Patmos Isle

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

Location: Texas, United States

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

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

This I Regret

In a matter of minutes, I will be putting on my game face.

The face that shines from the desk of God telling others how to live their lives, telling others that Jesus is in control, telling others that it might be Wednesday, but thanks be to God Friday is around the corner.

Then I will disappear in the shadows and return to licking my wounds. I will go home, put a pill in my mouth and return to my bed of sorrow.

Had some visitors today, some young people that think I hung the moon. I would love to tell them Jon that I have not even seen the moon in about 6 months. Yet I just don't have the ability to tell some teenagers that their Pastor wants to go away. That their Pastor has no desire to see the sun rise, much less the moon.

My wife climbed out of the bed this morning, and I just pulled the covers over my head, I wanted to vanish. I have been to this fork in the road before, my plans were secure and my destination was clear. There was nothing left to do, but disappear, I had my chance, the door was open, yet I sat in the prison of who I was at the moment, rather than who I wanted to become.

The strange thing is, I don't think I even have the energy to make it past the driveway. Maybe I can get someone to drive me 1/2 way.

Well, look at the time... The Reverend is on in 30.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

"Why is my pain perpetual, and my wound incurable, which refuseth to be healed? wilt thou be altogether unto me as a liar, and as waters that fail?"

It is with great respect that I share the words of Jeremiah, I normally think of them, but never speak them, and NEVER let anyone know that I am thinking them. I speak to the darkness as I get into bed at night... "Now tomorrow your life will begin again, this time it will be good, this time, the thorn will not return."

I have yet to awaken to that tomorrow.

Every day, I find this thorn, pressing, pushing, and at one time, it would work it's evil for good, bringing me closer to the Christ. Now, it only comes to torment me, to make my mornings a sacrifice and my nights a sorrow that only can be described as dark.

I stand at my window in the night and I speak to the tree... How do you do it? After every winter, you return to your beauty, why have you not said... I will not respond to the winter and I will never again respond to the Spring.

And as if a tree can speak, I can hear it's voice speaking.... I just respond and then embrace the season.

I fear the embrace

Friday, July 22, 2005

No, really, I understand

I don't even know how to start this today. You would think I would be a pro at this by now. I said last time... I WILL NOT allow it to hurt.... I WILL NOT allow it to make me cry... I WILL NOT allow it to blur my vision.

Now I can't see if my vision is blurred or not, from the tears that drop from my face, like rain falling to the ground, to only be offered up again as an offering.

What was it he said? "I think you should distant yourself from me, not for my safety, but for yours."

I had this idea that a friend was to come close, so that there might be some kind of safety. I have felt like this King, who ruled a Kingdom, and those who pledged their loyalty has now vanished and it has all been for my safety, for my good, for my protection.

Standing now surrounded by an army that has not once shown any kind of mercy, and have only hidden in their caves to call upon the darkness that they might fight like cowards, so that they might fight like devils it is now that I stand alone.

Is it thy plan to isolate me, has it been thy plan to allow all men to turn against me?

I cannot!!!! I cannot!!!! I cannot!!!!! Do this.... Don't you understand, don't you see, don't you know I have come to my end, they have chased me, they have raped me, they have beat me, they have left me for dead and now they come again to see that my death is filled with great sorrow.

I thought you would come, showing up with a garment to cover my nakedness, to cover my shame, yet I see that you will only come with the linen to wrap me in, to place me there with them that have gone on before.

With what strength I have, I lift this cup, this bitter cup.... Let it now be filled so that thy servant may drink.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

In This Place

I was preparing today for my message on Sunday and I come across the 9th chapter of Zechariah and it's 17th verse.

"How great is His goodness, and how great is His beauty"

You know there is one thing that has not been difficult in this cemetery (The city of the dead) is that it has never been a problem to worship.

It has never been a problem to lead others into worship.

Even though I question much and wonder among the tombs, wondering if one might be listening. Looking at the dates that have been carved by the hands of man, but only lived by the one that has now returned to the earth.

