love is an offering

It’s finally night. My children are sleeping peacefully. My beautiful bride is reading by candlelight and I’m pacing the floor. Can’t sleep.   I just can’t sleep.   I don’t believe I deserve sleep.   The stars are quietly calling out to me, but I’m not ready.   I’m not ready to face …him.   I wouldn’t know how to start the conversation. “What’s on your mind?” My wife walks up behind me as I look out of the window.   She wraps her arms around me and gently lays her head on my upper back. “…I don’t know. I don’t know how to answer that.” I stare up in the night sky wishing it would give me an escape from my guilt and shame. “You know what you need to do.” “Yes. I do.” “But?” She turns me around to face her. Her eyes sparkled against the night’s light. “I’m not ready. I don’t know what to say to him. I need time to think.” “Then go think.   Get your mind right again.” “I should.” “Take your friends with you.” “Lisa…” I trail off and pull away from

The fear, the anger, the lust, lure and abuse of power, the thirst and hunger for violence, the socialism, classism, the racism and humanism doesn't just fester in "foreign countries" or in science fiction movies, but in our safe places, gated communities, places of worship, strong holds, even in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. I have to do more than hashtag my anger or cut and paste a famous quote or Scripture out of context.  I have to be more than a nice guy in a mean world. I honestly have no fast acting pain reliever for these open wounds. All I have is a soul that is tired, so to my Heavenly Father I surrender. I surrender my personal, my parental fear, my comfort zone, my pride, my biases, my lust, my social anxiety every time I'm in a place where my race is out numbered and even when I'm in places where my race is the majority, and yes I surrender even my own selfish desire to live in a world that I can rule and control. I surrender all. Bu

In life, there are both hard and easy things that must be done in order to grow as a person.  Now, we do the hard things in order to overcome life's challenges and experience growth, maturity and freedom. Hard things like having tough conversations while speaking the truth in love, apologizing with sincerity and humility, blessing a person who can't stand you.  However, equally as important, is knowing when to do the easy things.  What are the easy things?  Those small things that take minimal effort and are relatively inexpensive, but make huge differences in your life and in the lives of the people that you love and serve. Things like listening before you speak, giving your time and attention to someone in need of a listening ear, caring enough to ease the burden of someone in need of a break. I've discovered that peace, joy and contentment is found between the tension of the doing the hard things that must to be done as well as the easy things that mustn't be ign

 A teacher doesn't just teach students.  He teaches the future.  Future mothers and fathers.  He teachers the children of his students, because those students will teach their children what he's  taught them.  We shape worldviews.  Our challenges forges destinies.  We are called to be true and real, because false teachers damage the tomorrows.  False teachers don't just fail students. They fail the future.  Crush dreams. And only God can repair the damage... Teachers don't just teach a subject, they share their souls. They filled minds with visions, possibilities and hope.  We are not gods.  We are not perfect. We take risks. Some soar. Some crash.  We fall. We fail. We get back up. We persevere. We are tools in the Master's hand, shaping His clay to resemble His image.  The best of us contribute to humanity and build legacies.  To teach is a calling that we don't choose, because it chooses us. 

Ed, It's been awhile since we talked. It's been a busy season of life, I know.  You are many things to many people, but I'm glad you've found the time to rest and reflect.  I want to share with you a bit of encouragement.  First of all, I want to say thank you.  Thank you for not giving up on me.  I know at times at I made it difficult to love me.  You had every opportunity and every reason to move on and forget about me; but you didn't.  You stayed.  You prayed.  You pushed me out of the way of danger and picked me up when I fell.  When I refused to believe you, you turned my attention to Jesus.  Thank you. Next I want to remind you that I'm here for you.  Don't look in the mirror and forget my reflection.  You were there for me and now it's my turn to return the favor.  As you enter this new season of life, I know you feel the uncertainty, but fear not brother.  Lean into God's presence and let go of your own understanding.  Let go of the idea

http://edwardblaqrose.bandcamp.com/track/love-is-an-offering

     Before last summer, my wife and I sat down and dreamed out loud.   We wanted to take our family on road trip, a real vacation.   Our oldest son was about to graduate form high school.   We were preparing to serve at a Christian camp for kids after the school year ended. We were definitely going to need a time of rest and relaxation.       So we prayed and hoped that God would be gracious to us.   Our prayers were answered when some friends of ours offered to let our family spend a week in their condo in Estes Park Colorado.   All we needed was a means to get there and food for the week.   We were overjoyed! After my son’s graduation and our camp week, we loaded up the family and drove to Colorado! I still can’t believe we did it!   My wife and I took turns driving.   We drove in shifts until we were both so tired that we couldn’t go any farther.   The kids sat in the back, laughed, ate sacks and napped when ever they got tired. I played my collectio

Fear:   to be afraid something or someone.   What do I fear? I’m in a room filled with 100’s people, excited filled with anticipation.   I’m standing in the back of room waiting for my name to be called, going over my notes.   My name is called.   I make my way up to the front of the room and there’s a dead silence.   It’s in that silence that I experience fear.   I think back to those horrific moments in school when I stuttered so bad that I needed a speech therapist.   Having the words in my mind, but they’re trapped, held hostage by my terror.   When I was a kid, there were times when I   was afraid to answer the phone.   I remember one time, the phone rang, I picked it up and I discovered that it was my Dad.   My Dad that lived in California, when I lived in Louisiana.   I was terrified. My dad kept saying “Hello?, Hello?”I was paralyzed.   I could not speak.   I can’t remember if I hung up the phone, but I sure wanted to crawl in a hole and not come out u

