Witness to an enigmatic miracle

         Nothing hurts more than potential for disconnect. How dare that I or anyone else throw mud on the people that gave one life. The issue for a witness enamors me with the majesty of God's love. I see through a dimmed fog filled mirror. Listen to a confession that knows the essence of reality reflected. I see my own distortions. I have been told by my family and others my story of salvation and miracle was bogus and worth no one's time. I knew nothing about pain and trauma. They would shrug off my vision like so much crap. Miracle in this context means looking for a sign/mighty act of God that might point others to a relationship with God even if evidence might say otherwise.

         It is my perceptions, not the pereception of others that enslaved me . In realizing this I do not brag on the fact that I am right and they are wrong. It is not at all true that I could read the minds of people who said they loved me or even know how their own past affected how they dealt with me. They did the best they could with what they knew. And as my mother said more often than I could number "you were loved and isn't that all that matters."

         So here is the miracle in a nutshell. I knew what it was like to be called stupid. At a very young age I was asked the question: "Is there anyone stupider than you?" Not long after that at the age of nine I was tested to see whether I was mentally retarded or not. I know my dad did not mean for me to feel the anguish and depression of that recorded tape in my brain. He had worked to get me a decent education after that and had been there when I needed him. Yet right or wrong the message stays with me. And to complicate matters more my mom told me during a suicidal stupor that I was born out of wedlock, which at the time she said it made me feel like I was an accident. Shortly before she told me that she
bargained with me and said she would give up cigarettes if I would stop being so depressed. I wish it was that easy. She loved me I know and yet I still wondered what it meant for me to be born at all. So here I was at some levels feeling stupid and worthless by the people that loved me more than life itself.

          Despite all this("distorted perception"} I would eventually graduate seminary and become a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Despite this I would arise out a crisis that involved me being in a state hospital. I was told at times I would never get out; yet here I am working with the intellectually disabled. I did not even care that I may have felt so stupid so much of my life knowing I could work with persons called slow and share with them how vital they were to life. I had three beautiful kids and have been married twice to two wonderful women. It is the enigma of the miracle that keeps me thirsting for more of life and wanting to share this truth with others. Here I am with a pain in the neck and aching back taking care of persons who call for me to be whole and healthy. In the past year I have been in a strange place called Erie, trying to make friends. It is in this place in Pennsylvania I have connected with a church that is the closest thing to what I can call family. If you are interested in the tale, they tell me that want me to continue. Otherwise as I rehearse as a mantra quite often of late: "Don't waste my time and I will not waste yours." The miracle is knowing that God can use our apparent weakness and foolishness to share what makes a relationship with God a lesson worth learning.