other self respecting Christian would find it to be) that I was meant to kiss. I don't even know Him and yet I find myself missing him.

And...I reach out to touch the place on the bed where I feel he should be...

So...

Like I said... somewhere dots one thru three connect.

God shows up and does something unique and miraculous...

My three oracles - Prophet, Birthday Clown, and Imaginary Boyfriend all have the message of their gospel fully manifested and fully realized...

And Nick gets to keep trekkin' on...

...a little more complete...

And maybe it won't be in time for the birthday I celebrate this coming Friday.

But I'm convinced - if it wasn't meant to happen at all God wouldn't be so determined to continue to find these wonderfully quirky ways of assuring me that it will.

Connect the dots as they come to you... eventually it'll be a masterpiece!

...And every hair on the back of your neck will stand on end...