The Unclad Soul

In my innocence I grew up believing in the goodness of people and all things. My parents and grandparents modeled this in front of me. I saw in them patience. Joy. Human warmth. Integrity. I felt their love and affection. I observed and absorbed their goodness.  I grew up extremely sheltered because of this. My world was small, provincial, full of church life.  I had great school friends. As a teen my buddies were not necessarily honor roll, but they were smart, athletic, and fun to be around. My girlfriends were cute, clever, flirtatious and, yes, honor roll.    Aren’t most girls? In college I wanted to be a broadcast journalist. I loved my speech and radio and TV production classes. But then, after an emotional church service I attended, I believed, as it was described then, that I was being “called into the ministry.” It wasn’t until I had my first rural church as a single, young, naive minister, barely out of college, that I began to understand t...

I went down to the memory lane And walked alone along the hazy trail I saw my boyhood and the dogs I owned And the field down the street where I played ball On hot summer days with my friends I walked into my grandparent’s house The little place a few blocks away Where love reigned and the hugs would never end And I felt a worth I’ve not since known I saw the art class in junior high Where I built a sculpture out of tiles A cathedral with a golden steeple That my mom kept for years in our home I waved at the girl I kissed under the bleachers At the football game in the high school stadium And she smiled at me like she did long ago And I remembered how sweet life was How easy the days all seemed to flow I drove my first car to the Dairy Queen And sat and watched the kids all come and go Their laughter was real and their faces beamed With innocence that now has disappeared From the faces of so many kids I know I sat in church and h...

If I was told there was a bomb in my building and I had five minutes to evacuate my apartment I’d grab a grocery bag and quickly toss these items into it: 1. A photo of my grandparents, Mom and Pop and me, when I was 15 years old. I learned what love is made of from them. I learned what it is to be kissed on and hugged in arms so tender they felt like God’s arms. I discovered self worth from those two angels in human flesh. Of all the people in my life, they were the ones who made me feel I counted. Honestly, whatever capacity I have to love others came from them. 2. A sentimental, dog-eared, stars in the margin copy of Pat Conroy’s, “The Prince of Tides.” It is a book I have read three times and often return to for its wisdom. It is a harsh, profoundly tragic novel, the story of a family so broken and tortured by such flawed and wounded people that it is sometimes difficult to turn the next page. And yet it is the story of such Herculean courage and endurance that you want...