Tag: Spirituality

An Open Letter to the Church Today

Photo by Maria Tyutina on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

Dear Church,

You’re the one who got me in this pickle. You started it.

You said to love your neighbor. But it turns out there seems to be disclaimers to this most important of all commandments, and it’s very confusing to keep the rules straight.

Then you told me to witness to the world, make disciples of men, when what they really need is a template for what love looks like; not just what it sounds like.

So, I did that too.

You told me to pray God would break my heart for what breaks his heart, and that is the prayer that did me in. I hope you’re happy.

This was the knottiest kink in the whole chain. Because listen...

HE DID IT. I had a supernatural experience. The veil didn’t tear open but it did have a loose thread. And I did what people do, which is to pick at it until it unraveled.

And it was VERY upending and not entirely pleasant.

People were hungry. People were lonely. People had had scripture lobbed at them at every turn but were empty. I did a lot of that lobbing in the day. They were all hurting, because we are all hurting. Presence does what words can never do.

The whole, wide hurting world is looking at Christ-followers to see if they are made of the same stuff they preach. And woefully, too much of it perpetuates the separation between us and God (in reality, there is none.)

And you never told me to love myself, as one who could also benefit from that top-tier commandment. And I didn’t know how, as you taught me the human heart is deceitful above all things and not to trust it. Not to trust the voice of the God particle we all carry, that divine spark.

Church, God is within you, you told me. But he’s not the icky parts. No, he cannot be in the presence if ick. It’s too icky and you’re too human. As if Christ didn’t pick his nose or wipe his butt. As if he didn’t wail and cry, and ask the cup to be taken from him.

It’s my desire to see the Church repent for making love about doctrine and law.

Please don’t discount revival because it looks nothing like you thought it would. God is crafty that way. He isn’t bound to do it your way (or mine.)

As it turns out, I don’t mind being in this pickle anymore. Because it’s fundamentally changed me to consider the suffering of others. It should change all of us.

I fell in love with you a long time ago, Church. There is so much to love. Good news! Community! You reared our whole generation, and I’m so grateful for all the wonderful experiences I’ve had in your space. It felt like a safe space for a long time.

But perhaps it’s time for a shift?

I will always love you, but sanctuaries should not be proving grounds.

And as we all experience this great winding-up to sharing the mind of God in total, let’s remember people over policies. Politics have no place in religion, and frankly, we cannot afford the hatred that comes part and parcel with politics. Please keep it out of the pulpit. You alienate more people than you help.

So, actually, thank you for starting this, I think.

Warm Regards,

6

Celebrations, Pity Parties, and a God who Attends Both

How often do I feel like I’m spiritually “getting things right”? About as often as we see an eclipse. So let’s not lean on on our “understanding” of God and lean instead into Love (which is really just another name God goes by.) And yes, this is my lame attempt at photographing the eclipse.

By: JANA GREENE

If it’s God’s will, it will come easily. That’s how you know you’re operating in the Spirit. Things will click. Things will flow. His yoke is light, etc and so on.

But also, if you are in God’s will, it will be hard.

You’ll know you have holy favor when you’re downtrodden and at the end of your rope. That’s the ol’ devil, don’t you know. And he wouldn’t mess with you if you weren’t doing God’s work.

Well, which is it? Do you see the conundrum?

This is life, and it’s both and neither. It is, so far as I can tell, it’s ALLTHETHINGS, dammit.

I can’t trust a God whose mind I have to pick apart to get it “right.”

I don’t tell my adult children, “Okay, I’m feeling some type of way about you…but WHICH way? Let’s see if you can correctly guess based on interpretation of an ancient text and my jealous, vengeful nature. May the odds be ever in your favor!”

I learn alongside my children, you see. For everything I learn about them, they learn about me. And in the process, and I feel like we are all learning alongside God, with curiosity and wonder and grieving and suffering.

It will be easy, there will be times of flow.

It will be brutally difficult.

It’s all holy favor, you see, and that’s the confounding part.

God only feels ONE type of way about you.

We need not wring our hands in an attempt to earn love, because that’s the way we have been taught to please a world of broken people and an unpleasable diety.

In actuality, the odds are always, always in your favor, Beloved. Even (especially?) when you’re most hurt, downtrodden, and at the end of your rope.

