Because I Said I Would

"Imagine there's no Heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us 

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today"

~ John Lennon ~ 

As many of you know by now, I travel Interstate 35 between Dallas and Lincoln, Nebraska on a regular basis.  Yes, I know 35 doesn't go all the way to Lincoln.  That's beside the point.  Just south of Oklahoma City, right next to the 4-lane highway, sits the giant billboard you see above.  And it bothers me.  But probably not for the reasons you think it does.

Many of you probably also know I'm not a Christian which may lead you to believe I find the sign offensive in some way because it isn't in keeping with my personal beliefs.  Not so.  I posted this picture and a comment equating this sign to fear-mongering on my Facebook page and was met with only mild opposition.  One particular comment came from a man I consider a friend and I absolutely loved his response.  He pointed out the sign may only be meant to raise awareness.  Noted.  He also went on to say he preferred to believe in a good, loving and merciful God (paraphrased).  I was glad to hear that from him and I promised him a response.  It's just too long for Facebook so here it is.

There are a couple things that jab at me about this sign, but the most agonizing for me is it doesn't seem to be from the loving and kind Jesus Christ for whom Christians profess their faith.  It seems more like a scare tactic.  I can only speak for me, but it seems the authors of this billboard want you to jump on board based on fear of burning for all eternity in a place called Hell.  And as a FORMER Christian, I understand if even one soul were saved based on the message from this board, it would all be worth it.  I get that.  But when I DID follow the Christian faith, I was a voracious student of the Bible.  I'm no expert by any stretch, but I can tell you this.  Jesus didn't preach based on fear.  Don't take my word for it.  Read the Gospels for yourself.  I don't think you'll find a place where Jesus did anything more than gently urge people to give up all they had and follow him.  I know that's oversimplified, but for the sake of space I think you get my drift.

I believe Jesus lived.  I don't believe he embodies the Holy Spirit today, but I'll tell you what I DO believe.  Jesus may have been the most spiritually enlightened man who ever lived.  He got it.  And he walked the walk.  I don't believe the teachings of the religion loosely built around Jesus' teachings, but I believe Jesus lived love.  To that end, this billboard does NOT promote peace.  When I began looking at spiritual sources outside the Bible, I found Jesus' words to be entirely in line with teachings of Zen, Buddha and many others.  They all got it.  It's us who twisted it.  So I implore you who are reading this to study outside the box of your religion.  If you're Christian, read the Quran.  If you're Muslim, read the Bible.  Read about Buddha, Islam, Hinduism........read them all!  If you're like me, you might find none of them are that much different at the core.

The second and less important issue with this sign is purely speculation on my part.  But I wonder what the people who pay to have this sign posted along the road would say if a similar billboard promoting Islam or Mormonism were put next to it.  I fear in this country we've learned to equate being Conservative with being Christian.  It isn't so.  The First Amendment of the Constitution of these United States guarantees each of us freedom to practice the religion of our choosing....or none at all.  Some argue the authors of the Constitution intended us to be "one nation under the God of the Bible".  I understand why they might believe that, as most of our founding fathers were Christians themselves.  But they were too smart for that.  If they meant THEIR God, I feel certain they'd have made that clear. 

So I'm clearly a little rusty at the rambling.  I've been away for some time working on the book (shameless plug).  All I really want to say is this.  There are over 10,000 religious sects worldwide all claiming to have the truth.  I'd prefer the authors of this billboard take a more loving approach, but I respect their right to free speech and religion as long as they do the same.  This is an old message I'm just trying to say in a different way.  We aren't that different.  I haven't read about all 10,000 sects, but the ones I have read all teach love, peace and unity.  Yes....even the Quran. 

Let's stop trying to scare each other in to belief.  We're all going to know the truth soon enough.  In the meantime, how about we just love each other.    

Snippet of Lesson 28

Lesson Twenty-eight

GREAT THINGS CAN COME FROM “BAD” DECISIONS

“Even cats grow lonely and anxious.”