I do recall the day that I walked away from an open grave, from family and flowers and the song Amazing Grace. At that point I had never felt such loneliness, such a void, like that one piece of the puzzle was removed and who I was, who I was going to be, was taken and placed deep into the earth. I sat from a distance, watching as the men who return the body back to the earth lower my grandmother into the grown, it was there among this city that I introduced myself to Landon McKay he had died 15 years earlier, I did not know him, yet I burdened him with my sorrow. Yet I pulled myself up from there and determined I would worship. From that moment, I have not in all my sorrow and grief, forgotten to worship.

Even now, it's as if I can see those men, slowly, yet they prepare the place for me, my heart is still toward Him. My voice is still lifted towards Him, I manage somehow to pull my harp from the willow tree and sing and play for Him, play for Him a love song.

There is yet one thing I choose to remember.... He is worthy. Even though His hand has brought much sorrow and His children have hurt me so deeply and His "elite" have been no different than them who yelled CRUCIFY! Yet this one thing will I do, I will recall His worth. This one thing will I do, I will sing of His goodness. Darkness might have my mind, but from my heart will I sing.

Oh, Teach me thy song Father, teach me a love song.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Which way now

I was not going to complain about it, yet it takes over my life when it comes. I have been under much sorrow with the giant that knows my name oh so well. Yet that is not my complaint today.

This last week has reminded me of my physical weakness. It controls me, it grips me in it's grip of fear and disappointment. For some reason He chose not to finish His work, for some reason He has left me seeing tree's.

You would think that I would welcome it's destruction, that I would say, come and let thy wrecking ball have it's way with me. Yet, I would rather not be conquered by this, I watched as my grandmother lost her battle, and I swore I would not give it the pleasure of taking me.

Why would you leave me seeing tree's, why would you leave me with one foot in and one foot out. Did something cause you to change your mind? Did something distract you? Was it my lack of faith, was it my past that you discovered which discredited me?

I know you have grown weary of my questions, I know you have grown tired of my complaints. I wish I could come with a different song, I even wished I could bring you a better dance. Oh I would dance, I would dance like a fool that dances for his King.

Which way now my Lord? Which way now? Do I return the Dr. Or do I remain silent? Do I ask again for the saints to pray? Which way now? If there is anyone that has grown weary with my complaints it is myself, I sound like this record that it's needle is dull and has trouble moving forward.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

You should have listened

I wish you would have listened to me when I told you to not speak. Now you have awakened the giant who had gone to sleep.

Now he will come with his memories and once again bring much pain. I just had him off to sleep, yet you would not let him sleep, you kept talking and would not cease. Now he awakes, unhappy as usual, now he awakes with the agenda of making me remember.

I wish you would have listened when I told you to leave me alone, I wish you would have listened when I told you that I wanted to be left alone.

Now he comes, I hear his footsteps in the distance, now he comes, I smell his fragrance that reminds me of yesterday.

I wish you would have listened and let him sleep in his slumber, I wrestled with him until he had no choice but to sleep, now he returns and I have yet to find sleep.

I can hear his breathing, I can hear his speaking, oh thou dark night of my soul, be gone and let me be, be gone and let me be, be gone and let me be!!

If I close my eyes will he not find me? If I run to the hills will he not follow? If I run to the valley, he will surely find me. Oh thou dark night, oh thou dark night, please, please have mercy on me. Please come again when I am rested, I promise you then my full attention.

You who call thyself the light of the world, will though come and dispel this darkness, will though come and remove his power?

Friday, July 15, 2005

A note to my friend Thomas J.

Thy hand is my mind, cut, wounded, and it causes me great pain. The words that I refuse to enter my heart they bounce back and forth like a ball with a chain. With every pass, they bruise much more and cut even deeper. I sit in silence thinking of how I might let them out, yet they bury themselves to only return in the night. I toss, I turn, I moan in my sleeping hours, I reach for that pill, so that these voices will sleep, yet I only find when voices sleep they only dream. Their dreams awaken my sleep and find their way into my rest, there they bring the chain and rattle it again, now I awaken to only find I have not slept.

