It's Alright

I hadn’t thought much about my reaction. Truth is, I’d always kept that little bit of hope, that micro-glimmer – if there is even such a thing – of hope deep in the recesses of my mind that there’d be a “we” again. The card in tonight’s mail disabused me of that dream.

            It was from a friend saying he knew “Friday” (that’s tomorrow!) would be a difficult day but he knew I am “stronger” than I think and I will “endure” this.

            Strength; endurance; great words. Words of hope, and perseverance, and grace. Like I said, I hadn’t thought much about my reaction. Then I read the card and I felt the air go out of me … for a brief moment. Then I did the unexpected, at least to the old me. I opened my Bible and read Psalm 103. For six years that Psalm, “Bless the Lord O my soul and all that is within me bless His holy name,” has sustained me. I read that Psalm moments after I decided, sitting in that cell at the jail when all was lost, that I would go on because God expected me to never give up.

            There was something about those words that told me to endure, persevere, overcome. Every difficult decision, every bad day … or night, I’ve turned to Psalm 103. The pain, the sorrow and emptiness is still there, but it’s ok.

            “How does it feel

            How does it feel      

            To be on your own

            With no direction home

            A complete unknown

            Like a rolling stone”

            Dylan is blaring through my headphones. It’s always Dylan tunes on nights like this. Before I had my CD player in here I just wrote his lyrics down from memory, dozens of his songs, as if those words would suddenly open my minds-eye to what all this means. So I play “Like A Rolling Stone” a dozen times; I hear “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright;” I’m listening to Bob and the Band sing “I Shall Be Released” –

            “They say every man must need protection

            They say every man must fall.

            But I swear I see my reflection

            So high above this wall.

            I see my light come shining

            From the west down to the east

            Any day now, any day now

            I shall be released.”

            And of course, I play “Forever Young” over and over. How could I not? Those words were the first words I spoke/sang to both our sons moments after they entered their new world. “Our” sons; “Our” wedding; “Our” grief; “Our” is no more.

            As I write this, it is the eve of her remarriage. It was inevitable and I’ve accepted it (funny, like I could do anything to convince her otherwise). Every night since that August day in 2008 I’ve finished my day with prayers. They’ve always included her and her happiness and well being. I never prayed for reconciliation. Oh, I hoped for it; I daydreamed about her coming to see me, telling me she really did love me. Those were dreams. But my prayers – I knew what had to happen. So I asked God to watch over her, let her be happy.

            I’m not a strong man. I am weak and I am broken. God, however, in His infinite wisdom keeps telling me to go on. I do. I’m not sure why; I just know I can’t go back, I can’t stay here, I have to go on. I work out five days each week with a young Salvador-American. “O” is cut like a running back. We move weight the likes of which I never imagined I could lift. I’m his “project,” rebuilding me, muscle by muscle. Everyone around here notices how lean and muscular I’ve become. My body no longer looks like that of a 55 year-old man.

            Other guys have worked with us and quit. “Too intense,” they’ve said. I tell O “I’m not a quitter. I won’t give in; I’ll die first.” I have a quote pinned inside my locker from Ernest Hemingway. He wrote,

            “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”

            I love Hemingway’s simple understanding of the human condition. I see those words as I jot this down. Hemingway, you fucking genius! You know what I’m saying.

            I never got to tell her goodbye. I never got to say how sorry I am and how I only ever wanted her to be happy and love me. I don’t think she ever understood how I felt/feel about her, how I can’t listen to “Shelter From the Storm” without seeing her and wishing, wishing things were different.

            That’s not in the cards. Maybe that’s why I turned to Psalm 103. It says God is bigger than all this and He’s to be trusted. Maybe it’s just a placebo, but I always turn to Psalm 103 and I always go on, and this time is no different.