~Mason Cooley~

     The thick grayish haze hung heavily near the ceiling adorned with black-painted duct work.  What air you could find was dense with the aroma of stale beer, cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.  It’s difficult to look cool and smile when you can barely breathe, but single men try to pull it off every night in every bar across the land.  We’re tougher than we look.

     I had my back to the bar closest to the women’s restroom and leaned back between two stools and against the polished oak edge.  The heel of my left foot rested on the short step which resulted in a knee so slightly bent.  My heavily starched Wranglers made it hard to move as I scoured the dimly lit room with cigarette in one hand, cold beer in the other.  I was cooooooool, man.  Cool.

     Here I was, less than a month after Jackie’s final departure to Nebraska, standing in the same bar where she met her hot tub friend.  It was an enormous honky-tonk just outside Greenville with a circular dance floor the size a skating rink.  The dance area was separated from the dozens of wobbly tables by a rickety, yet Texas-looking wooden rail.  It was Billy Bob’s but without the steroids and the only real dance club for miles.  All the locals went to Texas Star for the weekend to dance and romance.  At least I hoped so.

     I truly didn’t take notice of her until I began to realize she was being asked to dance on a regular basis by guys other than her apparent date.  He looked a bit out of place anyway in his Air Force uniform.  Apparently in Texas, asking another guy’s girl to dance is acceptable.  But where I come from, a repeated stunt like that would have resulted in an ass-whoopin’ for somebody.

     They were sitting at a round table just to my left.  After she got up to dance for the sixth or seventh time with someone else, I approached the airman. 

     “Is that normal down here?” I asked.

     “Is WHAT normal?”

     “You know, having other people dance with your girl all night.”

     “I wouldn’t know.  I’m not from around here.” He said as he glanced over his shoulder to watch her return from her latest spin around the floor.

     I politely excused myself form the table as she approached and returned to my position at the bar, this time taking a stool.  I continued to watch the bar, afraid to actually speak to anyone, when I saw her get up to dance still another time.  On the way back she walked directly up to me, put her hands on my knees, and with eyes I later learned reflected drunkenness said, “Hi.  My name’s Renee and you can dance with me any time you’d like.”  Then she walked away.  Well, ok then!

Snippet from Lesson 21 of the Book

                               Lesson Twenty-One

                Some things really shouldn’t come easily.

      "The only job where you start at the top is digging a hole.”

                                  ~Unknown~



“Ahem. Pssst! Psssst!! MATT!”

“What”?

“Hop in the truck. We have some paperwork to finish in the office”, Jack said.

“We do”?

“Yes, we do. These other guys can finish up here. I need you back in the office.”

Once inside Jack’s pickup, he just smiled at me as we steered a course southwest for Texarkana, Texas, some thirty miles from our current location in Arkansas.

“We’re out of beer”, he grinned.

So that was our code. When Jack needed me back in the office, we were out of beer and needed some male bonding time, cruising the back roads of Arkansas looking for mischief. They were some amazing days of feeling carefree.

One of the few benefits of my relationship with Janine (besides the birth of our daughter of course) was becoming friends and eventually an employee of her brother, Jack. Although three years my senior, Jack was the first to really demonstrate for me a life of fearlessness.

Although his parents dreamed of him being a doctor, Jack sat in pre-med classes dreaming of owning his own business. Once he earned his degree, that’s exactly what he did. He moved to Texas with his wife Dawn and started his own utility construction business. Although he started small, his business eventually grew to near 2.5 million dollars in annual revenue. And then he went bankrupt. From that financial hurdle Jack emerged at the top with yet another business venture with two partners in Indiana. It went great for years and when that business failed he started another…..and another. In between, if Jack didn’t have an income stream, he took up sales of some kind or another. He never considered how he was going to do things. He just did them. There were times in my younger days I had a hard time understanding his method, but it’s crystal clear to me today. He lived in the moment.

