Brother

Brother,
brother,
in a room that was never in my home,
in a year which I remained unborn,
you made the decisions
which would allow us to roam,
together in adventures,
in a future not as distant.

Brother,
you brought me in
to your heart’s innermost rooms,
you sought me in
my hearts drowning cries.

Brother,
What’s that mean?
Yes, the word, just a word.

How come here, in this sphere
the meaning can be more real?
When the only blood we share, is that of our Lord?
Our family is stronger,
more unified when it’s from him.

Brother,
take a look at the change
you’ve seen.
My old life, my regretted choices,
a waiting bucket of kerosene.
But you had faith,
because of the promise you had already gleaned.
You knew the truth, that I had misidentified my identity.

I now no longer strive for those
that live to take,
and live to die;
for pleasures that bite like snakes,
and spin illusions to live inside.

Now I’m free to give it all,
to live beside those,
that will catch me if I stumble
and if I fall.

Brother in life,
forever beside.
No stronger bond
my brother in Christ.

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Countenance

As a preface, I usually write stories, but this is a song. It’s a song about being seen and heard when the difficulties that life and evil load upon us become too much to bear. It’s a song about having the confidence to step out and meet others where they’re at. It’s a song about being empathetic and being there for a friend or a stranger when you can see they need you to be.

Countenance,
countenance,

What’s this veil? This darkness? This eclipse in the midst of the son?

Countenance is down,
face is a frown that no one sees but one.

Please, show me your face, son.
Please, give me your grace, son.

You’re somehow gone, but not forgotten.
Your imprint lingers, but is washed away by these tides,
the doubts,
these lies,
these bouts of darkness when I can’t seem to see through.

This veil that was laid down on my face,
the vibrancy,
the life,
the spirit of Christ,
just a distant memory?

How? Why now, when it was all right?
When you walked the footsteps beside me Lord?

Countenance,
Countenance,

Shoulders slumped,
downtrodden,
face a frown.

Unapproachable, he’s down and…
Unapproachable, she’s down and…

Obeyed the call, a friend did, a neighbor did, a listener did.

To speak on behalf, of the Lord over all,
to speak peace, and grace, and light into someone’s darkened hall.

Lord, you heard my cry.
Brother, sister, you obeyed even though it didn’t feel right.

And now,

countenance,
countenance,

The lifted veil.

Countenance,
countenance,

How did I ever think you were gone.

Countenance,
countenance.

Radiate through my eyes, for Jesus has banished that lord of lies.

Countenance…
Head held high.

Countenance…
Praises bellowed, to the sky.

The Last Tattoo

    Grandpa lay in the bed, and said: “I think I would like a tattoo. I never got one before and I think now might be a good time.”

     His son sighed.  “Dad, your skin can’t handle it. It’ll bleed a lot. I’m sorry.”

     “Oh,” Jack said, slapping his gums together like in a movie, “well, isn’t that a shame. “

     At that moment, grandpa looked from his son to his grandson. He smiled at Jamie, and Jamie ran out of the room with his little flashing sneakers.

     Everyone sat there, on their phones, or swirling the couch fabric with their fingers, or looking at Grandpa with a pity so overwhelming it felt like they’d be sick; a sickness of being unable to help.

     Jamie had been the only one to be with Grandpa. To look into him.

     But Jamie was gone now, and with him, any comfort that Grandpa was grateful for.

     Now phosphorescence lit faces instead of smiles.

   Now touches were given to dusty books or pictures instead of needful hands.

     Words that screamed to be spoken were silenced by fear and embarrassment and uncertainty.

     Palpable tension strained the air as if it were an overtightened string on a guitar. It held like that for a few agonizing minutes until the instant Jamie slammed back through the door. A collective sigh rushed through the room and everyone stopped distracting themsleves with distancing themselves.

     Jamie held one thing in each of his hands.

     In his right hand was a wet wash cloth.

     In his left hand was what looked to be a small picture on a piece of paper.

     “I’m glad you came back, Jamie.” Grandpa’s crow’s feet crinkled near his eyes and pulled his cheeks up into a smile.

     Jamie placed the small picture facedown on the back of Grandpa’s hands and then set the cool cloth down on top of it. Then Jamie began counting.

     After thirty-two seconds, Jamie lifted the wash cloth away and peeled back the wet paper that clung to grandpa’s hand.

     “I was always going to come back, Grandpa. I’ll be here.”

     Grandpa lifted his hand and looked at the back of it. Tattood there, just permanently enough, was Superman. With his cape whipping behind him, fist outstretched as if it was guiding the rest of his body, and the grand crimson S saying that help was on the way, Superman flew across Grandpa’s weathered and unconquered hand.

      Grandpa admired it silently.

     “Thank you, Jamie. I think I’ll go now.”

      Jamie’s face quivered. He waved, as if Grandpa was just getting on a bus to go to town.

     Grandpa waved back. Then Grandpa closed his eyes.