            “When you go nothing

            You got nothing to lose”

            Bob is right you know. It’s easy standing strong when there’s nothing left to pull at you and say “but what if …” The toughest thing for me these past six years was not reacting, not fighting back, not playing “what if.” So many times in the last year I wanted to write her and say, “please don’t” when I learned she was moving on. But, I couldn’t. “In love.” I learned what those words meant after August 2008. You love someone, they break your heart, still you do what has to be done. My friends tell me how courageous I’ve been; how strong. No one knows how much energy it takes to not write, not fight, not get angry, not quit.

            I look at my watch and know the vows are being exchanged. So, I open my Bible to Job:

            “Naked I came from my mother’s womb,

            And naked shall I return there.

            The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;

            Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

            And, I’m ok because I know what Job is talking about. I get it. My buddy DC checks on me. “Main man, you good?” He is always there, a brother I wouldn’t have recognized in his days of death and destruction, days of violence and a dead heart; here he is, a man who I love like a brother who knows what tonight is. He sees my smile and he knows I’m good, I’m through this.

            I’m thinking of Jim Croce. It’s November 1981 and my best man’s fiancé; a beautiful girl with huge expressive eyes and the voice of an angel is singing “our” song, “Time in a Bottle.” The song ends, the organist hits the first note and I look to the back of the church and I see her for the first time that day … and she is more beautiful than I could imagine. My life is in front of me; my life is perfect.

            Jim Croce died in a plane crash, too young and too soon. I think of him singing tonight, but it isn’t “our” song, it’s “Operator.”

            “Operator, oh could you help me place this call?

            Cause I can’t read the number you just gave me

            There’s something in my eyes, you know it happens every time

            I think about the love that I thought would save me”

            He laments the loss of his love and wants so badly to call and say “I’m good; I’m happy.” But, he then realizes there isn’t any reason to call her, to say what’s on his heart.

            “Operator, oh let’s forget about this call

            There’s no one there I really wanted to talk to …”

            No one there. Yeah, Jim, you were right. What was so long ago isn’t anymore. And that’s alright. All I can do is move on from here, be the best me I can be, and live, love and forgive. Don’t think twice about it; it’s alright.

            “So long honey babe

            Where I’m bound. I can’t tell

            Goodbye is too good a word babe

            So I’ll just say fare thee well

            I ain’t sayin you treated me unkind

            You could have done better

            But I don’t mind

            You just wasted my precious time

            Don’t think twice, it’s alright”

The Joshua Principle

This past week I found myself thinking back to an incident during my time at the receiving unit.  I had been placed in a cell with a psychotic 24 year-old gang leader beginning a 76 year sentence for the double murder of two rival gang members.  A day or two after my arrival, he asked me to read his appeal.  He wanted to make sure his court appointed lawyer wasn’t “screwing” him over.  What I read chilled me.  I realized I was in an 8 X 8 cell with a man who had no conscience.

One particular incident stood out in the paperwork.  He had held a gun pressed against the head of a six month old baby to force the parents to turn over a few thousand dollars in cash.  I couldn’t imagine such cold, detached behavior.  His eyes were black as coal.  He showed no empathy, no humanity.  He was prescribed psychotropic drugs to control his anger and stop “voices” he heard.  He pocketed the pills and sold them around the facility.  He preyed on the weak. On more than one occasion I saw him physically hurt another inmate.

By the time I met him I’d been in jail a little more than a year.  Shortly after my arrest I had contemplated taking my life.  I was afraid, lonely, and hopeless.  God, however, had other plans for me.  During my time at the jail I faced a number of difficult days.  On more than one occasion, my life was threatened.  Yet, I was never afraid.  I had made a deal with God in the jail and was sure, no matter what I faced, I’d be alright.

But prison receiving on this morning would test my belief.  Every morning at 5:00 am there was a standing count.  Every morning I stood.  Every morning, my cellmate lay in bed and yelled expletives at the officers.  On this particular morning, my cellmate was asleep when the officers came by.  There was a mutual hatred that existed between the counting officer and my cellie.  It had grown and festered over eighteen months of fights, verbal abuse, and disrespect.  This morning, the officer decided to get even.

