I beseech the powers above over and over if you want me here, among the pounding screaming souls who've given up their spirits to the unstable, close the doors. But Lord, wait, you're closing the doors before they're even open. And the raging spirits are transcending to levels where I can't even hear my own mantras. Am I to be a servant to those who take advantage of my hospitality? Should I be thankful for turning the other ear until it bleeds so that they, the homeless and the government assisted mentally ill can howl and yell that the Redskins are just a bunch of cub scouts? It isn't my place to comment, or is it?
A man who goes by the name of Wolf mopped the dining room floor after lunch. We sat after he finished, his t-shirt drenched from the job in an unwelcome heat spell that slid in after a morning thunderstorm. "I lived in a tent for two years, had my sleeping bag hidden in a grove of pine that kept me warm on the coldest of nights, had my camping stove which kept the tent warm and heated my water, no one bothered me until this falanging group of environmentalists pitched there ugly orange tent near mine and they threw garbage everywhere and they shit everywhere until the police came by and I had to pack up. Ya know, I had all kinds of forest animals around me to keep me company, raccoons and skunks and the occasional opossum, damn near have teeth like a Komodo dragon I'm telling ya, and I had to leave." Wolf looked like a wolf and a sane one at that, with long gray hair and a fu manchu that hung well below his chin. His eyes were a bright blue and he had a third of his teeth. "I keep a locker downtown so I don't have to carry all my stuff like most of the folks do here, and when my ex gives me shit about anything, I just go to my locker and put on a sweater."
The sun is setting considerably earlier and once a week I take a few beers and enjoy the dusk along the Genesee and talk to God. After the afternoon meal we had the service led by Chava and the reading from Exodus got me going. I know I am hard on God, I know I expect God to keep the promises that are uttered in the Catholic liturgy at least ten times, and I think Peter was at the end of his life and concluded well, a thousand days is like a day to God I'm going to die before I see the second coming, oh well; that brings no comfort. At all.
I don't like fighting with God. I don't like this troubled spirit and I am certainly not keen on any eschatalogical frothings going on. I just wanna be happy. Is this too much to ask for, Lord?
A lawyer for Monroe Country Legal Assistance came in to offer the guests her help regarding their social services. "Every shelter is full," says Kristin, we got hundreds who need beds, families, single men and women, I've never seen it this bad."
Why can't we all pray Maranatha? Why can't we, like Moses, remind God of his promises and keep God to them? Return Jesus, and take us to heaven. Heaven isn't in us, it isn't on this impermanent planet, it's somewhere else, where suffering and death end. Come on, for crying out Loud.
A man who goes by the name of Wolf mopped the dining room floor after lunch. We sat after he finished, his t-shirt drenched from the job in an unwelcome heat spell that slid in after a morning thunderstorm. "I lived in a tent for two years, had my sleeping bag hidden in a grove of pine that kept me warm on the coldest of nights, had my camping stove which kept the tent warm and heated my water, no one bothered me until this falanging group of environmentalists pitched there ugly orange tent near mine and they threw garbage everywhere and they shit everywhere until the police came by and I had to pack up. Ya know, I had all kinds of forest animals around me to keep me company, raccoons and skunks and the occasional opossum, damn near have teeth like a Komodo dragon I'm telling ya, and I had to leave." Wolf looked like a wolf and a sane one at that, with long gray hair and a fu manchu that hung well below his chin. His eyes were a bright blue and he had a third of his teeth. "I keep a locker downtown so I don't have to carry all my stuff like most of the folks do here, and when my ex gives me shit about anything, I just go to my locker and put on a sweater."
The sun is setting considerably earlier and once a week I take a few beers and enjoy the dusk along the Genesee and talk to God. After the afternoon meal we had the service led by Chava and the reading from Exodus got me going. I know I am hard on God, I know I expect God to keep the promises that are uttered in the Catholic liturgy at least ten times, and I think Peter was at the end of his life and concluded well, a thousand days is like a day to God I'm going to die before I see the second coming, oh well; that brings no comfort. At all.
I don't like fighting with God. I don't like this troubled spirit and I am certainly not keen on any eschatalogical frothings going on. I just wanna be happy. Is this too much to ask for, Lord?
A lawyer for Monroe Country Legal Assistance came in to offer the guests her help regarding their social services. "Every shelter is full," says Kristin, we got hundreds who need beds, families, single men and women, I've never seen it this bad."
Why can't we all pray Maranatha? Why can't we, like Moses, remind God of his promises and keep God to them? Return Jesus, and take us to heaven. Heaven isn't in us, it isn't on this impermanent planet, it's somewhere else, where suffering and death end. Come on, for crying out Loud.
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