Life Line

 

Life Line

June 27, 2026

I find it refreshing to be disconnected from social media, but I must admit I am connected more than I’m not. With all the noise on social media, it seems everyone has something to say, and while their words may be true, there are only so many ways to say something. It’s exhausting at times to be so connected in this world. 

Rarely do we hear someone say, “Help me.” The point of this story is to encourage you to be vulnerable enough to ask for help when you need it. I understand how difficult it can be to reach out to others; it took a near click experience for me to say those words. I was so close to what I now call the click–the last sound you hear before death. Nearly 38,000 males commit suicide each year, which averages out to a man dying by suicide approximately every thirteen minutes. That’s more than one hundred a day. Let that sink in. The pressure is intense out there. I’m just being honest. Some days, you just want to quit. 

My transparency may be my enemy here, but I must write this story for what it is. This is the fourth start of this story. I have left the others in their place and have not changed them. They will speak for themselves as you read. I felt an urgency to write about transparency and how that plays a role in our healing. As we traveled home today from Southport, I realized I might have misled you in my writing to think that I am completely healed, whole, and perfect. I am far from that and still struggle daily with this awful unholy body that experiences the triggers that force me to be in places that I really don’t want to be. Sometimes a conversation, a place of business, a restaurant, or even a certain smell can trigger feelings and memories of my past. Even a person’s glasses or a reaction of a conversation can ignite an emotion that causes me to want to escape this world. It’s real, and I haven’t experienced healing for that. There is only secondary management to these symptoms of destruction. They are manageable, yes, and that’s the wonderful news here. It may be a mystery now, but the hope in the end is there is victory.  

As I sit on the edge of the Cape Fear River bank today in Southport, I realize there is less to life than it has been. Life is short. Each and every day that goes by, my focus funnels into this small lens of reality. Heading into this story, I wonder if this is my last one or will there be more? I have such an urge in my soul to write this one. I really don’t want to because I know it’s taking me places I don’t want to go to and expend energy I don’t want to expend. My soul wants to push forward, so we will do it together. Just me, my soul, and my spirit. Softly, we will travel this journey of death, destruction, and hopelessness. This has been a writing journey so far; night and day, I keep adding to this story. 

There is so much to write here as they are all gone, and my soul is blessed to be still here. I’m still here! I’m coming off the last story, Jenny,which was so fun to write and full of love and beautiful endings. I’m not sure how this one came to life, but as with all my stories, they just happen at will. It seems all my stories may hold clues to my healing. I hope to put these clues together one day and see a beautiful ending. That day will come, and I feel it will be soon.  

As we head into June, which is men’s mental health month, I wanted to share a series of ominous stories with you all. They entail both past pains and present pains. This story includes several red door stories all at once and one that might become a red door story if I don’t write it out now. I don’t want to bury this present pain deep in my mind and lock it in my soul forever. In the past four years, I have learned how to unlock the clues of healing through stories and experiences I have been through. I am not singular in this journey; there are so many with me. I am not alone, and surely others are traveling with me now. Come and join me in this journey. I know you are here with me even now. I can feel you reading this story and know that I am speaking to those of you who are afraid to tell someone. Tell them! Tell them now! Speak what you need to say and let it be known that you need help to live before you become one of them. 

I will name those that did not speak. There is my dad, Matthew, click. There is Tammy, click, who I was engaged to before I met my sweet Lisa. I truly loved Tammy. Then there was Tammy’s mom, who was murdered. There is Kevin, click, and his wife Kathy, click. There is Kevin and Tammy’s son, Matt, and there is my brother Chris. There are those who were in your circle but disappeared into the darkness and now don’t exist in this world. There are those you have prayed for who have left this earth so unaware and quietly that even time itself has forgotten. Have we gotten so involved in our own social circles that we have missed them. Mine are just a handful of so many. Those whose tragic endings impacted many lives; some say they made the choice or the choice was made for them. By murder, by noose, the trigger, or jump, their decision was based on life choices before the event ever took place. Most say it was their choice, and I am going to strongly disagree. What happens to you, that which is invisible to the world, brings people to a point of no return most of the time. I want to write more about this one day and maybe I will. For now, we are going to move forward. 

What happened to our hope, our purpose, and our calling? What happened? 

