What An Opportunity

Posts Tagged ‘life’


In Life on April 7, 2014 at 9:26 pm


The waves gently crash on the shore and draw back into themselves

You taught me to love like the tide

Constantly there yet never too much

A tempest, within necessity

Yet, as the tide, gently drawing back into yourself

Spirit lead me

The horizon stands as it always has

You all taught me to endure as the day does

Few moments, in our experiences, capture the extent of our capacity as people

Therefore, there is significance in the mundane and the ordinary

As the horizon approaches everyday, we endure towards our aspirations

Spirit lead me

Now, some say the moon and the torrents are one

Profoundly independent and willingly dependent

The torrent presses as the moon tugs

Held together by the strongest tie

The tie that will steady you and I

Stars may pass but there is only one moon

Spirit lead me


In all of this in-between, I pray that we find those people who are the lighthouses in the stormy seas

In all of this, I pray we remember the glorious echoes of Your love and grace as we declare with a resounding chorus:

Spirit lead me

Where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper

Than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior



You’d better slow down: reflecting on The 4-Hour Workweek, a bestseller by Timothy Ferriss.

In Sports on April 7, 2014 at 4:06 pm

Slow Dance

by David L. Weatherford


Have you ever watched kids

On a merry-go-round?


Or listened to the rain

Slapping on the ground?


Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?

Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?


You better slow down.

Don’t dance so fast.


Time is short.

The music won’t last.


Do you run through each day

On the fly?


When you ask: How are you?

Do you hear the reply?


When the day is done,

do you lie in your bed


With the next hundred chores

Running through your head?


You’d better slow down.

Don’t dance so fast.


Time is short.

The music won’t last.


Ever told your child,

We’ll do it tomorrow?


And in your haste,

Not see his sorrow?


Ever lost touch,

Let a good friendship die


Cause you never had time

To call and say, “Hi”?


You’d better slow down.

Don’t dance so fast.


Time is short.

The music won’t last.


When you run so fast to get somewhere

You miss half the fun of getting there.


When you worry and hurry through your day,

It is like an unopened gift thrown away.


Life is not a race.

Do take it slower.


Hear the music

Before the song is over.


Timothy Ferriss presents some unquestionably revolutionary ideas in his bestseller, The 4-Hour Workweek, but his perspective is well-founded. He makes radical points, but they rise to counter a culture that is dying a cruel death from the inside out. The above poem is contained within the book, and it encapsulates Ferriss’s ideas perfectly. It rings eerily true. Don’t let life pass you by.

Trying again

In Life on February 22, 2014 at 5:20 pm

Fights take different forms in different relationships. Some are instantaneous explosions of emotion. Others are the boiling over of slights that have simmered under the surface for some time. I think for them, it was the latter. Something kind of like this:

1) The slight (who ever remembers why they got mad in the first place?)

2) The lying (is everything ok? yea, of course) lies. lies. lies.

3) The boiling point (how could you do that one innocuous thing that secretly bugs me but i’ve never told you it  bugs me because it’s not a big deal?)

4) The fight (few things that are true, but most things are overblown in a moment of forgotten forgiveness and spite. the words we can not take back and the bits of us that we lose in defending who we think we are.)

We catch our protagonists at step #5.

5)  The apology

It is easier than we think to move on from something. The opposite of love isn’t hate but selfishness. All we have to do is become caught up in what matters to me and lose sight of what matters to us. So she was out with her friends. Something to keep her mind off some of the stuff that had been going on. Maybe some space would do them good.

He didn’t leave the house. Had some work to do but he wasn’t concentrating too much. It is interesting to think how much would get accomplished if we ever said how we truly feel about something. Guess that is part of being human.

When she got back, he wasn’t home. The distance between mr. and mrs. was greater than one conjunction could hold. She dropped her bag and took off her shoes. She placed her jacket on the coat hook and walked into their bedroom. She sat down on the bed and her eyes found the picture on the dresser. In that unoccupied stillness, her sadness flowed from her eyes. It graced her cheeks until it fell from her face and landed in her lap.

She rose to find some tissues when she noticed the item on her pillow. A neatly folded note. It read:

“Baby, I am sorry. I don’t care why we’re here but this is not where we should be and I don’t think this is where we should stay. I think the most important phrases in the world are “I love you” and “Thank you”. I don’t mean the first phrase enough. I don’t say the second phrase as much. Beautiful, I will never be the man you deserve. However, I know I will try. Thank you for everything you do. I love you for all you are and everything you will be.”