Whether you invite God to a celebration of the soul or an old-fashioned pity party, just invite him. The Spirit shows up for both.

How to be in the will of God? Just be.

Blessings, friends.

7

Room Enough for Love

Ahhhh, you have to admit this is HEAVENLY!

By: JANA GREENE

When I thought I understood the hereafter in my evangelical days, I used to talk about the mansions we will all have in heaven, and looked forward to laying down this mortal burden and enjoying my “just reward” after fighting the good fight.

“Mansions!” all us Christians would insist. “We are all gonna have MANSIONS!”

In seems a strange form of idolatry now in hindsight. Entitlement, even. After all, it’s our birthright! In the end, it’s ego wanting what ego feels justified in wanting.

The way we all carried on about the specs for our abode in Heaven, missing the point and slipping into a prosperity gospel mindset.

So, God? You can give my heavenly “mansion” to someone else who struggled with homelessness while Earthside. Transfer the deed, and let it be so. Basking in the undiluted consciousness of the Universe is enough for me.

Perhaps God, you can see fit to let my address be YOU. Peace, not riches, in communion with the holiness we only get to see glimpses of here.

Although I surely won’t mind if you place me near water – perhaps a sea or a stream. I want to be cozy forever and ever, amen – safe finally and well. Whole and free in my little heavenly abode.

And I will invite all of my friends to my little UN-mansion; and that will be enough. A true just reward, eternally.

In my Father’s house, there are said to be many rooms, but I just need room enough for love.

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Taking Custody of the Inner Child

I know life isn’t like a Haribo commercial gummy bear commercial, where we all sit around the board table and infantilize ourselves in a quest to satisfy an inner child. But dang. Maybe we should. We should at least talk kindly to ourselves! Namaste, friend. The child in me recognizes the child in you. ❤

By: JANA GREENE

I spend time with a little girl every day.

Even the days I am very busy.

Even on the days she is a bit of a pest.

She is enthusiastic, sometimes whiny,

always craving affection and being a little clingy.

She is healing from trauma, you see.

Sometimes I don’t even know what to do with her.

I acknowledged her from time to time, sure.

But I ignored her whenever possible.

But she was mostly a nuisance,

and I used to not know what to say to her.

You see,

for the longest time,

I didn’t have custody of her at all,

which is crazy because she’s ME.

Of course I had physical custody,

but the goal was just to make sure she didn’t hurt herself,

didn’t starve,

wasn’t cold or hungry.

But mental, emotional, and spiritual custody?

She was on her own.

Now we are pals I’m happy to say.

I’m not saying she doesn’t get on my last nerve,

but she’s learning that she doesn’t have to be small,

and take up the least amount of space,

all of the time.

She is seen, and she is heard, and she is loved.

I used to bristle at the term “inner child.”

because I thought mine was gone.

I thought I was too late.

That’s the lie we believe –

that we are damaged right out of the gate,

never to be whole again.

To that I say BALDERDASH!

Please know that you can reparent yourself.

You can make your inner child feel safe.

You can make sure she feels seen and heard.

You can rediscover all the things she loved

but never got to share with you.

I love my inner little squirt now.

Get to know yours; I know she’s ready

for her turn.

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That Grounding Gospel – Taking God to the Mat

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

I do my best spiritual work from on the ground, apparently.

I can remember laying on my mat Kindergarten at naptimes at school, a skinny little girl laying curled in a ball, watching all my classmates fall asleep like falling asleep is just a normal thing people do or something.

From birth, my brain never shut up, and my home life was dysfunctional to the point of chaos. So, I would lay with my budding anxious neurosis on the vinal mat, unable to sleep; afraid to close my eyes (and afraid not to.) No sleep, only unease.

My teacher, Mrs. Carter would stand over me and holler in front of the whole class, “CLOSE YOUR EYES, JANA!” I can remember squeezing them together and doing a rudimentary version of praying. It was a crude and simple exchange with the God of my Vacation Bible School stories. Even as a child, I seemed to know instinctively that there is more help available from the Divine than we ask for or expect.

“I can’t calm my mind,” I would have said to the adults in my life, had I the language to ask for what I needed. But I didn’t. Little girls with big, grown-up worries don’t know how to self-soothe, because OF COURSE they don’t; and they surely don’t know how to articulate anxiety or ask for help calming their minds.