A bullet, a noose, a jump, or even a plunge into a deep pit of overwhelming pressure took their joy and their lives because they could not say the words that they needed to say. Hey, can you help me? I was once in their shoes, and that’s the most frightening part of writing this story. I wanted to quit. I wanted to be with them. I was one click away. 

I had one desire and that was to be alone and leave a note for my family. I felt so alone, but on the outside, no one saw anything but a normal person full of joy and happiness. No one saw beyond the mask, and I made sure to never show my true feelings. For those who are hiding behind the mask, it’s a show to the end. My voicemail would have sounded like this, “Hey, I just want you to know where to find me and know that I love you forever and ever. I adore you and with every breath I adored you. Know that my life was for you and for the girls. I love you, girls. I just couldn’t continue any longer. It was too great and the pressure was too much. I’m so sorry to leave you this way. I love you.” Then, click! 

Now to the present. I made it! Yes, I made it. You can make it, too. No click, no noose, no plunge, no plan to exit. I am breathing a sigh of relief. I’m going to do my best to explain what’s going on right now and what happened in the days that led up to this moment. But there is a twist to this story, and I want you to be ready for it as it will not end with all love and flowers. Here’s the real story. 

This all started about four and a half years ago. Death had approached my doorstep in the form of memories that were calling me to death. It’s time, they said. You can do this. Night after night, I didn’t even want to sleep anymore as the call was so ominous and intense. It was real to me. Just recalling it now makes me nervous about sleeping tonight. If you’ve been in a similar situation, you know what I’m talking about. It’s a voice and voices that are never silent. They have but one goal and that is to destroy and kill. I told Lisa to hide the gun and never tell me where it was. It’s still hidden to this day. You who are here reading this now know what I am saying. Let this story speak to you; let it rest in your soul and seek some help. 

Suicide has been a strong voice in my life for many years; it was even whispered in my ears as a young child. In my formative years, there was no hope and the only answer was death. In the years that followed, only death could have brought peace to my troubled soul. It was an option to my soul. Then I decided enough was enough. and I would reach out to someone.  

I made a call from work that day to a friend hoping she would help me. I hoped she would hear the urgency in my voice and she did. Ava is my friend but also a therapist. We agreed to meet the next week, and she said we had fifty-five minutes in the session; that was the only fifty-five-minute session we ever did. 

From then on, our sessions were at least two hours to two and one half hours long. Ava often joked that on Mondays she cleared her appointments after 5:00 pm and didn’t schedule much that day in general. Mondays were the day. I looked forward to them most of the time. They were exhausting but at the same time, relief came out of each session. Our conversations were in-depth and no boundaries were unexplored. 

I explained what was going on and shared with her my past from age five to now. This is where I am now wanting to end it all. Her response was, “Do you have a plan? You know, a plan, the plan to end it all?” My response was a hard no, but she knew I had been thinking about what the outcome might be. Her response back to me was simple and true even to this day, “If you come up with a plan, please call me and let me know what that might be, and if you can’t get me, call 988 right away.” I smiled and started to nervously laugh. She was dead serious as she looked at me without smiling and with no expression on her face. She was letting me know the seriousness of my state of mind. Her urgency set the tone for each and every session.  

She dug into the depths of my being and discovered things that were hidden and forgotten for all eternity. Ava is gifted as she had an unwavering way to dig down to bedrock and turn over stones that were so heavy that even I could not overturn them. There she would find the gold and every now and then a nugget. She was patient to share these findings and insert them in my mind in perfect timing. Often saying, “You know, George, or apparently George, you don’t know. You keep doing the same thing over and over, thinking the same and enduring the same. There is a better way, let me share it with you.” 

I had hidden things so deep and didn’t want to ever expose them to anyone. Lisa sat quietly with me at each session and discovered even more about me, even after forty years of marriage. Four years went on and each session brought new life to me and a new beginning to my life. I began a fresh journey and discovered a different pathway, full of meaning and purpose. I discovered a new way to deal with my pain, a new plan, and a new light to my path. The most important plan is having no plan to exit this life. 

Therapy has ended for me now, not because I wanted it to but because circumstances changed. The tools Ava has given me will last a lifetime. She poured herself into my soul for four years, and I am forever grateful. I am now in what I call secondary management. Past the point of the click and now in the living for purpose. 

