The Making of a Leaders Ministry.

I desecrate good ideas and opportunities of progress by scratching my own thoughts into their backs like cheap a fake nailed, smooth arms, and bright red lipped woman does to business men. They could talk, but I'm only interested in the blank paper on the other side.

With my bright graffiti polished nails I scratched pictures of men pulling, pushing, or holding conflicting concepts into the back of a paper already dedicated to teaching people how to become better leaders. Like a whore to a married man, I put my own self into all the cracks that aren't consumed by leadership ramblings. I could probably read about it, just a little, get the gist of the general direction, but I am selfish, and my thoughts are my own.

" (2) It is the means through which a leader is prompted by God to sense the need for and accept a new assignment."

Sometimes that damn voice sneaks in, joined by a hint of conviction.

...

I wrote a poem! Oh, yes I did, a wonderful poem! About truth and love and God and thoughts much less mundane then the ones we preach. My poem captures poetry. Isn't this much better then listening? Are my actions not feeding this poor child of mine who lives up there in my head, telling my mouth what to taste, my ears what to hear, and my eyes what to see?
Of course, we feel better now.

"Everything we read might just be some inside joke.
A really good one shared by old near east farmers in a tent long ago.
We don't understand that it was all once made up,
But that was then, and this is now, and what exists has always been.
Shivering winter cold, blistering summer heat,

Truth don't need no explaining.
Put your head on a pillow and shut them eyes. "
- A

I got to wondering about paradoxes and anomalies, I wonder If I grabbed them awkwardly with my giant fake nails, would they pull apart and split my sinuous back like a chef to a chicken, cooking some divine feast for God?

Or are they rubber band handcuffs that i must pull apart flexing my wimpy biceps and deltoids?

Maybe they are the shackles that keep me in my body, hooked to the wrist and then a wall.

A = God is sovereign over all.
B = God is not responsible for the fall.

|A-----<-man->-----B| ... do these truths pull a man apart?
|A----->man<-----B| ... do these truths constrict a man to earth?
|Q----|A----|man|----B|----Z| ... or might we be a beautiful chain link fence?

" First look inward.
Now, look outward,
Compare and contrast.
Empathize, identify,
Then love the outside,
Like you give grace to the inside. "

You have my grace then, for I am a whore in so many ways, and you might just be an angel.

"Don't be frightened when I fight all of this logic
With bouts of 'who cares?', and 'nothing's gonna move me'.
Logic is a circle and a giant lying ring.
Science is a slowly being-built-gui-llu-tine.
And all our love of life is so fleetingly misleading.
What is, is. What isn't, isn't.
(Until the isn'ts are mentioned, then they must is.)

But truth don't need no explaining,
Because we'll never understand. "

And I remember now How when I was whore, I accepted love from none. And I see, now that I am not one, how we are all whores over again. we create minuses creating positives. Multiplying, we create negatives in ever cascading babel towers that everyone frowns upon.
We are ugly, and we do not accept what is, just like I did not accept love.

"I wish I could peal back the lid of God's mystery like a sardine can,
I'm a vegetarian, and I want to preserve our oceans, but I would have a sardine feast!
But I cant, He just is,
And truth don't need no explaining."

Ponder this, and wonder this, praise the one who gave you this. (not me, not the poem, just God). In the end you'll end up yelling, 'God is like a blade of grass, or a universal T.V remote!'
He is, He might be, and everything's a mixed blessing.

"In my mind I travel at the speed of God,
My body isn't God, I got to slow it down.
I've never known a man as foolish as me,
To loose so much grip on reality."