I also considered Jack’s wife Dawn as a close friend and she was equally fearless. She “followed” Jack wherever his dreams led and always seemed to support him. I can’t be sure, but I suspect there were times the risks caused tension in their marriage, but they always seemed to thrive.

Dawn, herself, went to medical school and earned her M.D. while raising their two children and moving around the country with Jack. Since that time, she has rarely actually practiced medicine to any great degree which again always made me pause and wonder why someone would to that. Today I see her quest and applaud the fact that she did it. It’s not a question of why, but why not? She’s a doctor! Who cares if she owns her own clinic!

On another occasion, Dawn spent two weeks in the mountains cross-country skiing, living in igloos, completely out of contact with civilization. It was enormously adventurous and no-doubt, dangerous. I had vast respect for them both, although as I’ve stated, I didn’t always understand their motives when I was younger.

Jack and Dawn were the first two people with whom I remember really discussing religion. Jack obviously grew up in the same Methodist family as his sister and Dawn was raised in a house of staunch Catholics. Yet somehow, they seemed more open-minded; more forward-thinking. We would sit around the campfire on little campouts and discuss the vastness of our universe, or the presence of God. We discussed the silliest things like whether or not saying “Goddammit” was really taking the Lord’s name in vain since you didn’t really MEAN that you wanted God to “damn” someone or something. We discussed heaven and hell, the contents of the Bible and much, much more. Beer will do that for you!

Texarkana was a curious town. Set fully in the heart of the “bible belt”, Texarkana is split down the middle between Texas and Arkansas. The Texas side of Main Street was lined with Liquor stores since that particular Texas county was “wet”. The Arkansas side of Main Street was lined with laundry mats because THAT particular county in Arkansas was “dry”. I could write an entire book about the ridiculous liquor laws spattered across the bible belt, but suffice it to say, if we wanted alcohol in Arkansas, we went to Texas to get it. (Or to the little drive-thru trailer house where a guy sold bootleg beer). In theory, you had to be careful not to buy too much lest you be arrested for bootlegging while crossing Main Street back in to Arkansas. Like I said, ridiculous.

The case of Bud Light was iced down and well within reach as Jack and I began our long, winding trek back to Hope via the back roads of eastern Arkansas. It was frosty cold and flowed freely down the backs of our parched throats as we took turn after unmapped turn down gravel roads, discussing the state of the world, how we wanted his business to grow, how I fit in to that plan, and how we were going to spend all our money in the lap of luxury. The more we drank, the wealthier we became. Those were great days.

The lightly asphalted “farm-to-market” road began to veer a bit to the left and expose the tall sand embankment of a crystal-clear gravel pit. The deep pool of man-made water was surrounded on all sides by tall mounds of sand, nearly fifty feet high in some places and littered with dry brush trying to take root and flourish. We cruised by slowly, our fifth or sixth beer on the way to our stomach, and shared the same thought at the same time. “Should we”?

Jack had recently purchased a new 4X4 truck that was just begging to be tested. Without saying a word, Jack turned the truck perpendicular to the small road and faced the overshadowing mound of sand. From our drunken vantage point, it looked straight up. His foot hit the floor as he drove the accelerator forward and the truck sped the short distance to the enormous sand pile. “Woo hoo!!!” I screamed.

The front wheels of the monster truck sunk in the sand and then grabbed ever so slightly as we pointed skyward and began to inch our way up the sand.

“Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv”, you could hear the tires saying as they spun and tossed sand and sticks everywhere as they inched us toward the top! And then just as we neared the crest, the sand defeated us in the first battle of this war and we slid back down until our bumper scraped the road. By maneuvering until we nearly tipped over, we were able to free the bumper, back across the road and take another run. Same result. At least four times we tried to pound, claw and grind our way to the top of the sand with Jack’s fancy truck, but it just wasn’t to be. Gravity and the slippery sand won every time.