Here’s what secondary management looks like: it’s evaluating every circumstance and deciding if I can sit here, stand here, be here, and see this. If not, what are the risks involved and is there a plan to escape? There is always an escape route in all circumstances. With this plan in place, I feel like I could take on the world. It’s been now more than four and a half years with Ava. Am I healed? That is relevant only to the circumstance and how it evolves and what the outcome becomes. It’s not perfect but very manageable now. My sweet Lisa plays a key role in all of this as well. 

I have to take a break from this story for a few days now, and I will be back to it soon. I will remind my mind to come back quickly because time is of the essence, and I know there are those who are reading this whose lives may be in the balance. 

I am now waking up at my scheduled time (3:30 am) each and every day to add to this story. I want to move forward now. 

While in therapy on Sundays, I would receive a text just like the actual text below in this story; this took my life to a different place of pain, a caring that I never knew I had, a love that shattered all emotions, and to this day, am still processing. They read: 

December 31st - Lisa and I texted Ava 

Ava, Hope you had a great Christmas. Lisa and I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year. 

Response from Ava on January 1st.

Happy New Year to you both!!! I had a pleasant Christmas with my son and daughter and grandkids! Then my oldest grandson drove me home so I did no driving on the way home. What a treat it was to have that special time together!

Text Received from Ava on January 11th. 

Hi Lisa and George, 

I was hospitalized last week at Rex Hospital in Raleigh where, after an MRI, the doctors found a brain tumor. They did a biopsy last Monday, and I will be heading to the Duke Brain Cancer Center next week with possible surgery soon. So, I won’t be able to meet with you tomorrow. Also, if are interested, I can send your contact information for our therapy group. Let me know what you think will work best for you all. Had hoped to talk personally about this situation but it hasn’t’t been possible. 

Ava

My Response: 

Dear Ava, 

We are so sorry to hear this news and quite honestly, we are completely devastated. 

First and foremost, I want you to know we have prayed for you. You know I am never one to be lost for words but for now I am. I will do my best to convey my thoughts. 

For more than four years now, we have received a text on Sunday afternoon telling us we had an appointment with you tomorrow, and my response has always been, “Looking forward to our meeting.” My response to Lisa has always been, “Don't have much to talk about.” But that's never the case. 

You have been instrumental in my healing journey, not only mentally but also in helping me discover and develop a creative side in a positive and empowering way. You have truly made a difference. For more than four years, you have made a meaningful impact on my life. 

When we first met, I wanted to quit. But you turned that into a desire to change humanity. For that, I am forever thankful!

Lisa and I consider you a friend as well as a therapist! I know when we first started this journey you were not sure if it was possible to be a therapist and a genuine friend. But you soon found out that you could be both. It’s not common in your industry but it worked. 

We are so hopeful that healing will happen, and you will someday return to your couch. But if that doesn't happen, know that you have given us both powerful tools for life as we continue to navigate saving humanity. That should make you smile. 

Now, as for reaching out to another therapist, you already know what I'm going to say. That's a no way, no how, not in this lifetime. 

In my opinion, the last four years were designed by God Himself and for that we are forever grateful! Thank you, Ava, for your life-changing times, sessions, friendship, and most of all your presence! 

We will be in contact with your daughter. We would love to see you if you are up to it, but we understand if you are not. We love you!!!  

I have more news that will make you smile! I did finish writing Lake Raleigh. It's in edit. I will send it. It's my favorite of all time. 

Sent Lake Raleigh Story January 16th 

Response from Ava: 

Love the story, George!!! It’s wonderful that you can share how these places, people, and memories were healing back when you were small but still have the power to comfort you!♥️

My Response to Ava January 17th:

Thank you, Ava, for your words. I did want you to know that you have been Peanut to so many in this life, leading them to a safe way out and to a new way! 

For that, I am forever grateful! You have shaped and changed humanity, something that few do in this life. 

