Politically Correct..I Am Not!

I am not politically correct. I don’t mince words or try to be nice. I am not going to candy coat anything. I call a spade a spade. I don’t like this way of talking that make it seem that you are something that you are not. If you can’t handle being called what you are then you have a problem. I know I am going to upset a few people with this blog.

When I say I am not politically correct I mean just that. I have Indian in me but I am not a Canadian Native…I am Canadian. Jesus was not politically correct. He didn’t put on airs to appease the people. He spoke it like it was.

It seems today that people get “insulted” way to fast. It use to be that calling a man a “WASP” was okay. Now it seems to be an insult. They grumble and groan about it but I bet half of them don’t know what the term means. They will think that it is a racist term when in fact it is not. It actually means “White Anglo Saxon Protestant”.

I am not going to mince words but on the other hand I am not an idiot either. I don’t use racist terms. Never have and never will. The “N” word is not in my vocabulary. I call a black man a black man. I call a man a man and a woman a woman.  I don’t play favorites.

We have to do the same. People don’t like it too bad. Enough with the nonsense and the bull. We walk around on eggshells. We are afraid to say what we think cause we might insult someone. I say enough.

We are called to be like Jesus. We are not called to dumb down stuff. We are not called to cow tow to the masses. We are called to present Jesus Christ. We are called to be plain. No apologies. As I said before, Jesus did not mince words. He told it like it is. He wasn’t playing no “nice” game. He called a sinner a sinner.

As Christians we have a responsibility to do the same. To be like Christ. Not Be like the world.  For we are not of this world.


John 15:18-19

“If the world hates you, you know that it has hated Me before it hated you. 19 If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, because of this the world hates you.


The world hates us Christians cause we are not of this world. We are of another. We are the chosen ones. He chose us out of the world. He chose each and everyone of us because he knew way back then that we would be His. He chose us before we were born.

So what does this all have to do with being politically incorrect. Well simply put..and I will repeat it. ” Jesus was not politically correct. He didn’t put on airs to appease the people. He spoke it like it was.” We are called to be the same.

I have had been asked why I tend to be so direct. Well Jesus was direct. He didn’t say a finger was a heart or a foot was a lung. We are to do the same.

You might disagree with me. You might even say I am wrong. Totally wrong and that is your right. You can call me out and tell me to my face that I am wrong but I have the Manual to back me up.

1 Corinthians 11:1

Be imitators of me, just as I also am of Christ.

We are called to be Like Christ. So Be Like Christ! Now here in lies the problem. We are flawed human beings. We are failures. We are Sinners! But we can still BE CHRIST LIKE! He will guide us and lead us to the path we are meant to be on. So many people say that they want to be Christ like and they give up. They walk away and say this is not for me. Jesus could have done the same thing but He instead chose to do the one thing that could prove His mighty love for us. He let himself be crucified for us. He laid his life down for us. So I ask this:

Are you willing to be like Him. Are you willing to be politically incorrect. If you are willing to die for him, will you live for him too. Be Christ like no matter the consequences.

I offer you Jesus Christ. I offer you the joy of His Salvation to you. I offer you a love like no other. I offer you a life of tribulation that will be a wonderful thing. Jesus is worthy of my praise and worship because I was worthy of His death on the cross. I will be like Him, even in the flawed imperfect way! I willing take on the tribulation of the world cause I am His (even though I am flawed to the hilt)! Will You!


“Keep Looking Up! For His Coming Is Nigh!”



Regrets, we all have them. Sometimes they are things that you should have done or didn’t get done. Sometimes they are things that we said or did. We all have regrets, even those who say they have no regrets, they have them.

What are some of yours. As we get older they pile up, like a pile of newspapers that we don’t want to toss out. We let them hang around hoping that one day we might actually do them and yet we never do. No matter how many times you try to ignore them, they always seem to mock you and make fun of you. There are those regrets that you never will deal with for they are too painful. They hurt every time you think about them or they don’t do anything at all cause you have closed them off but they are still there mocking you.

Some don’t have any regrets at all. They did what they did and have no qualms about them. These are the regrets that sit idly by and wait to pounce and worm their way into the brain and eat away slowly without you even realizing till it is usually too late.

I have a ton of regrets. They are stacked around just like the aforementioned newspapers. They haunt me like a ghost that is lost in the ether and can’t find it’s way out. Here is a list of mine. Some are self-afflicted and some are ones that I can’t change no matter what I try to to do.

I regret a lot of things. Some I keep to myself and others people know about. I have regrets that eat at me and others just sort of sit there more as a reminder of what I could have been. Regrets of things started but never finished.

My biggest regret is not going through the adoption process when my first wife Rose was diagnosed with leukemia. It bugs me to this day. I could have been the dad that I always wanted to be but I chose to end it. I just didn’t think that it was fair to bring a child into a situation where she had lost one mom just to loose another!

I have always wanted to be a dad and bring a child up with the same values I have. (Oh lord, that poor child). But I didn’t do that. I chose to think of Rose and the child instead of myself.

I regret not being there when my Mom died. I unfortunately could not afford to come back. I miss her and know that I will see her when I get to heaven.