I stood at the end of my bunk.  “Cover your ears”, the officer said to me before letting loose with a blast on his whistle.  The sound vibrated off the cell walls and startled my cellie.  He sat up too quickly and fell off his top bunk landing with a sickening thud.  He lay motionless.  Fearing he was hurt, I walked over to him and reached for his arm.  He jumped up, ran to the cell door and unloaded verbal volley upon volley at the officer.  Then, he turned his attention to me.

Pushing me against the cell door, he screamed at me with spittle coming off his lips.  “I’ll kill you. You stand again and I’ll rip your throat open and watch you drown on your own blood!” For a second, I stood frozen.  And then, I thought about my ex-wife and sons and how I let them down.  I failed them as a husband and father.  Everything I was going through was a direct result of my bad decisions and my fears.  And I realized right then that it’s a lot worse living with shame than standing – and possibly dying – for principle.

I don’t know why, but I stepped forward, into my cellmate.  “I’ll stand up everyday” I said.  “I’m better than this place.  I’ll do the right thing and I’ll get out of here.”  I waited for the attack.  But, it never came.  My cellmate turned around and climbed back in his bunk.  The next day I moved buildings.  Shortly after that, my cellie beat a middle aged white inmate severely.  That assault led DOC to finally ship him to a maximum security prison. 

Why am I telling this story?  It’s in response to a recent posting by an “Anonymous” reader who obviously knows me from the outside yet chooses to hide behind anonymity on the blog.  I never hide the truth when I write, and I don’t make smug accusations while hiding behind “Anonymous” postings.

One of my favorite Bible verses is in the first chapter of the book of Joshua.  The people of Israel have been wandering in the wilderness for forty years being cleansed and prepared by God.  It wasn’t easy and often time they felt abandoned and forgotten by their God.  “If only we’d stayed” was a common refrain.  God never breaks His promises and the day came for them to enter the Promised Land.  Problem was, their leader, the man who led them there – Moses – had died.  Joshua, a brave, trusted leader was called on to replace Moses.

And Joshua, naturally, wasn’t sure he was up to the task.  But then Chapter 1 begins and God speaks to Joshua and gives him two profound promises.  The first, do not fear; be strong and courageous because I am with you.  The second, do not turn to the left or right, but follow My path and you will succeed at whatever I give you.

I remember the first day in jail when I read those verses and I remember the overwhelming sense of peace and confidence I felt.  And it dawned on me that Joshua wasn’t chosen because he was perfect.  Just like Moses (a murderer), Joshua was very human; he failed and sinned.  God, however, knew what was in his heart.

I am frequently asked in here about certain aspects of my faith.  Guys will misread Romans 8:28 and say “God led me to prison”.  That’s not what Paul was saying.  He didn’t say “God makes you do everything you do for a good purpose”.  No, what he said was “God causes all things to work together for good….”  That means if – and when – we screw up, if we admit it and remember God’s promises, He will set us back on the road to the Promised Land.

My life is an open book.  I am not a perfect person and I have done a number of things I’m not proud of. And, nothing weighs on me more than the loss of my wife and sons.  But I wonder, “Anonymous” if you’re willing to shed the same light on your shortcomings?  I doubt that you are.  I can figure out who you are and then write back, detailing all your indiscretions, failures and improprieties – but why bother. 

See, in some very difficult, trying circumstances, God helped me to discover the person He always saw.  The fact that it had to come out through a place like this just proves God understands irony.

One of the lessons I’ve learned is the difference between so many of the men I’ve met in here and the folks I knew on the outside is merely one of degree.  “Anonymous” bears a lot of the same cold, unempathetic world views of my receiving unit cellmate.  It’s the view that we can’t step back and spend even a moment in someone else’s shoes.

Anonymous doesn’t know my full story, doesn’t know what went on behind closed doors at my home.  Worse, Anonymous doesn’t even take the time to ask what they would have done if facing the same choices I faced.  No, instead Anonymous smugly takes shots and thinks they are justified.

As Bob Dylan prophesized, “a hard rains gonna fall”.  Everyone screws up, everyone faces that moment staring into the abyss.  And some are given a second chance, maybe even a third or fourth chance.