Response from Ava January 19th:

So happy…I love how your words help your healing…I love the description as the safe Peanut. Happy to be that place for you. ♥️

Response again from Ava Monday January 19th: 

I am thinking that if you print your stories while I am healing—when we meet, we can look them over together to see how they give clues on how best to continue your journey for healing and hope. ♥️

Words can never describe these texts with Ava back and forth. I’ve been thinking for months now how to convey this message and how these texts drifted through my soul. The one who introduced healing to me was now in dire straits. The one who now has an ending in sight is still wanting to meet with me, put the clues together, and see the journey through. That’s an amazing and beautiful example of humanity.  

So we’re all done now? What happened and where did they go? This story may be the flagship of my existence. I want all who read this to know there is help for you; it doesn’t have to end the way you are going. There is hope and there is healing. Healing takes a lifetime, and I am good with that as long as there is life in me. Ava helped me discover it was not my fault and the fault is not my justice to avenge. It’s much bigger than that. This world needs you, and there is a purpose for you here. 

If it sounds like I’m speaking to you who are on the edge of the bed with the gun in your hand, I am! If you are the one with the plan, please listen to me. If you are the one on the shore ready to take the plunge, then please listen to me. Stop and know you are more, and you didn’t create this mess; you are so much more than this mess you are in. I’ve been right where you are. There is help. You just have to make that call you’ve been putting off. You have to send that text you been meaning to send, and you need to make that call to your trusted friend and just say it. I need some help. 

Even though beauty comes from ashes, remember that even after the fact the ashes are still on the ground and still visible in life. The scars are deep and visible, but they are also invisible much of the time. The mental aspect of healing is just that—a journey of the soul as well as the mind. Book knowledge is valuable, but it’s the willingness to dig deeper and uncover the fine gold and even the nuggets, that truly brings life to those who desperately need it. We should embrace life, love while we can love, and adore those in our lives; we are not promised tomorrow. Come on now, let’s love this life together and make a way for this brokenness to be healed. Don’t you quit! We need you here! 

Let’s do this for you, and let’s do this for your family. Let’s do this for humanity, ending this curse of destruction and death. Let’s do this for the Avas who are here and the Avas who are to come. Make a difference and answer those who are speaking help me. Be a life line. 

Jenny

Jenny

June 6, 2026

So, what’s in a name? How can you unpack and write a story about just a name? It’s been in my mind for months now, even before the last story. This one was supposed to come out before that one, but for some reason, it was delayed. 

As with most of my stories, they are written in my mind and then brought to life through my fingertips on this virtual piece of paper. I could only imagine writing this with pen and paper or on a real type writer. This story is so different, and it has evolved in my mind with only two words: friendship and Jenny. More than anything, I want to honor both of them. There is one hindrance in this story and that is time. 

It’s been forty years since I’ve seen Jenny or even spoken to her, but her presence in my life was so impactful during the years we spent together. As I mentioned early on, this story has no direction as of yet, but I will do my best to paint a picture with words that illustrate how gratitude, love, and the presence of a beautiful soul can help steer the course of one’s life. 

Just yesterday, Lisa was asking me about my next story. I told her that I would like to write about Jenny. She had the opportunity to meet her back then. At this moment, I can feel the emotional tears rising up from deep in my soul as I recall this precious friendship. Friendships never die; they just linger in the background ever so lightly with a memory or a spot in time that changed us somehow. Jenny was the person; she was that friend. 

She didn’t know it then, but she played a pivotal role in bringing me out of an extremely dark time. She never dug too deep, never adjusted herself to accommodate me, and looked at me for who I was. I gave her the same respect back. Let me see if I can paint this picture for you. 

Forty years ago, before I met my sweet Lisa, I was a person full of pain and dealing with so much suffering from the trauma and torture I had come out of. Then there was Jenny. She had moved into the apartment across the hall from me. I had just finished trade school and had my first blue collar job as an auto mechanic at a local dealership. This is the same dealership where I met my sweet Lisa at as well. 

Right now, I am taking a moment to reflect on how much joy this story is bringing me; I see the gratitude, love, and presence of her friendship. I can visualize her face across the hall as she introduced herself for the first time. One word describes her presence: acceptance! As tears flow down the cheeks of my face, I can remember her smile and feel the love she has for humanity. Who was she? We became, in my mind, the best of friends. 