The front door closed. In her haste, she missed the flowers in his hand. In her haste, she ignored her makeup. In her haste, she neglected the disheveled man in the kitchen. In her haste, they were whole again. I guess that’s step #6.

6) Trying again

Mama, there goes that man

In Life on October 1, 2013 at 10:09 pm


“Mama, there goes that man”: Former ABC NBA Commentator Marc Jackson’s confident and poignant analysis of basketball. It’s such a simple statement to highlight a play that simply has no better response. “Mama, there goes that man”. I can’t remember how many times he said that during the Lakers playoff runs from 2008-2010 but to be perfectly honest with you, the phrase doesn’t hearken to back-to-back championships. No, it’s something so much simpler than that. Something that makes more sense to me now.

“Mama, there goes that man” takes me to a little boy sitting next to his mother on a park bench when he sees his favorite ball player walk by. The ball player gives him a smile and the little boy ducks into that safe spot in his mother’s side. She knowingly smiles as the little boy doesn’t have the courage to say hello. Not yet, anyway. Once the ball player rounds the corner, the little boy looks up to his mother and says calmly, “Mama, there goes that man.”

There’s an emphasis on the “Mama”. Something about how what the little boy saw was so important that he needed Mama to know. I like to think that Mama turned to him, expecting to see him really excited, and was surprised how calm he was in that moment. Then the rest of the phrase kind of tumbles out: “there goes that man”.

There’s an antiquated notion in the little boy’s use of “that man”. It’s not just any man, it’s “that man”. The idea that we can emulate those we find significant to our dreams. It’s not an embodiment of perfection, but rather a naive comfort in the assumption that we can aspire to be like those who inspire us. “Mama, there goes that man”.

We’re getting to an age where “I hope”, “I want to be”, and “I pray” are turning into “I’m trying to”, “I’m working towards”, and “I am”.  We have fond memories and deep regrets. The paths we take are more and more our own. The little boy is growing up.

I like to think that some years pass and the smile and endless hope are the clearest measurements in the man visiting his mother. He walks past the home of ‘that man’ and ‘that man’ is sitting on the porch with his grandson; comfort in his rocking chair, peace in a life fulfilled. The grandson looks on with grandpa and wonders what’s so intriguing about this particular person walking by the house. The man walks by on the way to his childhood home as ‘that man’ looks on from his chair.

He turns to his grandson and says, “Sonny, there goes that boy.”


In Life on August 25, 2013 at 3:07 am

Her eyes wondered to his gaze

The frailty of another moment’s fulfilled, yet haunting, haze

The boy’s will so sure

When those hands gently impart from her

Are there not more letters, that in their strongest of days, could not accomplish the wonder in that phrase?


The boy’s will so sure

So pure, if only, to endure

Are we more than reflections of those we hold dear

Those, together numerous as sand, yet tested in the His hearth for purpose most clear

One could murmur, as the wind walks alongside, the days themselves are surely known to the penultimate yet the adventures they hold are obscure


Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference

Never stop learning.

In Life on August 8, 2013 at 5:09 am

Thinking about you in my life makes me happy.

I think it’s the way you do things…I think.

(You think?)

Maybe it’s how strong you are for me.

(Nope. Not that.)

It’s probably how you were there for me

(Nope. Not that either.)

I know…it’s how we hang out.

(I don’t think so.)

Oh…it’s how overprotective I am of you. How much I care what happens to you.

(Naw. Not just that.)

Ok, it has to be Your guidance. grace. forgiveness. faith.

(Yea, it could be any one of those.)

So it’s none of the above?

(Of course, it’s all of those. But, what ties them together?)


It’s more selfish than that.

(Go on…)

Um…I think…um…

(Come on…)

Loving you makes me whole.

And, I never want to stop learning how to love you more.

(There you go)


The Verger

In Life on July 6, 2013 at 1:10 am

There was once a verger – the keeper of a church – who faithfully and diligently carried out his work, day after day. He was a simple man, however, and had never learned to read; the church board learned of his illiteracy and fired him, saying it reflected poorly on the parish. The former verger immediately left the church and paced angrily down the street; his only thought was getting a cigarette to calm himself. But though he walked for blocks, he could not find a single convenience store. He immediately began constructing an idea, and within a week he opened a small shop on that street. In a few months he opened another, then another, until he had a dozen thriving shops earning him money hand over fist. One day, after he made his sizable weekly deposit at the bank, the bank manager took him aside and advised him to begin investing in stocks and bonds that would pay a far better dividend than just a bank account. He presented a document that outlined the plan that would accomplish this, all he had to do was sign. It was then that the man confessed, “But I cannot make out a word of it. You see, I never learned to read.” The manager was floored. “But you are a millionaire! And you never even learned to read? Imagine what you could have been if you had!” At this, he smiled wryly and said, “My good man, I would be a verger.”