How you judge is how you will be judged.  Pretty straight-forward isn’t it.  It’s a reminder that we all fall short and as Atticus Finch tells his daughter Scout in “To Kill a Mockingbird”, “we have to walk around in another man’s skin to understand them.”

I like to think my five years in this wilderness – caused by my own actions – have given me an opportunity to witness the humanity that exists even in places of despair such as this.  And, my eyes have been open to the failures the system creates.  And Anonymous, you don’t know what it’s like in here and if you think some people deserve it you are closer to being like that cellmate than you know.

I learned the Joshua principle early on in jail.  Perhaps, Anonymous, it’s time you pay attention to it as well.

Ryan, Magnetic and Others

In an excerpt from the late Steve Jobs recently published autobiography he explains his disagreement with Christianity.  Too many Christians, he suggests, don’t try and live like Christ and follow His teachings and instead focus on tenets of faith and belief.  I think Mr. Jobs may be on to something and it got me thinking about a lot of guys I deal with in here.

Ryan is in the top bunk next to me.  He’s rather short and a workout friend.  He’s built like a hobbit on steroids.  He also is an active practicing “Christian”, or so he describes himself that way.  He is constantly reading Bible commentaries, pouring over King James interpretations of verses, and looking up precise meanings of words from a Bible dictionary he keeps at hand.  He also attends Bible study and services three times a week.  And yet, Ryan is one of the most angry, distrustful, arrogant people I have ever met. 

“I don’t trust any of these scumbags,” Ryan told me the other day.  When I smiled he asked me what was so funny.  “I’m trying to remember where in ‘The Sermon on the Mount’ that line appeared?”  His curt response:  “Jesus doesn’t expect us to put up with a-holes.”  Somehow I think Ryan missed the entire point of the New Testament.

Then, there is “Magnetic”.   He’s a young kid who has become a philosopher.  He knows virtually everything (just ask him).  He’s toying with the “5%ers” philosophy (hence the name “Magnetic”, there is also “Unique”, “Dominion”, and “Sincere”, in the building.  They pick and choose various pieces of each religious philosophy like ordering ala carte at a restaurant).  Magnetic spoke often of “black Friday”, the day in the future when the oppressed masses overthrow the white majority.  “You’ll be fine Larry.  You care about us.”

Magnetic spouts forth Bible verses (and passages from the Koran) to support his logic.  It blew up in his face recently.  The college students (regular program) had intro to sociology.  Magnetic was enrolled in the class.  The Professor had effeminate mannerisms.  Magnetic announced in class that “God hates” homosexuals and therefore, he didn’t have to listen to anything the Professor said.  The instructor left word for the school principal.  “I won’t tolerate ridicule like that.  He’s out.”  The principal concurred and Magnetic was removed from college.  Yesterday he was moved.  Before he left he asked me if I thought he was wrong to try and uphold a “Biblical principle”.

I thought for a moment about my response.  I reminded him I’m in prison for a “theft”.  “Thou shalt not steal.  My marriage – a church marriage – failed miserably.”  So I asked him, who am I to judge whether that instructor is living right?

I think a great deal about the lessons, the requirements of faith, and the more I think about them the more I realize I didn’t know a thing about what God really requires of us.  Over and over I hear the words from the prophet Micah, “What does the Lord require of you?  Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly before your God.”

Guys in here – Ryan, Magnetic and hundreds more – put on a show.  They “philosophize” about the big complex questions of existence; they memorize prayers and verses; they recite rules and principles of conduct, and they miss the simple message Steve Jobs addressed:  they forget to live like Christ. 

And as I thought about that I realized prison isn’t so different from the real world.  If only we were more compassionate, more forgiving, more merciful.

The other week I received a letter from a man I’d never met.  He’d heard of my situation from a mutual friend and wrote a letter which contained among other things, an interview with the former Catholic Bishop of Richmond, a tireless advocate for prison reform.  It was a warm letter and touched me deeply.  This man and his wife did not know me, yet they wrote to bolster my spirits.  Perhaps Steve Jobs was a little too quick to miss the efforts of some to live a little more like God intended.