We spent the weekdays and weekends together, traveling and enjoying everything life had to offer. It was not uncommon for us to be at a concert on a Friday night and then at a steeple chase race the next day. She introduced me to culture, for which I am forever grateful. I think that’s part of this story and how it evolved. I was watching a horse race with Lisa recently, and I described a moment when Jenny and I had attended a steeple chase race here in North Carolina. I would be amiss not to mention Anna who completed this trio. She brought a balance to the group.

Jenny had asked if I wanted to go to the horse race, a steeple chase. I had no idea what she was talking about, but since it meant spending time with her, I was in. This is how I remember the event.

We came out in the apartment hallway at about the same time; she was wearing a beautiful colored dress and holding a vibrant hat. I was in shorts and a tee shirt. She gave me the up and down look and spoke with her eyes. I went back into my apartment and returned in blue jeans and a button-down oxford shirt. She nodded with approval and we jumped in her car and drove away. No words. Her eyes could speak words that never needed to be spoken.

Looking back, we adored our time together. We loved the time, the places, and the moments as if they were meant for healing. Every breath and every life experience with Jenny brought refreshment to my soul; you have to fill in the blank here. 

My soul was so injured in those times, and she seemed unaware at the time, even though I now know she always knew. That’s why our relationship was so beautiful. She knew, and she was accepting of the gratitude and the love, and she gave her presence to me. Who could ever ask for a friend like Jenny?

I was not worthy of her presence on most days, but looking back now some forty years later, she led me to my next journey, my sweet Lisa. Who, by the wonderful grace of God, accepted my friendship with Jenny as a wonderful part of my memory bank that I can access from time to time. As I sit here writing this now, I can see how much I adored Jenny. 

Oh, my soul was blessed by our friendship. It was a time of change, a time of giving, and a time of peace in my soul. Jenny brought life to me, but she didn’t know. Jenny brought promise to me, but she never knew. Jenny brought a new beginning to me, but she never knew. She lifted me high and brought life to a soul that was so wounded that only God knew what I needed at that time. 

I will leave you with this as tears flow down my face once again, my soul is blessed by my remarkable friendship with Jenny. Never take for granted those in your life now and those that are to come. There is a greater purpose in the works. Follow them, and be grateful for those relationships in your life both past present and future.

Jenny, thank you! If I never see you again or connect with you again, know that our time together was more than friendship. It was full of grace, gratitude, love, and mostly your presence in my life to make me a better person, preparing me for the next journey. 

If time allows and fate happens, then these are my words to you, Jenny.

A note to Jenny: I made it! We made it! Lisa and I made it. We raised two beautiful girls, Sara and Laura. We have five amazing grandsons and two beautiful sons-in-love. I’m still here. Thank you for the time you spent with me and invested in our lives together, never expecting anything in return. I love you, Jenny! You are a wonderful friend who has blessed my soul with life. 

Be mindful of the friendships that come into your life. They have a purpose, so adore each and every one of them. They are all part of the journey of gratitude, love, and presence which equals purpose. Purpose brings life.

Editor: Sandra Wester  www.sandwestedit.com  

Grace given! Grace received!

 

Grace given! Grace received!

May 13, 2026

“Is that what we can expect today?” 

Those words shouted from the boat that day were a reminder of the grace we are given every day. It makes me wonder if God is sitting on the throne of Grace and asking, “Is that what I can expect today?” Let me give you the back story. I will do my best to explain. 

I was an avid water skier just a few short years ago. I entered the sport very late in life, but I became addicted to every aspect of it. The first time the girls and I skied on the course was at a local ski club close to our house. 

John became a close friend who invited us to give it a try there; he was a member of the club. Even though we thought we skied great, we were at a beginner level. I asked John, “What did you think of our skiing?” He said, “The girls did well, but your skiing is probably some of the ugliest skiing I’ve ever seen.” His comment didn’t deter me; I was fully committed to the sport. We joined the ski club, and over the years, our skiing improved significantly. We started to compete in local competitions. Waterskiing became part of our family, and the waterski community became part of our family as well. As with all sports, if you want to get better, you have to invest in coaching. 

During that time, a weekend-long waterski clinic was being held near us, a couple of hours away in Greenville, NC. Two of my waterski idols were coaching—Kristi Overton and Jeff Rodgers. All you had to do was call the number and register. Laura, our youngest daughter, and I really wanted to go. Sara didn’t express an interest in going: she just enjoyed the sport. 