Giggling like school girls, yet defeated, we parked the truck and “walked” to the top of the sand. From the apex of the mound we stared out over the deep, cold, clear water and, mouths hanging open, realized our fortune. Had we succeeded in cresting the mound, we would have plunged immediately into the bottomless pit! There are a couple lessons there I’m sure.

One, don’t drink and drive. Two, a little planning never hurt anything. Three, it wasn’t gravity and sand that “defeated” us, but the universe saving us for another day. Everything happens for the right reason at the right time and two drunk boys drowning in Arkansas wasn’t meant to happen that day. But we weren’t quite finished.

Snippet of Chapter Six From the Book in Progress

“Life is as dear to the mute creature as it is to a man. Just as one wants happiness and fears pain, just as one wants to live and not to die, so do other creatures.”

~His Holiness, The Dalai Lama~



Human body-sized bergs of ice floated gingerly down Salt Creek, occasionally coming up for air, as my brother and I waded carefully downstream donned in our heavy coats, rubber gloves and hip waders. Barren elm trees towered over our heads along opposing banks, disrobed by yet another brisk fall and frigid early winter.

My brother and I were winter fur trappers and traders. It fit in nicely with the fantasy I’d developed of being a mountain man. It also helped supplement my allowance and put gas in my car. During some seasons I pocketed as much as 400 dollars, which was a small fortune to a teenager.

It was like this most every winter before the hard freeze. Just before the creek froze solid, finally succumbing to sub-zero temperatures, chunks of ice would begin to form and drift along, bumping my brother and I in the back of the legs as we waded along checking our muskrat traps which lined both sides of a creek that varied in depth from ankle to chest. Although we were familiar with the layout of the river, a wrong step would mean filling your waders with icy fluid which at worst could pull you under and drown you. At best, the temperature of your entire lower torso would begin to plummet and the pain and discomfort of approaching frostbite made a usually peaceful outing excruciating. Stepping in a hole and filling our hip waders had happened to each of us at least once and it was NOT a feat we cared to repeat.

On this particular sunny, yet frosty Saturday morning, we were moving our traps downriver to a place where we hadn’t yet depleted the population of muskrat. Adding to the intrigue of the ice formations trying to drag us under was the small detail of reports a man had drowned upstream in Lincoln a few days before. No body had been recovered and the search spanned a portion of the river we explored. In other words, every time we were bumped by a chunk of ice, we were sure we had just been discovered by the ghost of Salt Creek. We were both pretty spooky in those days and watching us jump and gasp must have made a hilarious spectacle. In fact, hearing my brother and I share those tales back home was another thing that actually made my dad smile.

We had just completed checking our traps along “Old Salt Run”, a stagnate body of moss- layered filthy water which ran from the local cesspool westerly until in dumped into Salt Creek. It was rich with muskrat and we chose to leave those traps where they were for the time being and concentrate on moving the torturous metal objects that lined both sides of the larger creek.

Now would probably be a good time to offer a little background on the “art” of trapping muskrat. You may not like it, but at least it will offer a glimpse in to how we captured the furry prey on a shallow river. Our basic premise was to watch the creek banks for signs of activity in the form of muskrat tracks or dens that were dug into the side of the river. Once a suitable spot was chosen, we would place a steel trap just below water level right against the bank. The end or chain of the trap was then tied to a stake which we placed away from the bank in deeper water. Once the unsuspecting rodent found his leg embraced by the unforgiving steel, the current would pull him into deeper water where he would then drown. We knew we had a catch when there was no trap visible along the bank. A lone stake with no visible trap meant we had added one to our bag of goods. On rare occasions we would find empty traps where larger muskrat had chewed off a leg in order to escape. As gruesome and unforgiving as it sounds now, it was just normal fare back then. I seldom gave it a second thought.

During the previous week we had noticed that raccoon had burrowed a large den under a large tree directly across the river from one of our traps. Although raccoon pelts brought substantially more money than muskrat, we just weren’t rigged for trapping them so we stuck to larger numbers of pelts with lesser value. We had discussed trying to trap some of the raccoon family, but collectively decided it just wasn’t worth the retooling.