I regret not being around when my other Mom died. Karen was the only one that got away with telling me off. I loved her so much and miss her just as much.

I regret not pursuing my dream of singing or acting. I just never got around to doing it. I guess God had other plans for me.

I regret not getting my novel published. Always thinking it is not good enough! I have written three of them and I just don’t think they are good enough. They sit on a data card and wait while I get up the guts to send them to whomever will read them.

One of the few things I don’t regret is marrying Rose or Jeanne. They have and are my soulmates. Most only get one. I got lucky, I got two. Some said that my marriage to Rose would never last. We had 14 wonderful years. They all said that moving to Oregon was a big mistake. 19 years later, we are still together.

The one thing I do not regret at all is falling in love with my First Love! For those who don’t know who that is, that would be Jesus Christ! He is my First Love because He first loved me.

Let me make one thing clear, regrets are not failures. Regrets are just that regrets.

We all have regrets but it depends on what you do with them. Some you can’t stop because it is too late and normally because the reason is no longer in or part of your life anymore. Some you can deal with if you can reach or deal with the problem at hand. Some you have to lay at the Lord’s feet and let Him deal with them.


“Keep Looking Up! For His Coming Is Nigh!”



Say The Word

This story is inspired by a song called Say The Word by the Christian band White Heart. I hope you enjoy reading it and please let me know what you think.


With vacant eyes she scanned the room. She didn’t want to be here. This was a depressing place and she was depressed enough as it was. The scars on her wrists were testament to that. She stared out the window. They, the birds and squirrels, were free, why wasn’t she? Tears started to well up in her eyes. She shook her head. She wasn’t going to cry.

 “Lunch time, everyone return to your rooms.” a voice said.

 She mechanically got up and returned to her cell. To her it was a cell, nothing else. The tray was slid through the slot in the door. She looked at it making her way to the tray. She could smell the food. She picked up the metal cap and looked. She took the roll and the Jello. She hated green Jello but it was better then Salisbury steak. She grabbed the milk and went back to her bed. She grabbed her name off the tag. Imia Wilson that was her name, she tucked it into her shirt pocket. Looking at the Jello and the bun she wondered how to eat them. She got off the bed and went to the tray. No knife.

 “Of course no knife, they think that we might off ourselves.”

 Imia settled down on the bed and ripped her bun in half. Using her right hand she put some of the green Jello between the bun halves. She bit down and smiled. `Not bad’ she thought to herself.

 “Better then the other crap they gave.”

 Imia ate slowly and drank her milk. She thought back to when she got here. She had tried to kill herself so many times. So many scars but no one seemed to care. She laid her head down and drifted off to sleep.


 She woke up sometime later. She sat up and noticed her tray was gone and that the door to her cell was open. Imia sat on the bed and cocked her head. She didn’t hear any sounds. She stood up and headed to the door. She was not sure if she should go out or not. She started to back away.

 “Please don’t go. Come talk to me.”

 Imia looked out her door. Sitting in a chair was a man. He was dressed what looked to be street clothes.  She ventured out a little more. He smiled at her.

 “Please, come, sit with me. I will not hurt you. I promise.” He said as he motioned towards a chair.

 Imia walked towards the chair and then sat down. She looked at this man. What she thought were street clothes turned out to be something else. It was a robe or something like it. The sash was a dark brown. He wore sandals that were made of leather and very simple looking. He had long hair and a long beard. He looked like he belonged in a time long ago.

 “Who are you?”

 “My name is Simon.” he replied.

 “What are you doing here?” Imia asked

 “I am here to help you. That is why I was sent, to help you.”

 “What are you talking about? Who sent you?”

 Simon looked at her. He smiled softly. He pointed towards her heart. She looked at him with no emotion. She thought she was loosing her mind again.

 “No this is not real. You are not real. This is all a crazy dream, nothing but a deluded dream because of my depression.”

 Imia stood up quickly and ran back to her room. She shut the door and tried to forget. She pulled the covers over her head and hid. Now she wished for a way out. She wanted to die. To her dying was the best way out. She heard noises. Uncovering her head she saw people, nurses and doctors walking around. She jumped out of bed and walk into the common room, and then she saw him. He was still here, him and his old-fashioned clothes and sandals.  He waved at her and for some reason she waved back. A nurse walked in front of her and when she was gone, he was gone. Going back into her room she saw him sitting on her bed.

 “What are you doing?” she asked.

 “It looks like I am sitting on your bed.” he replied.

 She sat on a chair and looked at him. Her eyes fell to the floor. She was so sad.

 “Why do you cry?” Simon asked.

 Imia looked up at him. She had tears coming from her eyes. She ran her finger across her wrist. Simon looked at her. She held up her arms to him. He saw the scars. The multitude of times she had tried to end her life. He could see the scars on her heart as well.

 “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to live. I have tried so many times to end it all. If it wasn’t a knife then it was a hangman’s noose. If that didn’t work then it was pills. So many pills that my body was a walking drug store, all because no one would listen to me.