That’s where I remember doing my first earnest prayers – on the kindergarten mat – asking of Jesus who already lives in my heart to be seen and soothed, comforted and feel less alone.

Twenty-seven years later, I found myself on the bathroom floor of my house, battling an alcohol addiction, wishing to die. On January 3, 2001, I came to the end of myself on that floor. Wretching, sick, alone, and desperate. From flat on the tiled floor, my fist in the air, eyes tinged in red, and skin yellowing, yelling at God and no one in particular, I came to the end of myself.

It reminded me of the biblical story of Jacob “going to the mat” with God in an all-night WrestleMania event. “I’m not going to take this laying down!” Jacob was thinking. But he ended up exhausted and limping, which is how most of us end up in that mindset, if we are not careful.

I had prayed many, many times before for sobriety, but there was a different outcome on that day. A peace descended on me like a dove. In my sickness and desperation, I was met on the floor by a God undeterred from my anxiety. One minute at a time, and then one hour, then one day, week, month, year… that was 23 years ago. A lifetime ago.

“I CAN’T CALM MY MIND” I simply told him. And here’s the thing: I know the same Spirit who curled up with me on my kindergarten nap mat is the same Spirit who met me in the bathroom, me clinging to the toilet, him not at all afraid to get the hem of his garment dirty on my behalf.

I am now learning to meditate now, and it’s a challenge. My husband, who never seems to tire of my endless new “hobbies” took me to get a nice, double-padded yoga mat. I’ve been on quite the little awakening for several years now and am learning so much. I absolutely love incorporating the tools I’m learning into my faith life, which is not a conflict with the holiness of God at all, no matter what Debbie at the Pentecostal church says. (I plan to write at length about what I’m learning, if you’d like to journey with me.)

The first group meditation session I went to, I dutifully spread out my mat amongst the hippies and lovers and seekers at the group event, excited to learn this new coping mechanism. The atmosphere was thick with love and cleansing. Yet can you guess what the prevailing thought was upon getting situated?

I CAN’T CALM MY MIND.

“Okay,” I felt Spirit say, over the Native American flute music and swirling clouds of burning sage (that former evangelical ‘me’ would be scandalized by.) “I am in you and with you and around you.”

If you feel you are on the “floor” in some regard to your life, I just want to remind you that it’s a nice, stable surface from which to start. You are simply grounding, darlings. The floor is a very vulnerable place to be, but be vulnerable we must, if we are to grow. We glorify striving, when simply being is enough.

So just ‘be’ today, friends.

Just be, Groundlings. And don’t forget to breathe. And ask the Universe to make you ever more aware of his presence. If we increase our awareness of this supernatural experience, we begin to see God everywhere – in every ONE.

In you, too! Ready to see, soothe, and comfort you – meeting you on hallowed ground.

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The Driving Force

It’s okay to love all the parts of yourself.
(Mural Carolina Beach.).

By: JANA GREENE

I love the parts of me

that are most like the Source.

The parts that align

with all the Divine,

with love as the driving force.

The parts made of stardust

and deep mystery,

the parts not sullied by

my own history,.

The Kingdom of God

that’s within me?

It abides within you too.

We seekers and finders

oft need reminders

Of our identities

in the Truth.

The parts that align

with all the Divine,

make it all well with my soul.

So I’ll embrace

all the parts of me…

Not in part, but the whole.

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Cringey Vulnerability (a tale of betrayal)

Today’s writing prompt from The Writing Room Collective:

By: JANA GREENE

If you are going to trust with any degree of your tender, fleshy heart, you will get hurt. It isn’t a possibility. It isn’t a “might happen.” We all experience betrayal. Death has lost it’s eternal sting, but betrayal still really smarts.

Many years ago, a woman who was freshly out of rehab was being released into her natural habitat of Life on Life’s Terms. We had a mutual friend at the time, who asked me to reach out to her so I can hook her up with some meeting resources, and just generally be her friend. As a result of her past choices, she relied on others to get her around town – she lost her licence – and I was all too happy to be her recovery buddy and take her to meetings with me.

And become her friend, I did.

Not only did she confide in me, but I in her; and regularly. Looking back now, I cringe at the uber-vulnerability I felt comfortable engaging in with her. I wasn’t her sponsor, but I was her friend, and I have a propensity for letting it all hang out anyway.

