the earth didn't shake, the sky didn't open up, and nothing remotely dramatic took place. yet, I was laying in bed next to my (sleeping) youngest son while shaking my head at the senseless debate over abortion on social media. it was already three minutes pass midnight before I realized "I'm officially 40." I feel more numb than creative in writing this for I'm at a loss for words yet felt I needed to say something. I'm not at a loss in regards to finally arriving at 40 years; more like what's really the point.
I've accepted my different form of dialect many moons ago. I've also accepted the deaf ears and passive eyes that go along with it. I don't write to gain attention; words cram my mind and I have to free it sometimes. my thoughts and phrases are not for everyone, nor is my opinion on current hot topics that only seem to be famous for about as long as a short exhale on a cold February day in Houston. but the point is more about figuring out the point in writing something relating to my birthday and less about how I express my thoughts.
the closer I get to truly understanding faith, the less I have to say. the more I accept my role as husband and father (which is not an easy pill to take), the less I need to vent. the more I come to understand human beings, our origins, and our selfish behavior/motives; the less I need to join the discussion about topics that really doesn't even hit home.
I disagree with the world and church folk alike because I'm a thinker.
I observe quietly.
there is a such thing as right and wrong; neither of which can be rightfully tagged to perspective. but we're selfish beings, right?
there is just as much need for correction as there is need for approval, yet we want to stand out and get mad when others don't get it especially when we can't fully explain it to begin with.
fact of the matter is I wasn't even sure about writing, yet even I have trouble denying my flesh.
I was told you're only going to be 40 once; so here's to looking at 50.