“I’ve been in this place for so long that I know the nurses by name. I don’t belong in here. I belong with my family. But that would mean they would have to deal with the problems that the elephant brings with it, but they don’t. They want nothing to do with me. God doesn’t even want anything to do with Me.” she replied.

 Simon looked at the floor. He knew how she felt. He had been depressed before. He was sad when he saw his Master whipped. He had been sad when he saw his Master carry that heavy cross up to Golgotha. He watched as the nails were driven into his Master’s wrists and feet. All the while he knew there was nothing he could have done about it.

 “I do know what you are going through. I wanted to die as well, but I chose to live.”

 Imia looked at him. She tried not to laugh. He just didn’t get it. Nothing he had gone through could be as bad as what she had gone through. Nobody knew the pain she suffered. No one ever would.

 “I see. Do you know what it is like to be a girl? Do you know what it like to live with depression? Have you any clue as to how it feels to be unloved or unwanted? Well do you?”

Simon looked at Imia with eyes that had seen those things. Had he ever lived with it, no. He was not a woman so woman problems were not his problems. Love was not a problem. The love he received was the greatest love of all.

“Do I know about pain, yes I do. Do I know about women problems; no I don’t, for I am not a woman. Do I know what it is like to unloved and unwanted, yes and no?

“I know the pain of no love. My wife said she loved me but she kept having other men in our bed. My mother use to say she loved me as she beat me. Was I unwanted, no? My wife needed me to bring money home. My mother needed me because she needed someone to beat.

 “Imia, you say you have it rough but you don’t. Other people have it far worse then you do. You have tried so many times to end your life but didn’t. Think about all the people that are dying and that want the chance to live.”

 Simon got up off the bed and headed towards the door. He turned back towards her Imia with tears in his eyes.

 “You don’t even know that someone loves you more then you can know. He did everything for you. All you have to do is say the word.”

 Imia looked up and Simon was gone. Tears started to roll down her cheeks. She didn’t know why but fall they did. Imia cried for what seemed like hours. She put her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. The entire place was dark when Imia opened her eyes again. She looked out the window and saw the lighted clock. It read eleven pm. Her neck was sore. She rubbed it slowly feeling the pain go away. She looked to the tray and saw her dinner. She grabbed the roll and nibbled on it. She tried to figure out where she was. Then she remembered, still in the hospital. She went to her bed and slept. She did not dream.


Morning came and so did the knock on the door. It was shrink time. She quickly got dressed and then the door opened. The shrink looked at her with eyes that knew no compassion. She knew he didn’t care but only did his job. He started to walk off and she followed him. It wasn’t like she had a choice. He opened the door to the interview room and let Imia go in first. He watched as she sat down. He sat down across from her. He brought out his dinky little recorder and spoke into it.

“Interview with Imia Wilson, time is eight thirty three am. Now Miss Wilson, how are you doing?”

Imia looked at the doctor and sneered. He knew she didn’t want to be here. He also knew that she was allowing this interview because it killed time.

 “Alright, I will tell you how I am doing. I am in a place I don’t want to be in. I am locked up most of the time. I am treated like an inmate in prison. No one trusts me. People put food into my room but leave me nothing to eat with. No fork or spoon. So I have to eat with my hand. I’m not a patient, I am a dog. That is the way I am treated. Like a freaking dog!”

 The shrink looked at her. He knew that she was venting, but the lack of eating utensils bothered him.

 “What do you mean no fork or spoon? There has to be one or the other.”

 “Well there isn’t. I have never received one. Even when I ask for one, they won’t give me one.”

 “Well that is not ri….”

 Imia cut him off. She was tired of this. All the questions and all the false concern, she knew it was false.

 “Look, you don’t care about me. You are only doing your job and I understand that. But if you want to do something, then get me a fork, plastic or otherwise to eat with.”

 The shrink sat back on his chair. He looked at Imia and tried to figure her out. One minute this long haired woman was so fragile and the next she was so strong and vibrant. He wanted to know so much about her but she was being so closed.

 “Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up? How many siblings do you have? What about pets?”

 Imia looked at the doctor. He wasn’t so bad after all.

 “I will tell you anything you want to know on one condition.”

 “And what might that be?” he asked.

 “You tell me about yourself first. If you are going to hear all about me then it is only fair that I should know all about you.”

 He nodded his head. It did seem fair. To be able to treat her he must be open with her. He smiled.

“Okay. My name is David Matthew King. No relation to the master of horror. I was born May Fifteenth Nineteen Forty Nine in Vida, Oregon. When I was five, my family moved to Steamboat, Oregon. I grew up there, went to school there and even married the town sweetheart there. After I got married I went to the University of Oregon. Then off to doctor’s school. In the meantime I had three children, bought a house and then had two more kids.

 “I have been a practicing Psychiatrist for fifteen years. I have two sisters, three brothers and both my parents are dead.”

 Dr. King looked at Imia. He had a small grin on his face. His bright eyes had a certain kind of childlike gleam in them.

 “Okay, now it is your turn.”

 Imia squirmed in her seat. She didn’t think that he would call her bluff. She sighed softly the sat up straight.