As we approached the trap directly across from the raccoon den, we made a discovery that caught us both by surprise. Although our intent was to merely check the trap and move it downstream, what we found stopped us knee-deep in frigid water. We looked at each other in amazement. An unsuspecting raccoon, while walking down the river bank looking for food, had stepped in our muskrat trap. Apparently the coon’s extra weight and size made it possible for him to step up higher on the bank rather than being pulled into the deeper water. There he stood, firmly grasped by the cold steel, glaring in amazement now at the two men responsible for his predicament.

I have to admit our first response was to count money since a raccoon pelt meant thirty-five dollars as opposed to just the four or five dollars we received for a good muskrat. The raccoon’s pitiful predicament quickly created a second response from both of us, which was that we should just release him to be reunited with his family across the river. We just stared at each other and shook our head. How on earth were we supposed to approach an angry, cornered raccoon and just let him go? There was no way on earth this bandit-faced rascal was going to let us anywhere near him. He hissed, and glared and pulled back on the trap, reminding us of the cruelty of his plight.

We discussed several options, all of which eventually led to one of us being face-to-face with the angry critter while we tried to loosen the trap. Try as we might to muster a solution that didn’t require such close quarters, neither of us could come up with a thing. And even if we could, we wondered, how would he fair in the wild with a broken leg? It seemed the raccoon’s fate was determined by a power higher than ours and we clearly couldn’t just leave him.

Farewell Signs

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven."  -Ecclesiastes III-

"Good writing takes more than just time; it wants your best moments and the best of you."

-Real Live Preacher, RealLivePreacher.com weblog, 10-09-04-
 
"But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew, upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think."

-George Gordon Byron-
 
The signs are everywhere and no longer possible to ignore.  I knew it was happening when I couldn't generate a blog concept regarding the Islamic Cultural Center at Ground Zero.  What started as a tiny seed of thought took root and today came full circle during my jog.  It's time to stop blogging and start my book.
 
Rambings of a 138 has been my baby.  It's also been my refuge; my hiding place, if you will, from bigger and better things.  Those who know me well, know that the entire concept for this blog came from a personal journal I began over two years ago.  That journal was raw and uncensored.  It was full of anger and opinion and politics and religion.  I began that writing as a means to vent.  I had a million thoughts a minute running through my mind about a thousand different topics.  This little laptop helped me make sense of it all.  Then somewhere in the venting, I had the idea that it would be fun to make my opinions and thoughts more public.   Ramblings of a 138 was born.
 
A title for the blog was my first challenge.  I had plenty of material.  By mere chance (or so I thought) I got my first glance at the number 138 by taking an online IQ test.  You and I both know my IQ isn't anywhere close to that, but that number has come to mean things to me you can't imagine.  I see it everywhere, stamped on everything.  That number has become a guide that leads me in the right direction and on occasion has even been a warning that thwarted harm.  I can't explain it.  You'd have to live it.  Recognition of that number has even caught the attention of an illustrator that is working with me on a children's book project.  It just simply shows up everywhere.
 
Some of the topics I've covered have served as a mirror for my own spiritual journey.  The venting I did initially, has given way to a sense of peace and understanding.  As much as I value my own opinion about things and have always wanted you to value them as well, I suddenly don't feel the need to share them publicly.  As much as some of my topics have been thought-provoking, there have been times when I fear my writing has also stirred some dissention.  There was a time when I thrived on that kind of attention, but times have changed.  Now I'm realizing that discussing the same things over and over again, be they religious or political in nature, simply get me nowhere.  There always have been, are now, and always will be people of varying opinions and I no longer feel the fire within me to tilt the scale in my favor.  
 
So what happens next?  (You MUST be on pins and needles by now).  Well first of all, the blog site will remain open for you to come back and visit any time and I hope you will.  Revisit old posts and see if they stir your soul.  For the forseeable future, any posts you see from me will be in the form of excerpts from my book project.  I'm going to keep the title close to the vest for now, but the subject will be about my own personal spiritual journey from childhood to present.  Look for the finished product at your neighborhood bookstore sometime this decade. 
 