I called the number, and I was a bit shaken when Kristi answered. I was so nervous after finding out who it was. She said she would love to have us there and explained the clinic's cost. She must have heard the distress in my voice when she explained the cost. I told her I would do my best to raise funds so I could make it. Just a few minutes later, she called back. She said, “I really want you to be able to make it, so plan on coming and just pay what you can, no worries; it will be fun.” Grace given! Grace received!

I was the only one who was going to get coaching; Laura came along with me to cheer me on. I told her to watch and learn as much as she could from the shore, and I would teach her everything I learned when we returned to the ski club. We met up at Lake Kristi early that morning, and the fog was slowly lifting off the water as the boat rumbled in the background. I know, and yes, the lady has her own lake, and that’s another story in itself. Laura and I were standing on the shore. I had my ski, gloves, and handle. There was a group of about ten skiers. We talked about skiing stuff mostly. 

In the distance, I saw a tall figure coming up the hill, and beside him was a kid on a small motorcycle. Someone in the crowd whispered, “That’s Jeff Rodgers.” I almost fell out from excitement. He was my all-time hero in waterskiing. He came over to the group and talked for only a few moments; he is a man of few words. His son was sitting close by on his motorcycle, enjoying his father’s time. Laura and I stood off to the side of the group, amazed at the waterskiing legend. Then Kristi drove up on a golf cart with her dad, Parker. We just stared at them awkwardly. Now we call that the goofy stare. 

Parker approached Laura and me and asked if we were both skiing. Laura said, “No, just my daddy.” He asked, “Where is your ski?” She said, “In the car.” He asked her to get in the golf cart and later returned with her and her ski, gloves, and handle. “She’s skiing this weekend, too,” he said. Grace given! Grace received! 

I could write an entire book on this family and what they have done for my family. This was a brief encounter with them, and in the years to come, life-changing experiences would take place because of them. I believe we crossed paths for a reason, and I thank God that He brought them into our lives. 

Now back to the lake. I continued to stare at my idol, Jeff Rodgers, and he said, “Who’s first up today?” Thankfully, someone spoke up and said they would go. I was trying to hide in the crowd because I was so nervous. They skied and seemed to do well. As the boat pulled back up to the shore, a voice from the boat said, “George.” I was shaking but ready to learn from one of the best. 

I climbed onto the platform and put on my ski and gloves. Jeff said, “Just relax and have fun.” I was thinking, Have fun? ‘Cause I’m here to tear this course up. I’m about to show you something. I dropped into the water, and the boat rounded the turn island, and then I started my glide out to get ready to enter the course. I had pulled so hard that I got into what is called a lean lock, hit some ripples in the water, and then fell before I ever entered the course. 

Who gets lean locked pulling out for the glide? I thought as I slowly rose from under the water. Everyone on the shore was staring at me as the boat pulled back over to me. Then Jeff stood up tall in the boat, slowly brought the ropes back in, and simply said, “Is that what we can expect today? I mean, really, is that it?” Then gave me one of the biggest and most comforting Jeff Rodgers’ smiles I have ever seen. Later in this life, I would learn that that is who he is. Grace given! Grace received! 

After that failed first attempt, I learned so much that I skied the best I had ever skied. Even to this day. I received. 

So many positive things came out of the meetings that weekend; it was never about waterskiing. There is and was a much larger purpose in those times. That’s for a whole book that I hope to write someday. There were experiences all over the United States of America that not only changed my life, but also those of many others, not because of me, but those who chose to share grace.  

The heart of this story is about grace given and grace received. In my life, there has been so much grace given. Have I received all that has been offered? Probably not. Why not? That’s the whole point of the story right now. 

To the addict, the lost, and the homeless. To the struggling marriage and to the one who wants to quit today—give grace. When I wanted to quit, grace was given; when my marriage wasn’t what it should have been, grace was given; when I felt less than, grace was given; and when I fell, grace was given. 

It’s up to you to receive the grace that is given. Never be so busy or so important in your own eyes that you can’t give grace. Those I met that day gave amazing grace and changed so many lives. Stand up tall in the midst of it all, smile, and know you’re going to be okay. Receive grace! Give grace!

The undercurrent of all of this, and the thing that took me months to put into words, is that the most amazing grace is the grace of Jesus Christ.