 “Okay, my full name is Sarah Imia Wilson. I was born February Twenty ninth Nineteen Sixty Eight. We celebrated it either on the twenty eighth or the first non leap years. So in fact I am only ten years old. I was born in a little town called Globe, Oregon. When I was four, we moved to just outside Portland. I grew up there. I didn’t graduate with honors; in fact I didn’t graduate at all. I have a grade eleven education. My mother and father are both still alive and I have two brothers, one sister and you wouldn’t know it because they never come to see me.”

 Doctor King watched her face all the time she was speaking. It tormented her that no one in her family would come see her. It also bothered her that she was in here. Of that there was no doubt. He wanted to help this girl but was unsure how to. She spit venom every time she talked about being here.

 “Okay I think that is enough for today. I am starting a group for those who have tried to kill themselves. I would like it if you were to come. You would get to talk to people aside from yourself and you might even make some friends. Will you come?” He asked.

 Imia looked at him. He sounded so sincere. The last doctor she had didn’t give a thought about her. He was just doing his job.

 “Well… sure, but if I feel uncomfortable I can leave, no questions asked.”

“Agreed.” he replied.

 Imia stood up and started towards the door. The doctor opened the door for her and after saying their goodbyes, he watched her walk away.  He sat back down at the table and rewound the tape. He listened to it again and again. He kept hearing the same thing. He heard desperation. All the while during the session, Imia wrung her hands. Standing up he looked at her file. He walked out and went to get some more information on Imia Wilson.


 Imia sat and rocked back and forth. She was so sad. She wanted to go home. Talking to the doctor didn’t help much. She heard knocking on the door and she tried to ignore it but the knocking continued. She got up and looked out the window in the door and saw a nurse. She had something in her hand. Imia opened the door and the nurse handed her the note. Imia took it and sat back on her bed and read it.

 “Come to the recreation room. I want to talk to you about something.”

 The note was signed `Say the Word, Simon.’ Imia quickly changed her clothes and headed off the rec room. She stood at the door wondering whether she should. She could hear people playing the dumb games. No pool table or anything like that. She pushed open the door and walked in. No one looked up except for Simon. He stood up and waved. She waved back half heartedly. She didn’t realize that she had a smile on her face.

 “Hello Imia. I am glad that you chose to come. Please sit; I want to talk to you.”

 Imia sat down across from Simon. She looked into his eyes and saw something or was it someone. She was not sure. She smiled softly.

 “Hello Simon. What do you want to talk to me about?”

 Simon shifted in his seat. He knew he could tell her about Jesus but he never knew how to start off. He quietly said a small prayer.

 “I want to help you. I want you to have peace. I want you to know that there is someone that loves you with all your scars, warts and all the unpleasant things in your life. Someone loves you. He was born for you. He died for you. He rose from the dead for you and everyone who is searching for the right stuff. He loves you with a never ending love.”

 Imia smiled. She knew that Simon meant well. She also knew that no one could love her. Not even God. One look at the scars on her wrists would stop the love.

 “Simon, thank you for your concern but no one could love me. The scars on the outside are bad enough but the scars on the inside are even worse. The emotional baggage I carry is enough to send anyone screaming into the night. I can sense that you are doing what you think is right but I am not worth saving. Do I want to be your friend, yes? But please, no more talk about love.”

 Imia got up and walked away. Simon didn’t get the chance to say anything else, He looked at the floor.

“I failed.”

 “You did not fail my child. You planted the seed and now it is time to water that seed. Show her the same kind of love all the time and the seed will germinate. I have great plans for her.”

 Simon heard the voice. He recognized his Master’s voice. He could tell whose voice it was. His Master’s voice was so gentle and full of love. The enemy’s voice was so full of vile and anger. He spit venom. Simon got on his knees and started to pray.

 “Master of all, you are the mighty God. You are the God of Israel. You are the God of Jacob, Abraham and Isaac. You are the God that parted the Red Sea.

 “Dear God of All, I planted the seed. Help me to not only water but also help to germinate it. You are the God who sent His only Son into this world so that your children might have peace and salvation and if any of your children needs peace it is Imia.

“Lord, she is so broken up inside. The scars on her wrists are not the only scars she has. She has scars on her heart and soul. She has been hurt so much by her family and friends that it has caused her to hurt herself.

 “Father, you know her pain. You know the pain of friends leaving you. You know the emotional pain she is having. Father, touch her. Let her see you in me. She needs you so much and she doesn’t even know it. She has cried out to you and doesn’t know it.

 “Lord, I am not one of those who believe without seeing. I saw you, walked with you. I talked with you and learned from you. Dearest Jesus, let me be the one that brings Imia to you, but Lord, let your will be done. I know through someone, Imia will come to know you. For Your glory Lord Jesus, Amen.”

 Simon stood up and walked out of the rec room.


 Dr. King sat at his desk. He had read and reread Imia’s’ file. So many drugs and none of them did any good. Each drug that had been tried caused so much trouble. One caused her to sleep while another caused her not to sleep. While another caused rashes and itching. He spent the next hour trying to find a drug that would work without a thousand side effects. He read about the old ones then about the new ones. He could use Valium but there was too much chance of addiction. He decided to forget about the old ones and new ones. She had never been given Prozac before.