Bob's Singin: Is Anyone Listenin?

My cousin wrote me and mentioned her stepson and his wife had been to see Bob Dylan in concert and he was “unintelligible”. I’m a huge Dylan fan and used to say you could understand anything in life with a Dylan song or baseball.



I think about Dylan lyrics quite frequently in here. Somehow a great deal of what Dylan wrote makes sense when you’re locked up, deprived of your freedom.


Here’s a thought: incarceration is an inhuman punishment. With very few exceptions (sociopathic personalities), the vast majority of men and women in prison could be rehabilitated without incarceration or substantially shorter sentences.


For most men and women locked up, prison is a debilitating mind breaking, soul breaking experience. I read an interesting article recently by an African American Washington Post writer bemoaning the fact rappers who have done time talk about how “bad” they were in the system. Fact is prison alters you in so many ways; for most men and women, the changes are for the worse.


“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you will call him a man
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand
How many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they are forever banned . . . .”


There are some who fight the despair and refuse to give up their freedom of self, of consciousness. They fight against becoming institutionalized.


I have had the privilege of meeting a small group of men like that. They accept responsibility for their crimes, yet never give up learning, never give up striving, never give up hoping for freedom. Though some are murderers, some armed robbers, and drug dealers; they are more humble, compassionate, and caring than any other men I’ve known. They have become more than brothers to me.


Prisons are poorly run and insufficiently equipped to handle the vast majority of societal ills that are comingled behind their walls. Even at a place like this, a lower custody, dormitory style center, the inmates act with each other and staff in a Darwinian ballet. The strongest prey on the weakest; intellect only sometimes overcomes physical strength; the sick and infirmed get worse.


But, prisons are big business. In 2011 it is estimated the federal and state prison systems will spend over $55 billion to operate its prisons. That is more than is projected to be spent by U.S. Forces in Iraq.


“How many years can a mountain exist
Before it is washed to the sea
How many years can a people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free
How many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see . . .”


We claim to be a moral country, a moral people, yet we maintain a criminal justice system that leads the world in the number of people behind bars. I wonder how a nation, so committed to spreading freedom and justice worldwide can fail so miserably ensuring it within its own borders.


A majority of Americans consider themselves “Christian”. They fail to realize that the religion they profess to follow is diametrically opposite the lifestyle they lead. Consider that the vast majority of the New Testament, that portion of the Bible dedicated to spreading the word about the resurrected Jesus was written by men in and out of prison. Almost every one of Paul’s Epistles were written behind bars. An elderly John wrote the Book of Revelation while imprisoned on the Island of Patmos doing hard labor. Peter, Stephen, James and hundreds others were imprisoned, tortured, and killed by the powers that be.


We forget that those men who today we consider saints, were “back in the day”, criminals, human garbage, troublemakers. They challenged the societal norms and domestic order of the world’s only superpower, a nation-state more dominant than any in the history of humankind. They challenged a religious order and doctrine that placed greater emphasis on law than grace, a religious establishment that arrogantly held its followers superior to any other.


Do you every wonder why Jesus told his disciples to forgive “seventy times seven?” Do you ever wonder why He told the crowd how they treat “the least of my brothers” is how they shall be judged (and He included those in prison)? Do you ever ask yourself why Paul, in prison, told the Ephesians to “forgive as Christ forgave you?”


These men, these saints of the faith most Americans profess, were societal outcasts, misfits, problems. It was easier for the Roman and Jewish authorities to imprison them, stone them, hack them to pieces, or crucify them than deal with them.


I live with twelve hundred misfits, degenerates, drug addicts, murderers, drunks, mentally challenged men. We are part of 40,000 Virginia outcasts, part of three million criminals, losers, problems, kept confined in despicable conditions. Most have given up and accept that being treated like this for what they did is Karma, their fate. But some refuse. They don’t sit quietly. They shout out “I am a child of God, I will be free!”