She had close ties with people who used to be an intimate part of my life (ESTRANGED family, gee, that should have been a clue!) but I did a crazy thing, which is to trust her.

What I should have caught on to, but missed by a mile, was that her wildly elaborate and passionate stories about recovery were pockmarked with holes, hugs, and bullshit. My gut often doesn’t get consulted on these things, when it should be the FIRST consultation I make.

On our rides to meetings, she was super animated and would often even quote from my own blog to me. I would sometimes think, ‘okay…THAT was weird,’ but most of my friends – and certainly me – are weird. Some of the personal stories she told suspended belief!

Eventually, this friend needed witnesses who ‘knew’ her pretty well, and after taking her to meetings for damn near a year I felt confident about testifying on her behalf.  “You’ve worked so hard on your recovery,” I said. “I would be honored to help!”

The Oscar for Best Actress goes to ….

My “friend.”

After I was a character witness for her, I never saw or heard from her again. She fell off the face of the Earth. It’s hard for me to imagine that degree of deception.

Turns out, this woman had been drinking all along – Vodka apparently, so I didn’t smell it. ALL ALONG.

I kind of pride myself on this mission statement: I don’t have relationships with people I don’t trust. That assumes I know untrustworthy people and can tell when they are lying. I thought I had decent discernment. Maybe that pride needs to go the way of ALL pridefulness. In the sh*tter, where it belongs.

The question I keep posing to myself is thus – HOW could I be so stupid and gullible? I honest to God just didn’t see it. I really hurt my own feelings about it. Then I realize, there is no betrayal that can’t teach us a thing or two.

There’s no way to wrap up this post up all clean and tidy-like, because life is just so messy. I don’t think I’ll hear from her again; she got what she had befriended me for.

What I experienced ain’t terribly original.

Active addicts lie. It’s kind of what they do. They deceive, minimize, maximize, lie, cheat, steal, and all to protect their best friend – the drug of choice. I myself used to strategically hide BOXES of wine all over the house (although I’m not sure why, as those in my life at the time didn’t seem to mind if I drank myself to death.)

But once I got into a program, I learned to call myself out on these behaviors and stop lying to myself.  Because calling yourself out keeps you sober, frankly. “Rigorous honesty.”

Yeah, that old chestnut.

As with most things about recovery, I’ve learned tons about myself during this time. Had I to do it again, what would I change? Even if I knew she was using me and lying about her addiction?

I would still offer to take her to meetings with me. I would still give her a safe place to vent. I probably wouldn’t have shared as much of my personal life with her, and I surely wouldn’t have vouched for her. Like I said, it sometimes seems that no good deed goes unpunished.

Although the deception happened TO me, it is not ABOUT me. It’s not about me in the least. But it stings all the same –  I’m just being honest about how this whole debacle made me feel.

Still, God calls me to be grace-full, and I’m trying. He never called me to be a sucker, though.  I have forgiven this lady (although she never asked for it) after wasting precious hours and hours on trying to figure out what clues I missed.

But forgiving someone doesn’t mean you want to break bread with them. You can forgive, walk away, and be wiser for the trouble.

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Housekeeping

Photo by JACK REDGATE on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

Maam, that burden looks heavy to me.

I know because I’ve carried it.

And sometimes I still pick it up,

when I forget I’ve already buried it.

When I remember it’s not mine to carry

I can “clean house” again.

If I leave my “muddy sneakers” outside,

I control what I track in.

Housekeep your sweet spirit,

leave your burden at the door.

Be tender with your heart,

it’s been wounded to the core.

We can lift the heavy things,

Sometimes we all must do it.

I’ll carry yours

if you help carry mine,

and together we’ll get through it.

Yes, together we’ll get through it.

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Psst…Your Energy is Showing (and it’s Beautiful!)

I think I’ve leveled-up on my woo-woo-ness. And I’m okay with that!

By: JANA GREENE

The best compliment I have ever been paid upon meeting someone that I have only known on social media previously is: “Wow! You have beautiful energy.”

I actually cried the first time someone said this. How wonderful to notice first the essence of a person; not the packaging.
I can think of nothing better than receiving that “good word” (as I would say in my evangelical days.) It’s a big ‘ol NAMASTE – my soul recognizes yours. What could possibly be better?