 King felt something for this girl. He was a doctor and he had a good bedside manor. He felt compassion for people but this was different. It was sympathy. She was not a happy camper. He had to try. He got up and went to the nurse’s station.

 “Nurse Sharp, I need to change a patient’s meds.”

 “Which patient Dr?”

 “Sarah Imia Wilson.”

 “Oh yes. What is she on right now?”

 “It is one of the older one. Hold on a minute. Here is it is, Immigate.”

 “Yes, that was around when I was her age, old and outdated and too many side effects. What is the new drug?”

 “Well I want to start with Prozac. If that does not get the desired effect then we will try something else. She has been on Immigate for some long and it is not doing the job.”

 “Very well doctor. When do you want the change over?”

 “Tomorrow is fine.  I want to take her off the immigate slowly. She has been on it for so long that her body has become accustomed. We want to ween her off the Immigate.  Start at ten milligrams twice a day. See how that works for a month or so. We can increase the dosage if needed then.”

 “Very well.” The nurse replied.

 Nurse Sharp walked away at the same time as Dr. King went to see Imia. He got to her room and knocked on the door. Imia opened it and let him in. It was plain to see that she had been crying. He sat down on the chair and looked at her.

 “What is the matter?”

 Imia looked at him. She didn’t want to talk but he just sat there.

 “What if I don’t want to talk.” she said through a tear.

 “Then I will sit here till you want to talk.”

 Imia looked at him with questioning eyes. He was nothing like her old doctor. He didn’t give a flying fig what happened.

 “You are nothing like Dr. Campbell. He would pop in and ask how I was feeling then leave. He didn’t care. He put me on Immigate then just went on his merry way. You are different. You seem to care.”

 “Well Dr. Campbell was from a different era. I am here to help you if I can. Will you come to the group?”

 “Yes I will come. Maybe Simon will be there.”

 “Simon. Who is Simon?”

 “Some guy in here. He is dressed in some really old looking clothes. He keeps saying “Say the Word”. I haven’t got the foggiest clue about what he is talking about.”

 “Well maybe he will be, one never knows.  Now for the reason I came. Right now you are Immigate for your depression and from what I have seen it is not doing the job. I am changing your meds to Prozac. Let’s see how it works, okay.”

 Imia nodded her head.  She had been on so many drugs that she didn’t know one from another.

 “When will the change happen?”

 “Well Immigate has some withdrawal problems if taken off of it too quickly. So I think we will do it like this. Today is Immigate and tomorrow is Prozac. Then next day a lower dose of Immigate, then the Prozac and so on and so forth. In a week or so you will be off the Immigate completely and on the Prozac full time. We will see how that goes. Clinical depression is not an easy thing to control. So we take it one day at a time. Okay.”

 Imia nodded her head. She didn’t have the least bit of understanding of what he just said, but he was the doctor.

 “Whatever you say, you are the doctor. You know more then I do.” She replied.

 “Good. I am not like your old doctor. He was more concerned about medication where I am more concerned with recovery. That is why I started the group, so that you and people like you could have a release valve. To talk to people that actually know what you are going through. Tonight after dinner will be the first group. I will see you there?”

 Imia looked at the floor the back at King. She nodded her head then put it down on the pillow and was soon asleep. King left quietly and closed the door. He walked down to the nurse’s desk and looked for Nurse Sharp. He found Nurse Sarita. She was a short Latino woman with striking blue eyes. She looked up at Dr. King and smiled.

 “Yes doctor, may I help you?”

 “Yes, can I get the chart on a Simon? I don’t have a last name. Maybe you can help. Look him up yourself or get someone else to find all the files of all the men named Simon. Imia Wilson talked about meeting a Simon wearing weird clothes. She said she met him at least twice. I would like to speak to him if he exists. You can reach me in my office.” King replied.

 King left and went to his office. He settled down for a long read. Imia’s file was rather thick. Seems Dr. Raymond made lots of notes but nothing else. King shook his head slowly as he read. He lifted his head when he heard a knock on the door.

 “Come In.”

 The door opened and Nurse Sarita was there. She had nine folders in her hand.

 “These are all the patients named Simon. There are nine of them. I checked them out. None of them seemed fit the bill.”

 King took them and quickly scanned them. He looked up at nurse Sarita and smiled.

 “Thank you. I will show these to Imia. Maybe one of them is the one.”

 Nurse Sarita nodded and smiled. She opened the door and left. King picked up one of the files and started to peruse it then heard another knock.

 “Come.” he said.

 Nurse Sarita opened the door again. She smiled her sweet smile at him. She passed him another file.

 “There is another file. I wasn’t sure if I should being it or not so I left it. This is it. The patients name is Nicholas. But according to the file he goes by Simon. According to the file he believed himself to be Simon the Zealot.”

 “Simon the Zealot?” King answered.

 Nurse Sarita looked at him. She nodded her head.

 “You don’t know your Bible do you Dr. King?”

 Doctor King shook his head. He was not up on something he had no use for.