I lay on my bed and reach for my lover, my lover sleeps and I refuse to wake her. I feel her turn and think she has awaken, to only find the night has brought her what the day had taken from her. I stare at her beauty and place my hand on her chest, I feel her heart beating and I know she is at rest.

I reach for that bottle thinking to myself, if one is not enough, then two will make me rest. I return to that void, where the voices have not left, I return to that place that sorrow needs know rest. I cling to the promise that He will never leave me, I see that table spread, but my enemies seem to be eating, eating from my table, my table of rest.

Was there not a promise that I should lay my head down and rest? Was there a promise that one would fight for me? I see His table, I see His pasture, I see His waters, yet the first is full and no room, one is not green and the other is not still. I raise my voice, and say to Him, stand upon this boat and speak again, speak they words... "Peace be still" yet my cry is weak and I fear His ear has grown deaf.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005


I am jealous of nature. It has it's seasons, the winter comes and the winter goes. The spring comes and the spring goes. The summer comes and the summer goes. The fall comes and the fall goes. Yet my season has no change.

I am angry at myself.I could blame others, I could point the finger I suppose. I could say that the hand of others has pushed me down. I could say the words of others has bruised my soul. I could say the actions of others has beaten my back. I could say the tongue of man has become this shackle.

I am tired. I have grown weary, and I have hung my harp upon the willow. My feet, they are sore from walking and my legs they are worn from standing. I look at my knees and they are bruised from kneeling.

I am dying. I feel life leaving my body. I feel it's source of strength becoming dry. I fear not death, I fear not it's angel. I say to thee, let thy kiss be upon my head, let thy breath breathe upon my ears.

I am scared. I do worry, how will I find my way back? If I am lost then who will find me? I think man has grown weary of me, their silence speaks more now than their counsel.

I am cold. I cannot find warmth for my soul. I have placed it's wood carefully upon the altar, yet I have come to believe that He will not find me in time. I did journey into the forest, I did labor at finding wood. I held it far from me, so my sorrow would not rot it, nor my tears to cease it's burn.

I am finished. I cried unto Him and asked that He would quickly come. I then turned to Him to see if He had followed, yet He did not move. My voice I lifted even higher.... "Just send thy word, and it will be done" Yet He did not speak nor send His sparrow, He just caused the waters to cease.

Saturday, July 02, 2005


I have been speaking in the past of how I have felt what might be a wind blowing around my feet. Thinking that maybe this wind was about to blow upon me again. You see I have been asking of the Lord, let they Holy Wind blow upon me again, let it bring it's refreshing breeze upon my face, that it might dry these rivers that come from my eyes.

I think that I have discovered it is actually only a draft. Like living in the old house and around it's doors and it's windows you can hear the mighty winds, yet all you are able to encounter is this very dim, very light pocket of air. The windows are ancient and cannot be opened, the door is old and locked and I cannot find it's key.

I can hear the howling of the wind and it does not frighten me, it only troubles me. I lay in the bed at night and I hear it's whistle, I sit at the table of sorrow while my tears are my meat and drink and I can hear it's whistle. I lay myself upon the couch and try once again for sleep and I can hear it's whistle.

I sit in front of the fireplace and my wood is arranged and the draft is open and enough fuel on the fire that all I am in need of is a spark. Yet the air still has within it, this bitter cold.

So now I sit in this chair, and I no longer ask of Him to open a door or even crack a window. I now come to the place that I cry unto this one who said to me, you can find me in the gentle breeze. I now whisper unto this one who said to me, I can be found in the fire. I softly speak to Him, Lord, just let this foundation fail. Let this foundation give way to this wind, let this structure now collapse and let men find me in the midst of it's rubble.