Receive that grace today!

Editor: Sandra Wester  www.sandwestedit.com 

TEARS

 

TEARS

March 20, 2026

Lately, my tears have been flowing pretty freely. They could break through during a movie, a short film, a personal encounter, a story, or even a slight glance. 

Sometimes it can be a curse to see pain as it exists in the present. Not all tears represent sadness, though. Over the last few years, I have learned that life contains beautiful moments of joy, happiness, and love. This should have been developed in my formative years, but those moments were spent in survival mode, figuring out the next hiding place or the next escape plan. So many tears were dropped in so many different places. Never to be found and lost in time. 

I want this story to uncover and define the tears of joy and the joy of sadness. The tears seem to come from the same aqueduct but from different regions of our hearts. That’s what makes this story both complex and simple at the same time. 

I spent most of my life fighting tears as if they were the enemy. I still fight them from time to time. The older I get, the more I lose this battle. Tears can jump out of my eyes in an instant. 

While I write, I usually play music in the background. I’m writing this story in my office, which also houses about four hundred vintage records. One of my favorites is playing right now, and it is speaking so loudly to me that I have to share it with you. I remember hearing this song for the first time when it was released in nineteen seventy-four, and it became my theme song; it describes my life as it was then. I encourage you to go and listen to it now. It’s called Haven’t Got Time for the Pain by Carley Simon, and it’s about moving past heartbreak and emotional struggles and choosing to focus on healing rather than dwelling on the hurt. It emphasizes letting go of the pain and not letting it take up space in your life. 

The pain I didn’t have time for then was buried deep in my soul, and I promised never to visit it or even shed a tear for it. It didn’t deserve the time or effort, as it had one goal, and that was to destroy me. I know we all have these memories, no matter how we grew up or what we encountered in life. We have a pain that we decided never to have the time for. This was my coping mechanism, and I believe it’s true for most of us. 

Turns out, some sixty years later, I had to find time for the pain, or it was going to end my life. This pain surfaced with a vengeance, and I didn’t know what to do with it. The tears flowed deep into the night, screaming unbearably in my mind. It became a voice in my life and started to control me. It would surface at any time; a simple grocery store or gas station visit would send me over the edge. My heart would start to pound, and I looked for a way out. 

Lisa, my sweet wife of forty years, sensed something was surfacing, and she knew it might be bigger than both of us. She has always had this second sense of my inner being and how it speaks. Her persistent question to me is always, “Are you ok?” She speaks her concern in the softest voice you could ever imagine. She follows with, “How can I help you?” Even today, she said, “I am here; I will shield you. I’m here for you.” She sees the struggle in my eyes, which opens a pathway to my pain, the gateway to my soul. 

One of the primary ways I’ve dealt with pain in the past is to separate from anything or anyone who causes it. It was so simple back then, and even now, I find myself falling back into that way of thinking. If it causes pain and tears, then I want to separate from it. Be it a story or a relationship, I end it and cut it off. No matter the cost, it has to go.

Over the last four years, I have learned that this is not a healthy way to deal with pain. The tears are still there, and these voices still seek to build a front and destroy. I believe I’ve made enormous progress over the last four years by learning to deal with pain; now my tears are turning from pain to joy. The tears flow from the joy of the relationships with friends and family. The healing in so many areas of my life has changed me. With every victory, there seems to be a counter to the pain that surfaces. 

The tears are recognized by what’s encapsulated in them. Every tear has a purpose. Some have the purpose of joy, and some have a purpose of pain release. You have to look at each tear that is released and question it. Why this tear? Look at it and discover the origin and the purpose, and then discover the extraordinary healing that tears can bring. Tears are like writers; they are storytellers.

If I haven’t said it yet in a way you can understand, your tears can lead you to death, or they can bring overwhelming joy to you. Your tears can bring your pain to the surface; it’s an opportunity to discover healing. There is one key element to this whole process: be willing to go down that path. 

The tears of joy are radiant and spontaneous, a sacred release of memories once held or new ones being formed. If placed under a microscope, they would shimmer with the language of love, mercy, and grace. These tears have the power to bring you to your knees, stirring a depth of emotion that words cannot explain. For so long, I’ve lived without them. Now they come quietly, mostly from moments with family members or through simple conversations of victory. Yes, the victories encountered over the last few years have brought these tears to existence. There is a river within me now, no longer held back and flowing freely without restraint.