 “Simon the Zealot was one of Jesus’ disciples. He was a hater of Rome. He gave up his hatred to follow Jesus. I know this sounds crazy but this man died five years ago. There is no way she could have seen or spoken to him.”

 “I see. Well I will show her the picture of him. Maybe she dreamed it.” King replied.

 Nurse Sarita nodded again. She opened the door and did not return. Dr. King looked at the file. Nicholas Richardson, He was admitted in nineteen fifty four for schizophrenia.  He was twenty one when he was admitted and he died in nineteen sixty six at the age of thirty three from heart failure.

 “Hmmm, she must be dreaming.” King said to no one.


 He poured over Imia’s case for what seemed for hours. He got to know her inside and out. Her parents came to see her very infrequently. He siblings never came at all. Not counting this term on the ward, Imia had been here eleven times starting from when she was seventeen. She had tried to kill herself twelve times. She had two abortions, three miscarriages and one still birth. She has one living child that she has never seen since the child was born. Her husband left her after the last child was still born claiming that it was her fault.  That is when she had tried to kill herself for the eighth time.

 King got up shaking his head. He went to the doctor’s lounge. He found a seat and slowly drank the coffee he had just got. He was waiting for someone to come in. As if on cue, the person he was waiting for came in.  He waved at him. The doctor joined him.

 “What’s up David?”

 “Well Bob, I have a question for you. Do you know Imia Wilson?”

 “You mean the Suicide Queen?”

 David looked at him, “What do you mean `Suicide Queen’?”

 “Well she has tried so many times to kill herself that she should have set some kind of record by now. Look don’t get me wrong, I think it is awful what has happened to her. But trying to end your life is just calling out for attention.

 “I realize that she has never had her siblings here to see her and as for her parents, well they don’t seem to care much. But that is still no reason to try to kill yourself. It is just an attention getter saying `look at me poor pitiful me. I am so messed up. No one loves me, no one cares about me, and no one likes me.’ Please if she were to just give it a rest and get on with her life then maybe we could all get on with ours.  For to try so many times to off herself and still not succeed, well she is not doing it right.”

 Dr. King looked at Bob Jackson. He stood up and just shook his head.

 “A trained professional and that is all you can come up with. Where is your compassion? My word, you can do better then that. I pray that the next person who tries to end their life doesn’t end up with you as their doctor.”He said as he walked away.

 Dr. King made his way back to his office. He shook his head and softly giggled to himself. What a jerk. He arrived at his office to see Imia sitting by it.

“Hello Imia, what can I do for you?”

 “Nothing, I just thought we, well, we could talk for a few minutes.”

 King opened the door. Imia looked in and then sat on the nearest chair. She tried to curl up but was unable to. King made mental note of that.

 “What is the matter?”

 “Well I just talked to my mom.”

 “Oh that is good to hear. What did she say?”

 “Well I asked her if she was coming to see me soon. She just laughed. She said that if she wanted to see a nut all she had to do was open a can of them. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.  I just wanted to die. I cried and she just laughed.”

 Dr. King put down his pen. He looked at a girl that had already been through so much and now to put this on her. No wonder she wanted and tried to end her own life.

 “I am so sorry. She should not have said that. Would you like for me to speak with her?”

 “If you want to but she won’t talk to you either.”

 “Fine, I will call her tomorrow. Now as for today, would you talk about it in group?”

 “Yes, if you like.”

 “Good then. Group is in about ten minutes so we can walk down together. While we are walking I want to show you some pictures. I want to see if you recognize anyone. Okay.”

 Imia nodded her head. She liked Dr. King. He listened to her. They walked down towards the conference room. He showed her the pictures. She shook her head at all of them. She didn’t recognize any of them. He opened the door for her when they got to group. There were other people there. Imia scanned the room looking for Simon but she didn’t see him.


 “Welcome to group people. My name is Doctor David King. When we are in group, first names shall be used at all times and straight talk only here. You say what you mean. You may call me David. So let’s get started. Who wants to go first?”

 A man stood up. He was tall with short brown hair. He hid his hands as to not show all the scars. He looked weather beaten like life had been beating the crap out of him. His face was lined with creases.

 “HI, my name is Robert George. You can call me Bob. I am a clinically depressed person. I have tried to kill myself twenty five times. The last time was three weeks ago. I put a razor to my arm and then stopped. I was going to slice open my veins and bleed myself dry. I put the razor down and then booked myself into this place. I call it the Loonies Shangri-La.”

 Bob sat down and another person stood up. She was tall with long black hair that had been braided. She pulled down her sleeves to hide the track marks on her arms. She held her hands in such a way to hide the razor marks on her wrists.

 “My name is Ruanne Jolan. You can call me Ruanne. If we become friends, I might let you call me Ru. I tried to kill myself as well. That is why I am here.”

 Ruanne sat down and one after another the rest of the group stood up and gave a name and a brief reason why they were here, most of them for the same reason. They had all, in one way or another, tried to kill themselves. Suddenly it was Imia’s turn.