And I am sure to comment on the energy of others too. Some people positively glow with it, so much so that their presence changes the entire trajectory of your day.

Energy isn’t the perfect lipstick or a flattering haircut. It doesn’t give a nod to trends, or consider an outward aesthetic.

It’s our very frequency, which the whole universe vibes with. People can actually “tune in” to yours and mine – it’s created to be shared. We are all just only energy anyway, might as well be good energy!

Wrinkles and fat come and go (mostly just come these days.) “Beauty” by conventional definition “fades.” Our mental health gets janky. Cellulite dimples our bodies. Hair grays. Boobs fall. Fupas happen. My physical health is falling apart due to chronic illness. But this little light of mine? It transcends this Earth Suit. Thank God for that.

Your frequency is like no other. We don’t need to be perfect; we just need to lean into the Oneness that we all belong to.
Blessed be, Dear Reader.

And namaste, you beautiful energy vessel, you. Thanks for sharing your frequency with the world.

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Every Day Precious, Every Moment Counts

By: JANA GREENE

My GOD, life is precious.

I was going to write about the subject of today’s writing prompt, which is “Describe your favorite childhood book.” How very light, fluffy, and FUN! Maybe I’ll write about that tomorrow. I’m not really feeling it today.

Yesterday, my husband and I went for a Sunday convertible drive, the weather was so lovely. We drove all the way down to Fort Fisher like we usually do because (I realize this is kind of nauseating) that’s where we had our very first kiss. We stop and kiss in that exact spot, and notice three guys with motorcycles watching the kiteboarders in the inlet.

“What a beautiful day for a bike ride!” we said aloud at one point. We admired the view for a bit. It really was a beautiful day.

We started back up Fort Fisher, stopping to take a few pictures (to use on my blog) and we heard sirens. An ambulance raced past, heading to the end of the long road. Then a firetruck. I am nosy, so I wondered aloud, should we go see what’s happening? Something told me “no.” Something told me (correctly) that I couldn’t handle whatever “this” was. We decided to head home as a state police car barreled past us. He was flying. The emergency presence was alarming…

CB and Kure police. State police. A fire truck. And, an ambulance. We both had a sick feeling about it for some weird reason, and it was a feeling we couldn’t shake.

Later in the afternoon, when we got home, we found out it was a motorcycle accident that happened minutes after we left Fort Fisher. Minutes.

Today I read the news that the motorcyclist did not survive the accident. I can not stop thinking about him today.

There had only been three guys on motorcycles and a tourist couple taking pictures, (and Bob and I) down that long stretch of road. That’s all. I could remember the faces, which seems odd – that my mind – which is not so swell at remembering anything else – could conjure their faces.

Which one, I wondered. Which gentleman was it? The one riding a trike or one of the two men who were riding together. Was it you, Guy in the royal blue shirt? Was it the dude on the trike? Or was it the short one with long hair?

I may never know. But here’s what I DO know… Life is effing short.

None of those men thought a ride to Fort Fisher would be the last thing he did on this earth. How absurd that someone in their prime of life would go for a bike ride and never come home? I’m crying thinking about it.

So I pray for the family, because what else are we supposed to do with these jarring realizations that this life is but one leg of an eternal journey. I’m so sorry for them. Their worlds make absolutely no sense today.

We have the time we have allotted and not a minute more, so what are we doing with the it? Learn to be present in the moment. Let the small stuff go. Enjoy the living daylights out of every minute. Which is difficult because in addition to being the most amazing ever, life is also the hardest, most bewildering thing ever.

In honor of the gentleman who lost his life minutes after we saw his face, I’m going to love on my family harder than necessary today. I’m going to be more aware in the moments with friends, which are so precious. Please take good care of yourself and each other today. God really does love you, and so do I.

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Paperweight (“It Seemed Like a Good Plan on Paper” writing prompt)

Art by: Jana Greene

On this second day of taking a cue from my favorite Author’s writing prompt suggestions, I bring you a little poetry jam. Anne Lamott’s prompt today? Write about: “It seemed like a good plan on paper.” This piece wholly turned into something completely different than I had in mind, as so often happens. I hope you enjoy, Dear Reader. From my paper heart to yours.