“How many times must a man look up
Before he sees the sky
How many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
How many deaths will it take ‘til he knows
Too many people have died
The answer, my friend is blowin in the wind . . . .”


Bob’s singin and I’m hearing every word. It is a call to action, a call to change, a call to address the ills we see. Prison reform must occur. Too many lives are being squandered; too many resources being wasted. The choice is up to each person. Do we do what we profess and ‘trust in the Lord with all our heart” or do we keep doing the same thing, locking people up, damaging them, making them worse. There has to be a better way.


The price we will pay for keeping things “as is” will be more in prison, more broken families, more children raised without fathers, more disparity.


Bob’s singin. I wonder how many are listening. We need to change now or “a hard rain’s gonna fall.”

A Father's Letter

To my precious sons –



I haven’t heard from either of you in an extremely long while. For me, it feels like a lifetime. Your mom censors what I write to you. I pass no judgment on her decision to do that. Ultimately, she will have to decide in her own conscience if her behavior throughout this time has been appropriate.


I use this posting to put on paper some thoughts I’ve had about our circumstances, what we’ve been through, what I’ve learned. My intention is not to justify “why” this happened. If you want the whole story you know where to find me.


No, my purpose is to share with you some life lessons I’ve learned throughout this process. I won’t criticize you or your mom. Fact is, I love you three deeply, more deeply than any of you can imagine. Not a day goes by that I don’t pray about you three. I only hope and pray that your lives are joyful and peaceful. If that means life for you goes on without me, I can live with that. From the moment I was arrested, every decision I made was to protect you and mom. I’m not proud of the decisions and behavior that led me here, but I look myself in the mirror every morning with a clear conscience knowing at the worst moment in my life, I did the truly selfless, loving things necessary to take of you three. You may not realize it now, you may never admit it to me, but it’s the truth.


And, truth is a funny thing. I’ve heard a great deal about lying and how important honesty is. Ironically, the people who talk the most about honesty, the people who tell you over and over how truthful they are, end up being the very people who can’t deal with honesty and who lie to themselves.


This experience has, in many ways, been liberating for me. Everything about my life is now an open book. Most people can’t say that. They hide behind secrets and pray no one finds out. Here’s the thing – everyone lies, everyone keeps secrets. Honesty is hard. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.


I’m not suggesting it’s OK to lie. But, before you hold your head up proud as a peacock and tell everyone how important honesty is, think back on all the little white lies you’ve told.


There are however, five traits that I think matter a great deal more.


They are courage, mercy, forgiveness, love and hope.


Courage means doing the right thing, doing the selfless thing, when everything is on the line and you’re afraid, so afraid that you can’t even see straight; yet, you still find the inner strength to do what has to be done even if it costs you everything. And, you hold no grudge. You don’t look back.


And boys, there are damn few people who are courageous. If you want to learn about courage, read about people who have been on the brink of losing all yet didn’t give up. It’s not courageous to get up, go to work, and be an honorable person. That’s expected. What is courageous is admitting when you’ve done wrong and willingly accept the consequences. It may not always seem fair, but no one ever said life was fair.


Courage means fighting through and overcoming fear and despair. My hope and prayer for you is you never have to come face to face with your or your family’s entire life at stake. But if you do, I know you’ll act courageously.


I never considered myself courageous. Fact is, I always felt like a chicken. But when things mattered most I found courage, I took more than my share of punishment. Almost everyone that claimed to love and care about me abandoned me. And still, I stood up and made sure you guys and mom would be protected. A great many people think I was foolish handling things the way I did. Even having gone through this, I’d still do the same thing today.


Mercy is so important and in such short supply. It literally means showing compassion to an offender. Here’s the thing. We all offend. We all hurt someone we care for. Mercy boils down to kindness, simply treating someone the way you’d want to be treated if you were in their shoes.


When I was in the jail, a young black man (your age “D”) came in strung out on heroin. I didn’t even know heroin addiction existed. I thought it was a 60’s and 70’s problem. Anyway, this kid was sick, as physically ill as anyone I’d ever seen. They couldn’t put him in a cell because he was constantly vomiting and losing bowel control. They left him on a cot in the middle of the day room with a bucket to puke in and soiled sheets.