 “Hi my name is Sarah Imia Wilson. You can call me Imia. I have also tried to kill myself. Twelve times I have tried and twelve times I have failed. If it wasn’t drugs then it was razor blades. If they didn’t work then a noose. I even tried to kill myself by sticking my head in a gas oven. Unfortunately for me, the gas had been turned off earlier that day. Someone or something always stopped me.”

 Sitting down, Imia wiped tears from her eyes. She looked at the floor. No one would want to talk to her now. She has revealed all of her flaws and her scars, even one or two that no one knew about. She had showed the imperfectness of her life. She shouldn’t be here. She was nothing. Standing up to leave she looked at the floor.

 “Wait girl, where do you think, you are going?” Ruanne asked.

 “I’m leaving. I don’t belong here. I am a failure. I deserve to die.” Imia answered.

 “Oh yeah, you deserve to die. Is that what you think? You think that you have it so bad. Look here.” Ruanne ripped up her sleeves to reveal her arms.” You think I got these by doing embroidery. These are track marks from needles. I’ve been trying to kill myself since I was nine. If it wasn’t heroin then it was cocaine. It didn’t matter my drug of choice. If I could inject it then I used it. Now you sit your butt down cause honey, you belong here. You need to be reminded that if for nothing else that you are not the suicide queen.”

 Imia sat back down. She looked at Ruanne and then at the floor. Dr. King stood up and walked to the door. He closed it again then looked at Imia. Tears flowed down her face like a dripping tap. He was about to speak when a knock came at the door. He opened it to find Simon standing at it. He looked at King then walked into the room. He stood in front of all of them then sat beside Imia. She looked up and then latched onto him. He held her close for a minute then gently pushed her away.

 “Say the word Imia.”

 “What word? You keep saying that but you don’t say what word.”

 Simon stood up. He smiled but was frustrated. He looked at the rest of them. Ruanne looked at him.

 “It’s you. You came to me and said the same thing.”

 Simon smiled and nodded his head. He nodded his head at each one of them. They all looked at him.

 “Look, two thousand years ago a man came to take all your sins and carry them to Calvary. He didn’t do it because He had to. He did because He wanted to. This is the same man who cried when you tried to kill yourself. Each one of you, even you Dr. King. “

 King looked at him. He tried to figure out how he knew.

 “No one knows about that, no one.”

 “One person knew Doctor. You might ask yourself, each one of you, why He cries.  He cries because He loves you. He cries because whether you know it or not, you are His children. You cry out to Him every time you try to end your precious life.

 “Now I know I must sound like a madman and you would not be the first. But what I tell you is the truth. God loved you so much that He gave His only Son for you. He did it because it was His plan.

 “Jesus didn’t have to die but He did. He didn’t have to bear all that pain and shame but He did. He knew what He was doing. He looked down through time and saw the pain that the world was going to go through. He died to take the sins of the world upon His shoulders.”

 Imia stood up and walked over to Simon. She looked into his eyes. She could see the truth in them. He spoke the truth and he saw in her eyes that she knew.

 “Jesus wants nothing to do with me or them for that matter. We are all damaged goods. Too many times we have tried to kill ourselves. No God in heaven or anywhere else would want us. We are just not worth saving.”

 “That is where you are wrong Imia. You and the ones like you who are sick are the reasons that Jesus came. People think that Jesus came for the healthy. He didn’t. He came for the sick. The sick just like you. Just like the rest of you. He even came for the one that has no use for the word of God.

 “All you have to do is say the word and Jesus will dwell within you. He will enter your heart and start the work that will make you into the being you should be. Drugs and drink will not help. Death will not help. Only the Son of God can help. Only He can give you the freedom that you crave. I will be here if you want to know more.”

 Simon walked over to the nearest chair and sat down. Dr. King looked at him with a perplexed look on his face. How could he have known what he said? How could he have known that he had tried to kill himself all those years ago?

 “Simon, this group is for those who have tried to commit suicide, if you don’t mind.”

 Simon stood up and walked to the door. He turned around and looked at the group.

 “He is yours for the taking. All you have to do is say the word.” Simon walked though the door leaving the group looking at each other.

 Imia looked at the floor. If her own parents wanted nothing to do with her why would God. She got up and went to the door. She looked back then went through. She found Simon sitting in the chair by the door. She sat next to him.

 “Why would Jesus want anything to do with the likes of me?”

 Simon looked at Imia and touched her face softly. He had a tear in his eye. He looked at her. She looked into his eyes. She saw a man. His hands were stretched out. She could see the scars on his hands. They looked like they went right through. He smiled at her. A tear ran down Imia’s’ face.

 “You saw Jesus didn’t you?”

 Imia nodded her head. She started to cry. The tears wouldn’t stop.

 “Say the word Imia. Say you want Jesus. Say the word.”

 Imia looked at the floor. She wanted to but was afraid. She was ashamed. She had tried so many times to kill herself.

 “I don’t know.” she whispered.

 Simon lifted her head and smiled, “Those who come to Jesus don’t know that is what they want until they do it. They fight and fight and then they take Jesus. All of a sudden they forget why they fought. They have let the barrier down and let Jesus come in. Jesus cleans house and takes out the trash. After He is finished, there is nothing left but the love He gives.”