You just never know.

Story adapted from ‘The Verger’ by Somerset Maugham, 1929.


In Life on May 17, 2013 at 1:35 am

Oh she knew. She knew why she couldn’t sleep. She knew what that sound meant. The slow braking of an all-too-familiar vehicle. Slurred gratitude as steps proceeded up the drive. Fumbling keys as the caricature of him stumbled through the door frame.


His steps greeted the stairs much like his lips eventually met her cheek: heavy and over-stated to feign restraint. She lay with her eyes closed but sleep had not visited her bed.


The smell of his addiction filled the room as he undressed. His shirt landed on the table and his pants found the floor as he barely avoided the bed post.


He climbed into bed and rolled over to kiss her properly this time. He stopped abruptly. He always seem to forget that he shouldn’t lie down too quickly.


A hastened rush to the bathroom and the expulsion of all that he consumed followed. She knew it would happen. She knew him too well. Hope is beautiful. if only in that it shows us the beauty in things we might otherwise let be.


That belief drove her to stay. His disregarded abstinence was but a faint whisper when he was her love. He brought a feverish passion to all that he pursued and the most magnificent of his talents was his ability to adore her. That light would gleam in his green eyes as his lips revealed each deliciously wicked notion.


God, how long ago was that? She tried to keep herself busy. She took on more projects at work and her friends kept her company. She knew where he would be. She also knew that the ghost of who they were would catch up with her if she stopped moving.


Ambition? Disregarded. She didn’t know when he lost it but he did. The light flickered, and like the innocence of youth, was gone.


They had tried. She had tried. He had continued through the motions. His affliction was the bottle. Her affliction was the unwavering desire to glimpse again, just for one moment, that spectacular vision of their lives together. Unbridled hope  may be the most profound, and utterly devastating, condition known to the human heart.


She knew the destructive power of fleeting hope. She also knew he was not her husband. Not anymore. She moved slowly as the sounds from the bathroom subsided and only mumbling could be heard. She avoided the mirror as she dressed. She knew one glance towards the light would fill her with that unspeakable feeling of pride in being his recovery.


But life is beautiful. It provides infinitesimal occasions wherein the purpose of our existence is firmly within our grasp to proceed as we wish.


You could say she stopped loving him. Some would argue that she never loved him more.


He lay under the toilet as she closed the front door behind her. His murmurs fell on deaf ears:


Will you still love me?

Will you still love me?

I know you will.

I know you will.


Enter title here

In Life on May 8, 2013 at 1:42 am

It’s the morning raindrops dancing on the balcony that drew worn eyes to the window

Mother Nature tearing up real quiet like under a clearing sky as the man knelt in the dirt

Rumor has it that he asked for this; Said something about hanging being the coward’s way, the strange fool.

3 rounds and a sound.


They say he stole something, something important

Nobody really knows what but if he’s guilty, he’s guilty.

He was just someplace that he wasn’t supposed to be

3 rounds and a sound


He fought it tooth and nail

Said something about his missus. What do these fools know about loving someone?

They put him in prison till they could figure out what to do with him.

3 rounds and a sound


They asked him if he wanted his “missus” to visit him (Everyone got a good laugh out of that. They had sold her by that time.)

He declined. Said, “These memories keep me company.”

Guess we all want somebody sweet to talk to but momma and pappa say these fools don’t have human needs like we do

3 rounds and a sound


There have been some rumblings though; real low rumblings, like a train on the track, but it’s way off, you know.

Something about how the owner preferred the bottle

Something about how he found the owner in bed with her

Something about how the owner’s intoxicated discourse stoked the deepest fury inside of him

3 rounds and…that sound


Come to find out that life is not so much black and white, as it is differing shades of grey








In Life on April 11, 2013 at 11:49 pm


The day will rise

When we can truly say,

“The days past are more than the days ahead.

Yet, there is nothing behind that can take the breath from my lips.”


The soul cries the song of the caged bird

Limitless in potential

Embodied in mortality

There is no greatness we cannot find

If willing to find that which carefully considers

The truest of desires


It is not sufficient to exclaim our existence

The breath of life within the airways

The beating of affections, passionate and incapable of concision

Is the truest favor of the gods


In the greatness and the fall,

the forgotten and the forgiven,

the beginning and the end,

the last and the first,

forever and a day,

love and selfishness,

faith and scorn,

hope and bitterness,

humanity and eternity,


May our frailties find peace within

The things that change and the things that change us.



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