By: JANA GREENE

It seemed like a good plan on paper,

but Rock and Scissors intervened,

(even though I don’t remember

asking them to help me scheme.)

In “Rock! Paper! Scissors!”

it’s to the paper I relate,

because I don’t want trouble

(and have no need to double

down on all of that hate.)

Rock has tried to keep me down,

because that’s his only schtick.

Invite me to cry on his shoulder,

then pin me under a boulder?

That’s the oldest trick.

He tried to pull off his caper,

But my name is Paper,

so spare me your hullabaloo.

And Scissors, before you

start up with me, I’ve

a message for you, too.

Before you get lippy,

you best be damn skippy,

you know I will make it alive.

Hit me with your best shot,

shear me with all you got,

Go ahead and…strive.

Cut me into ribbons,

and as streamers, I will fly.

Fill me with words,

I’ll be a book by and by.

Drench me in deep colors,

I become a work of art.

Keep me as a journal,

and you’ll have a place to start.

Cut me in a million pieces,

and confetti I will be,

And then I will be everywhere,

a living thing, you see.

I will rain down celebration,

as was written at my birth.

I will peddle deep elation,

I’ll be a paperweight of worth.

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God is Good (ALL the time? You Sure About That?)

Photo by Puwadon Sang-ngern on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

The year of our Lord 2023 can go suck eggs. It can suck eggs, eat my shorts, lick rust, and eat glass. I’m not one for oversimplifying (I can’t stand it when people say “the whole YEAR sucked!” because I’ve learned that the same year that held loss and grief also has it’s moments too. I can’t recall many right now, but they definitely happened. Small victories like medical lab results marginally improving, family birthday parties, lunch with friends.

Well, was it a bad year? It either was or it wasn’t, right?

At the beginning of 2023, one of my acquaintances posted to Facebook this ALL CAPS EXCITEMENT BOMB, and for good reason. “PRAISE GOD, YA’LL! HE IS SOOOO GOOD! IT WASN’T CANCER!” They had a cancer scare, and it turned out to be ‘nothing.’ So I rejoiced alongside my friend, with the cringe-comment, “WOOHOOO! GOD IS GOOD ALL THE TIME!” Hey, I was an evangelical a long time. The catchphrases die hard.

The very next day, I received news that a friend who was like a sister to me was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. She was given months to live. What the actual HELL, God? God did NOT seem so good anymore, in that moment – less than 24 hours after celebrating my acquaintances’ good news.

I was angry, and it set the tone for the whole year. I wanted to retract my praise for my FB friend’s diagnosis – not because I wasn’t thankful that they’d be okay, but because God knew devastating news was coming and he let me rant about how ‘good’ he is! SO good at healing, knowing good and damn well he was going to take my sisterfriend from us.

I don’t know about you, but I like absolutes – something this world is stingy with.

God is good, or he’s not.

Either “it is finished” by Jesus, or we are all still waiting in spiritual limbo.

Either God heals or he doesn’t.

A funny thing happened on Bitterness Road though. Our close friend group rallied around our sick friend. She herself had beautiful spiritual revelations in the last months of her life. REALLY profound, amazing realizations. We – the ladies in our tribe – learned more about facing death with grace and dignity than we had never known. She too was angry for a time, because of COURSE she was!

But in her terrible struggle, she also introduced us all to a peace that truly passes understanding; a peace not sullied by all the temporal shit we contend with every day. She was going home, and she showed us all how to do it with grace.

I still say 2023 was awful, as a whole. But there were so many glimmers. The high points didn’t look like winning the lottery, or losing weight, or getting a promotion, or any of the other things we think of as manifestations of God’s love for us (that we label as “success.”)

Manifestations of God’s love show up in the grace of going through the very worst life has to offer. And I guess I’d prefer that to a holy love that only manifests as “good” things. That’s a love entirely too shallow.

Today, I choose to believe the lovingness of God far surpasses the crappiness of life.

And on days (years?) when I struggle with thinking of God as pure love, I choose to believe God is only, simply love – no fillers or by-products. We can lean into that love. We MUST lean into it.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, because my spirit knows it to be true. So maybe don’t lick rust, 2023 – you taught me a lot. But I welcome 2024 with the expectation that God is good, and the assurance that when life isn’t, he still is.
Blessed be, Friends.

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