PRISONER EXPRESS

I would like to give credit for my strength to those people to whom in times past, I've loved and they-during their time of need-loved me. Unfortunately, I can't do this for I know no one I'm personally acquainted with whom deserves credit. Most men, it is started, have a good woman as a help mate, to encourage and support them. There have been some men lucky enough to find such a unique female ally. As well, I would like to deny religion its effects. Religions-contemporary zealots of a faith which preaches but seldom practices-is but another capitalistic game. Perhaps faith in its purest form is in fact, the only source of my strength. Faith in hope, a loving creator-God and an adversary willing to stand against those who condemn Satan's true children. As well, I have dreams.

Hope, as many times as I have hated to give it its dues, is probably the single greatest source of life. Hope is a merciful God, the salvation through Jesus and power of the Holy Spirit to work out the details of this life (not an easy task for even a handful of true geniuses). It is hope that eases the loneliness with a false dream of actually befriending a real woman. This hope is kept vivid in the fact I have a niece of exceptional quality and a Christian friend in Montana who walks the walk (she's married, the story of my life). I have hope that my aspirations and persistence in writing will one day yield me a reward that will lift me well above the average schmo whom lets the government influence their thoughts. I have hope of rising above the crowd to a level to which I can help those in need, those whom can't in any shape, form or fashion repay the debt. Victor Frakle once stated: "The secret to life is to find the one thing that gives you a purpose" (paraphrased). Such is my purpose that I hope not just profess to be a Christian or an American, but rather let my actions speak louder than all of the words of our American Christian society. Perhaps it is this hope that gives me my greatest strength, for in this hope I am motivated to excel to a higher standard.

In dire times when hope seems to be fading into a twilight of social frustrations, the dreams inspired by my hope, begin to visualize. I see convoys of eighteen wheelers loaded with construction supplies moving into a natural disaster. Trucks toting trailer houses following close behind. This dream, to intervene in a natural disaster such as tornadoes, to rebuild homes or give people trailer houses to live in and move on while capitalistic America argues over insurance claims and who's to blame.

Another dream, to provide income, a house, car, tuition and daycare for single mothers. Everyone makes mistakes, but in punishing a single mother for a bad choice in men, the children end up getting punished. It is a cycle of bad mistakes. In helping a single mother acquire an education, she finds the doors open to a myriad of new paths. Education makes a fool wise to live in a king's court. One day, the dream envisions dozens of successful women gathered as in a family reunion. Their children will play in the park while they sip lemonade at shady benches and tables. Perhaps, God willing, occasionally I can treat these lasses to a special encore concert by Faith Hall, Bond or Tracey Byrd.

And last, my own personal prison, a four or five hundred acre park with a lake, lots of trees, wild horses among deer, antelope, bison and an endless environment of wild life. To wake up in the morning, sip coffee and watch life in peace in my own Eden.

I call my hopes and dreams "straws." The chances of me pulling any of them is only limited to my self-will in perseverance, to become what God made me to be. God has made me what I once was. I trust, He will make me what He has given me to be, an overcomer of this world. In the darkest of times, the words of Keith Whitley seem to suddenly come over the radio in his song "I'm No Stranger to the Rain." Perhaps someone will find the comforting encouragement in those lyrics: "I'm no stranger to the rain/ But there'll always be tomorrow/ And I'll beg, steal or borrow, a little sunshine/ I'll put this cloud behind me/ Cause that's how the man designed me/ To ride the wind and dance through a hurricane/ I'm no stranger to the rain."

To suffer the consequences of bad rearing decisions or family curses, I have the choice to give up or overcome. So I'll grasp a straw, dream a little dream, put my hand to the task at hand and overcome. After all, I danced through hurricane Rita.