Patmos Isle

The life of a Pastor, one who has been beaten and left to die by his own kind.

Name:
Location: Texas, United States

I consider myself as one that has seen the dark side of humanity and has lived to speak of it.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

3rd Eye

Why is it that when you face one trial after the other, you begin to start looking at everything with this 3rd eye.

The eye that when everything that happens you try to see it as some spiritual circumstance. You try to make this ordinary thing as something that could have only come from the backside of a desert.

I am finding more and more that there is a grace, a grace that causes one to rest, even when his back is against a bed of nails. It seems as of late, that either the nails have grown dull or my skin has become tough. I pray that the nails have become dull, crazy thinking I know, yet I would rather remain tender and hurt, than to become this piece of lifeless flesh.

I would like to say that I can see the good, because I always tell others, God will cause all things to be for your good. Yet, I see dimly, I see a mist, a haze, and I continue to wait for something to come from it. I sit and wait, thinking that this bright light, or figure will form and come forth. Yet I think my waiting will only produce a restless heart.

I do wonder, I do call out, I do let my thoughts become words, yet for some reason that is all they have become is words. I would hope that somehow they would become solutions to my situation, yet I almost wonder, in a sick kind of way, do I want my situation to end. I fear that the result of this magic trick, will produce nothing of value, that I won't at the end, have something to show others.

I guess a scar would be nice, I have one on my forehead, I have one on my hand, I have one on my wrist, I have one on my chest, I have one on my stomach, I have two on my leg. Yet it seems like this one on my soul, it just opens wide, yet nothing comes from it.

I had this dream.... I was laying in this box, and above me was this man in a hat, he spoke to the crowd... "For my next act, I am going to cut this preacher in 1/2, I recall seeing the blade come down, and I even recall this stabbing pain in my side, yet when he goes to separate the box, nothing has happened, he shakes his head and looks me in the eye, and says.... Not even I can break you"

I feel that way... I think... If I could just break, then I could heal. If I could just be crushed, then I could be mended, If I could but just disappear, then well, no, I don't think I would re-appear.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Casket

I hear their words, yet they are muffled.
I see their tears drop from their face, yet I feel them not when they fall upon me.
They say I look so peaceful.
They say I look so natural.
They have judged me by my smile.

Yet they do not reach out to touch me, nor do they lean in to kiss me.

I feel cold.
I feel stiff.
I feel that I want to move, yet I cannot.

What is he saying? I so need to know.

Why are they crying?

Why are you all here? What has happened that you all have appeared?

I smell flowers.

I think I hear singing, yet I cannot make it out.

Is that scripture they are reading?

What does he mean... The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.

Why does she stand over me? Why does he shake his head when he looks at me?

Why have they laid me upon this silk?

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Knock Knock

Pastor, Can I come in?

Yes, please come in.

I just wanted to say Hi.

Well I am glad that you did, come in, can I get you a cup of coffee?

Oh no thank you, I just wanted you to know, what a wonderful message that was this morning.

Well thank you Sister, I was worried it was a little long and a bit hard to grasp.

No Pastor, it was just what I, well we all needed to hear.

I thank you for your kindness.

Pastor

Yes Sister

Are you ok? I mean, well, I have been praying for you, and just heavy in my heart for you, are you ok?

Dear Lord, what do I say to her? Is this the chance to be open, is this the chance to be honest? What if I tell her, I am weary, that I am tired, that I just want to give up? Will she understand, or will she no longer think of me as a Pastor, but just as another man. What do I do, what do I say? Lord, please help me!!!



Oh sister, I am tired, did not sleep well this week, had a lot on my mind, you know us Pastor's we always carry the extra load.

Yeah :) Pastor, I don't understand, but I will keep praying for you.

Thank you :) Sister, It is deeply appreciated, pray that I know His strength and have the power to obey His will.

I will do that Pastor, I give you my word.

Thank you for dropping by, please come, anytime.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

He said to look up!

I think I read somewhere, I believe His words were, Look up, for they redemption draws nigh. Does He not know, that my bones are feeble and my strength is gone. I looked before and beheld the wonder of His universe and yet He brought me nothing. I know I should not, yet I wonder, what good is all this glory around me, if my eyes have grown so dim. Why is it there? For His enjoyment or mine?

I preached today and it was like I had come out of one place and went to another, yet I see now, it was only faith moving others, and for me, I remained in this dry well.

Tomorrow I rest, Tomorrow, I cease from my labor, Tomorrow, I spend the day with little girl (dog) she knows me, she sees me as who I am and not who I pretend to be. Yet her kisses are ever so tender and her love is never ceasing. I tell her all the time, that she is what I knew of our Heavenly Master, and then I tell her as Jesus told His disciples... "Will thou also go away" She looks at me as if she knows me, as if she understands me.

I
force my eyes to look up, I force them to look upon the horizon, I force my countenance to be of good cheer. Yet nothing comes, as I wait upon Him, as I speak to Him of my desperation, as I tell Him, in you is my life, yet He waits.

Saturday, April 02, 2005

The 2nd

I awakened to the 2nd day of April, I awakened to this solitude of suffering, I awakened to this beginning of yet another day, that will be filled with the silent suffering.

I am told and have told, that this will be for my good, yet I happen to believe that there will be no more good.

The Dr. was kind last week, he said here, take these, they will help you. I have found them to only cause me restful sleep (I am thankful for that) yet they also cause me to stare at them and to stare at the time as well. Always asking myself, is it time now, is it time now, is it time now. I guess I have found a friend, a friend that let's me sleep, yet also a friend that will not let me be.

Tomorrow I fear, It will require of me to be this strong man, in whom I no longer seem to be able to stir, to awaken. This giant sleeps, this giant is in slumber, this giant has now become a coward. If I could just speak from my heart, if I could just let them hear my soul, if I could just let them see this acid washed spirit. Yet they do not pay me to be real, they pay me to be their puppet. I have said to the wind, come, blow over me. I have said to the rain, come, and rain on me. I have said to the storm, come, and take me down the river. Yet I seem to remain the same, I seem to remain untouched.

My
God I cry out to you in this hour. My God I cry out to you in this day. My God I cry out to you in this season. Allow thy hand to at least bring correction, give me thy wrath, give me thy sacred holy hand of anger. If you are not going to touch me to live, then touch me to die.

Friday, April 01, 2005

In case of emergency, break glass

I want to break this glass, I want man to come runnig to my rescue, I want out, I want freedom, I want life back in my bones.

I am weary of sitting by the tomb. I am weary of it's loneliness, I am weary of it's rough edges on my back.

I have lost count of my days, I use to wear them as a badge of honor.

I
ache, I hurt, I moan yet man does not come. I cry out in my distress, were is this balm, where is this healing ointment, where is my good Samaritan? Where is the hour that man will appear and speak to me that word, that word which brings me out of my garden of death?

I
fear the breaking of the glass, I fear man will come and not find me lame, nor find me sick, and then label me as one who cries wolf.

Oh
how my eyes are filled with sorrow, and how my drink is bitter tears. My tongue clings to the roof of my mouth, I am parched, and the only drink I have is a bitter cup of mans agenda for my life.