I already have a children's book in the illustration phase and hope to submit that sometime this year or early next for consideration.  Self-publishing isn't out of the question.  I have at least one other book idea on the table and like all people who love to write, I want to write the great American novel.  Look for THAT at your bookstore in about, uh...........well, it's gonna be awhile.
 
I want to thank each and every person who ever read an entry, visited the site, checked out my profile, became a follower, left a comment or even just checked a box.  This blog has been a labor of love for me and seeing a new follower or comment always made me smile.  It just wouldn't have been as much fun without my few faithful fans.  There is one person I'd like to single out.  This blog was an instrument in leading her to me and she has been my biggest fan, bar none.
 
Linda, you have inspired more of my writing than you could possibly know, even before I knew you were reading it.  You gave me courage.  The very best thing that came from this blog or any of my writing was that it led me back to you.   That little 138 led me to my true love at long last.  Together we'll embark on a whole new adventure and that includes your writing as well.  I love you.
 
So my dear friends, I sign off filled with joy of the expectation of new challenges to come.  Please come back to visit, and I'd love a comment of "so long".  (I don't care much for good-byes).  It's been a blast.  For our next virtual party, let's celebrate a book signing!
 
Love and Light,
Matt

There Is A Place

There is a place in my soul:


     Where the grass is green and soft and lush,

     Where the smell of freshly cut lawns and hay sing inside your senses,

     And the fireflies dance an amber dance across the openness.

There is a place in my soul:

     Where the snow is pure and white,

     Where the wintry air cleanses your heart and mind,

     And your eyes are engulfed by the essence of light.

There is a place in my soul:

     Where a brilliant palate of a thousand hues brings heaven near,

     Where you can taste the air and its hope of Fall,

     And your ears are delighted by the crisp sounds ‘neathe your feet of those who lived.

There is a place in my soul:

     Where vast fields of waving grain invite your touch,

     Where brooks invite your toes,

     And shapely clouds await your gaze.

There is a place in my soul:

     Where My Love lives,

     Where every memory, every taste, every sound, every smell, remind me of home,

     And there is my peace.

There is a place on this earth:

     Where my soul belongs and my true love lives,

     Where I’ll be returning,

     And the odyssey complete.



- Matt Leatherwood and Linda Faris -

Poetry In Motion - A Repost

Authors Note:  This is a repost from earlier in the year.  In typical Team Matlin fashion, Linda had a feeling today it should be reposted.  We don't know why, we're just following her/our instinct.  Hope you enjoy.  -Matt-


A little over a year ago, I had the opportunity to go to Nebraska and spend a little time at the orchard. That place is amazing and always gives me some level of peace. One morning, very early, I walked outside to take a stroll along the trees and just take in some cold Nebraska air. As I walked out the door, I was met with a beautiful “dusting” of new snow. During my short walk I met a wandering raccoon who came near enough to almost touch. When I returned from my myopic adventure, I walked inside and what follows is what came out. Don’t ask me when I turned from Philosophy to Poetry. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.

I awaken to a dusting of fresh snow and stand on the walk, pondering my first step, unretraceable.

The snow unmarked, untrodden like the life of a newborn baby having not made his first step.

How shall I leave my mark on the glistening snow? Which direction shall I take? What mark will I leave? Will someone be able to follow my trail or will wind and time erase the prints so that each may leave their own?

The raccoon ponders not his path, which step or direction. Minding only which way leads to peril, becoming prey, not predator. Each step by instinct, not thought.

And as I ponder which step, I start in any direction, following only my heart, leaving my trail, my path, my mark. And looking back see that wind has already covered my footsteps. Having no clear retrace by which to return, my choices remain open in any direction.

Every step a new path, a new adventure. Walk on. Leave a trail. Make a NEW trail. Walk on.


-Matt Leatherwood-