His body physically craved heroin. It was, perhaps one of the saddest things I’d ever seen. This young man, shivering and sweating, unable to hold any food down, covered in his own waste. I sat daily with that kid. I made sure the staff got him clean linens and the nurses brought his medicine to him.


I’m not quite sure why I did it, I just know we spend way too much time judging and condemning each other when we should be offering a helping hand. I’ve spend a good deal of time reading and trying to understand the Bible. A great deal in there is about how we treat others is how God will ultimately judge us. I’ve learned it’s easy to think yourself superior, free of human failings and weaknesses. The fact is, we all screw up and we all need someone to lean on.


And mercy goes hand in hand with forgiveness. Boys, if you never listen to anything else I say, listen to this: always forgive. It is the toughest thing to do, and the most necessary, at least if you truly believe you’re a Christian.


When Jesus told Peter to forgive his brother seventy times seven, He meant it. Don’t hold anger, don’t be bitter. Forgive. We always want to condition our forgiveness, “If you do this, then I’ll forgive you”. Or, we say “I forgive, but I’ll never forget”. That’s not forgiveness, boys. Forgiveness is letting go, saying its over and forgotten. It’s about restoration and reconciliation of broken lives, broken relationships. It’s damn hard, probably the hardest thing you’ll ever do – I know. It’s also necessary.


For me, it boils down to this: “as God forgave you, so forgive others”.


Love goes hand in hand with all of this. But be careful. We say “I love you” way too easily when we don’t mean it. Love can overcome anything. Ultimately, life comes down to love.


I don’t buy the line “I used to love you, but I don’t anymore”. If that’s the case, it wasn’t really love. People we love hurt us. I’ve been on both ends of that as well.


I returned my wedding ring to mom. She told me I could keep it, but I didn’t see the reason. A wedding ring has no beginning, no end. It is given to represent complete, whole love. There’s a reason Jesus spoke over and over about not divorcing. Couples are supposed to love each other the way God loves us – unconditionally, even when we screw up. That’s what the vows mean.


Can you imagine God ever saying “I don’t love you anymore?” God wouldn’t do that. He loves us in spite of our failings. He never gives up on us. And, if we believe in Him, we are supposed to love the same way.


I’ll always love your mom and every day I’ll thank God for the time we had together and I’ll pray she is happy. I wish she hadn’t divorced me, wished she thought we could survive this. But, loving her means accepting what she’s done even when it broke my heart. She’s a wonderful woman and I feel truly blessed to have had her in my life.


Love is wonderful, but it’s also tough, the toughest thing there is. It requires patience, understanding and commitment. Most of all, it never gives up.


Finally boys, there’s hope. Hope is the same as faith. It’s knowing when you go through the valleys of life’s disappointment, failures, heartache, and loss that you’re not alone and you’ll get through.


I’ve had amazing experiences in my life. Some days seemed better than I could have ever imagined like the days you both were born. But other days have been worse than I can even express. And I won’t kid you and say I just got through them. I didn’t. I wondered how I’d make it and even if it was worth it. It was in those darkest, loneliest moments I found my faith and hope.


There’s a great Bible verse from Paul’s letter to the Romans in chapter 5, that I recite daily. It goes:


“…we also exult in our tribulations knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character, and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint . . .”


I try to live each day by those words.


No matter how bad things appear, no matter how lost everything seems, there is always tomorrow. You take each day as it comes and keep fighting, keep praying.


I have found so many blessings through this experience. I wish things were different, wish we were together as a family, wish mom and I were still married. Yet, still I am blessed.


Nothing that has happened, nothing that you do, will stop me from loving you. I’ve always loved you and always will. Just as with mom, even though we are apart, you remain in my constant thoughts and prayers.


Be kind to each other. Love and care for each other and your mom.


You are the greatest blessing and joy in my life.


Love,


Dad