When I was eight, I fell in love this skinny girl in the third grade.   Her name was …Lucy.   Lucy didn’t love me, of course, but I wouldn’t let that minor detail discourage me.   Every time Lucy would walk by my   heart would beat a little faster.   My palms   would   sweat and I would forget how to speak English.   Lucy thought I was freak for sure with skinny legs, long feet, glasses and all. I was a little soul afro mess!   All I wanted more than anything in world, other than a shwinn bicycle, was to spend a little time with Lucy under the oak tree in our elementary school. One morning before school, I was hanging out some of the older guys.   Imitating their poses, I was playing it cool.   That is until Lucy walked by.   I finally I said something close to human, but Lucy was far from impressed.   Lucy rolled her eyes, sucked her teeth at me and strutted on by.   The fellas all laughed and I just played it off like it didn’t. matter to me.   Coach Green k

The Coward The boy’s voice awakened the man.   He found shelter in the abandoned school, in what was once, his school, his office.   Eleven, twelve, and thirteen year old students once ran down those halls, hurrying to their classes, hurrying to his English class. Now since the incident, no children survived that massacre.   That thought made the man shake with fear until he drifted off to sleep.   So when the man heard the boy’s voice screaming “Help Me!, Please Help Me!”   it shook the man from his sleep.   The man laid still.   His heart pounded as he waited to hear boy again.   “Help me! Please Somebody!” The man heard the boy loud and clear.   He could not pretend it was some animal or dream.   He knew it was a boy. And it paralyzed him.   The man clutched his knees to his chest and tucked his chin.   He took slow deep breaths, silent breaths, hoping the boy would believe he was on his own, alone.   The man hated his fear, hated what he had become.

(unedited) Like many of you, I am not a huge fan of waiting.   There’s such a negative perception to waiting. As a society, we hate it, don’t we?   We hate it so much that companies know how to sell us their products.   Just tell us that it’s fast.   Fast food, fast delivery, fast internet service entices us.   Instant is another temptation.   Instant cash, instant coffee, Instagram! Okay, not quite the same but you know what I’m saying, right?   We complain about being hurried, but we gravitate toward the fast lane.   Passing someone is a lot more rewarding that keeping pace in the slow lane. I get it. Guilty as charged, ya know.   Patience, on the other hand, is a discipline. In my brief experience in the military, I was taught patience.   Most of the time it was in a twisted sort of way, like “hurry up and wait”.   Think about that for a moment.   You are given the emergency of ten seconds to be somewhere and then when you’re there, you are forced to wait f

It was a Tuesday afternoon and I’m driving home from a long day teaching school.   I pull in the drive way, I’m tired.   I barely noticed the strange car in the driveway, thinking   to myself “it’s probably one of my son’s friends.” I walk up to the front door and it’s locked. I knock but no one comes to the door. Okay, I’ll just use my house key.   They probably could hear for all of the noise.   I have four kids 18, 15, 13, 11, but I don’t recognize any of their voices.   I use my house key to open the door.   When I enter in, all of these strange people are in my house. Four kids, two boys and two girls who look about the same age as my kids, but they were strangers.   The kids all stopped and stared at me.   I was just as strange to them.   The eighteen year old spoke first. “What are you doing here?” his voice trembled. “This is my home, young man.” I tried not to lose my cool, but what kind of question is that? “How did you get a key to o

When I write, I feel like that first thought is like standing on the edge of a cliff.   Will I plunge to my death or defy gravity and fly?   The weight of my words I’m always conscious of, perhaps too much, but I’m working on that.   I remember when I used to have a severe stuttering problem.   I would need the help of a speech therapist just to find the ability to maintain simply conversations.   There’s nothing quite like having the words or the answers to questions or just questions themselves, trapped in my mind unable to come out and express themselves.   It took years before I found my voice. When I write I feel like I’m finding that voice again.   The blank screen waits patiently for me to tell it what to say.   I am very aware of the power of words and the impact that words have on humanity.   (how words impact me.)   when I write I want to reach your soul, make you smile, laugh, knod your head, maybe even share a tear. I don’t always get what I want o

  John 12:1-8   Vs 1-2 Six days before the Passover, Jesus therefore came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. 2  So they gave a dinner for him there. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him at table. The time was six days before the Passover. This was the final week in Jesus ‘life before going to the cross. Jesus spent several nights in Bethany, east of Jerusalem.   He and his disciples went back to Bethany, where Lazarus lived and attended a dinner in Jesus’ honor.   According to Mark 14:1-11, they were in the home of Simon the Leper.   Simon came to Jesus when he was Galilee and asked him to heal him.   (A bold move for a person with leprosy.   The skin disease itself was incurable causing a person to be ritually unclean, socially untouchable and unapproachable because it was contagious. Leprosy was considered a visible illustration of sin) Jesus, moved with compassion for him,