 Imia sat and looked at her arms. The scars and the pain they pain they caused. The fact that they showed that she had tried so many time to end her life She looked back into Simon’s eyes and saw the man again. She saw the scars on his hands again. She cried openly. She looked at Simon and nodded her head.

 “Yes I want Jesus. Help me.”

 Simon smiled. He took her hands then heard other voices. The rest of the group were standing at the door. Each one of them had tears in their eyes. They gathered around Simon and Imia.

 “Please kneel with me.” Simon said.

 They all kneeled with Simon. Dr. King was there too. Nurse Sarita came over and put her hand on Kings’ shoulder. She put her other hand on Imia’s’ shoulder. She joined them as Simon led them through the sinner’s prayer.


 Three Years Later

 Imia sat in her office. She was getting ready for group. She talked to one of the girls in the group. The girls looked into Imia’s’ eyes and saw a man. He was holding up His hands showing her the wounds on them.

 “Who is that man in your eyes?”

 Imia looked at the girl and then smiled softly. She looked at her own scars.

 “Say the word.”

 Imia got up and walked with the girl to the group room. Walking in Imia smiled and started to talk.



Jesus is to blame…..NOT!

I found a story about a person who has since tossed away Jesus and blames what has happened in his life on everything and everyone else. He blames Jesus and his friends, everyone but himself! The quoted part was my response to his letter.

“As much as I appreciate your story, it saddens me that you blame everyone else but where the blame needs to go. That is with the Band. They are the ones that messed up. You left your First Love because you decided that it was God’s fault. Jesus wasn’t real. You hate Christians. They abandoned you and left you swinging in the breeze.

I stumbled on this blog looking up the band ******* and I thank you for the incite. If the story is true, and I am not saying it isn’t, ******** is a band I will not put into my collection.

You left Christ, not the other way around. He never left you. He loves you or He wouldn’t have died for you. He did that willingly. He didn’t have to. He could have left the world swinging in the breeze but He didn’t.

Being a Christian is not easy as many people would have you believe. I struggle everyday to be the perfect Christian. I struggle everyday to be the perfect example of Jesus Christ. But there in lies the problem. I try to be but unfortunately, I am not perfect. I am a flawed human being. I realized that a long time ago. I am an ambassador of Jesus Christ. I am not Christ.

Your friends left you swinging, get new friends. Don’t walk away from the one person that loves you more than you will ever know. You chose to walk away and that it was His fault. It wasn’t His fault. It was the bands fault and your Friends. BUT You chose to blame Jesus instead for something HE didn’t do!”

It is a sad state of affairs when we blame the one person that loves us more that any other person in the world. We scream out words like “GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING WRONG?” Well truth be told, He isn’t doing anything wrong. “It’s not Meith…it’s youith.”

Let me reiterate, Christians are not perfect. Never have been never will be. Perfection comes when we stand before the Lord and He welcomes us into His kingdom.

I came to Christ an imperfect person. Now I am imperfect Christian. I make mistakes and I screw up. I am the one the committed the sin. I don’t blame everyone else and if someone else is to blame for the screw up,I will make sure to let that person know. But the fact of the matter is, I made the mistake willingly too. I did so with full knowledge and foresight. If my friends don’t want to support me or take the time to support me, I find new friends that will.

Jesus is and always will be my friend and my first love. I blame Him for nothing. All the mistakes I have made are my fault. But it is easier to blame friends or God or anyone else then take the blame themselves.

The Failure of Jesus!

“And if at times our efforts and works seem to fail and produce no fruit, we need to remember that we are followers of Jesus . . . and his life, humanly speaking, ended in failure, in the failure of the cross.” Pope Francis 2015 September 24th!

Can anyone explain this to me so that it makes sense. Jesus did not fail. The CROSS was not a failure. It was a victory! NO where near a failure. Jesus was perfect, and the plan for His life was perfectly planned. The ending of His life was perfectly planned out to the final painful detail.

Jesus was fully human right down to the DNA and the smallest bacterium. He was God in the flesh but still human. Jesus was put on this earth for one reason one reason only. To die for all mankind. He was literally born to die. He knew what He was to do and how He was to die. It had all been planned out. For three and a half years, He walked this earth knowing what His outcome would be. He spoke of it often.

John 2:18-21

“18 The Jews then responded to him, “What sign can you show us to prove your authority to do all this?”

19 Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”

20 They replied, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and you are going to raise it in three days?” 21 But the temple he had spoken of was his body. 22 After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said.”

His death was going to be the final sacrifice that God would ever require. There would be none other.

To say that Jesus was a failure, humanely speaking or not, is not right. Jesus did not fail. He was a success. His death on the cross a success. It finished the plan that God had put into motion way back in the garden.

His death was the ultimate sacrifice and in so doing so, proved once for all that He was who He said He was. He was not a failure of any kind. He knew that even when He was born, He was going to die. He knew that He was born to die.

Failure is something that us mere humans do. We are flawed. Each and every one of us. Even the Pope himself is a flawed human being. Jesus is GOD Himself and could never be a failure, in any sense at all!

“Keep Looking Up…For His Coming Is Soon!”