Where have you been? People are hurting down here. I’m hurting down here. I guess I still don’t understand what you want from me. This one is on you; your directions weren’t all that clear. I should be a little more grateful, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I am not looking for a plane pulling a banner, just a door that stays open long enough for me to grab my shoes. If you haven’t noticed, I not as smooth on my feet as I once was. But I’m not bitter about that, at least not as bitter…most days.

A little attention would be nice. Lately, it feels like you took me out into the desert, gave me enough rations for the day, and just left me. Those that I have met along the way have been incredibly generous, but I still have no clue how all the dots connect. By the way, I never did get that gift of patience that I expected. The contentment is a nice perk, but where is the sense of urgency? Did you forget that’s how I’m wired?

Is there a reason that you didn’t just zap me with one of your lightning bolts? I know, that’s so Old Testament, but it is an attention getter. No one would think less of you if you did. Most would say that I had it coming — which I probably still do. Just an idea! My life insurance policies don’t preclude acts of God. At least my wife would be set and not worry anymore. My son has been looking at cars on Craig’s List— he might see the upside. I’ve spent so much time in this barren wasteland, no one will notice that I’m gone.

If there is something you want me to accomplish, I’m getting near the end of the runway. And you know what happens when plane don’t achieve lift before the tarmac ends, don’t you? Let just say; it isn’t pretty. For the record, I didn’t take all the risks and work as hard as I did to end up as a statistic.

If you think I have been holding out on you, you can have all my earthly belongings. You can begin by clearing out my garage. If you have your eye on my zero-turn mower, I will need a goat or something to take care of my lawn. You will have to deal with the township and my homeowner’s association; neither allow residents to keep farm animals in my neighborhood. I would prefer not to be the nut-job who sacrifices his mower on the driveway. My neighbors would disappear faster than my second amendment rights.

I have been told over the years that you want a relationship with me and that you can handle all my cares and worries, my anger and my bitterness, even my silence. Here, take it; it’s yours. It was getting heavy, anyway. It’s up to you to make something beautiful out of dust.

If you are looking for me, I’ll be right here in the wasteland where you left me. As you can imagine, I’m getting restless. I may wander off a bit. I’m taking up a hobby. I met some guy who invited me to hunt jackalope with him; he calls himself Mad Max. He reminds me of an out-of-work actor with a Messiah complex.

Thanks for the book by Pastor Warren; its called a faith walk, not a feelings walk, for a reason.

That was close. Just think, I almost posted this whiny rant.

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Ivy ran off to buy a cookbook. She thinks that jackalope are related to jackrabbits. I didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Al and his faithful, but zoologically confused sidekick, Ivy the wonder pup.

Ever since her run-in with the lop-eared rabbit that lived in exile in our garage, she has been dying to find out if rabbits taste like chicken.