There is an old saying: “Your past colors your future.” I believe that now, but we still have the power to choose the colors and how they are expressed. The tears of pain and suffering will rise; they are raw, unfiltered, and at times overwhelming. They demand to be acknowledged and not hidden deep in our souls. These tears are a raging river, carrying the weight of our most difficult seasons—the places where sin once took root, where wounds were inflicted, where we faltered, and where we were broken. It’s where torture took place, and it’s where death called us, but we didn’t answer. 

These tears of death are extremely heavy in so many lives today. Seek help from a friend, a spouse, a family member, or even a stranger who will listen. 

Tears are transparent, and when they are seen, they desire a response. Never be so busy that you bypass the opportunity to jump in and join the river of joy or the river of sadness. Both bring healing. Tears are telling a story of His amazing grace. Once lost but now found. Find time for the pain, or it will find your time.  

Editor: Sandra Wester  www.sandwestedit.com 

Lake Raleigh

 

Lake Raleigh

January 16, 2026

A TRIBUTE MY FRIEND ANNE

This story comes out of a vault from some fifty-plus years ago. If you have followed any of my stories, you know that when I call this a green door story, it’s safe for me to write. A green door story is just that; it requires some energy, emotions, and self-examination. In other words, it’s a story that is fun and a journey back in time. 

The yellow door and red door stories require so much more of my heart, and those seem to be off limits to my fingers for right now. Being in therapy now for more than four years, I can tell you that tremendous progress has been made. I have written one red door story and many yellow door stories. So why are we recapping this as we start to write this story? 

This is the first story I’ve written that parallels right alongside a red door story, and I am treading on a very thin rope that could snap at any time and tumble me into this unwritable experience. For that reason, I will start the narrative beginning with the bike ride to Lake Raleigh. The place I came from was nothing more than a din of torture for my siblings and me. If I go back one frame before this bike ride—one step off this bike and one fall in the wrong direction—I see nothing but torture, darkness, and pain. a time when life had ended for me. Now, let’s see if we can do this. 

On the hot summer days, we gathered together with our friend Phil, my brother Mike, and my brother Chris, who is no longer with us to recount this wonderful memory. He loved to fish. You already know he died at the age of thirty-seven from an overdose. He could never run fast enough from the pain. Chris would have loved this memory. My brother Mike and I have talked about this story recently. Sometimes he remembers facts that I have forgotten.

The lake wasn’t that far from where we lived, so we all would either ride our bikes or walk. When you are young, a few miles isn’t that far. Our path led down a couple of side streets and then to Lake Raleigh Road. It was a dirt road with some gravel spread on it in places. The road was winding and covered with a canopy of trees, not letting too much sunlight in. It was truly a road that was less traveled by any souls other than us. We had our fishing poles and maybe a hook or two. We found our bait under large rocks on the banks of the stream just below this massive dam. I say massive because at that age, this was the only dam we had ever seen. 

There was a large pipe at the base of the dam that had a giant valve on it, some kind of a release of sorts. This pipe had a hole in it, and it sprayed water to the center of the stream we fished in. The dam was old, and now I know it was built in the early 1900s. Water always flowed over it ever so slightly, and it had a smooth finish. It was dark in color and made a peaceful sound that seemed to silence the troubles of that day. It kept promises to us every time we came there. The promise to love us and accept us at its base, no matter what we had experienced and what was to come. It never judged but was a savior to us all. 

This place was so enchanting, calming, and tranquil, and it brought love to our troubled souls. We laughed at stories we recounted over and over. This place was a haven for us all. Our troubles didn’t exist there; the darkness was empty there, and the evil was not allowed in that place. We made sure never to talk about what was going on just a few miles away. There was no way we would ever allow these conversations to happen. 

The dam had its own folklore. According to legend, if you went to the top to fish, you had to be careful not to fall in. Catfish as big as Volkswagens lurked near the bottom, ready to swallow anyone who fell, and they would never be seen again. We respected that place, and in return, it gave us life. From time to time, we would venture up to the top, cast a line out, and then run back down the hill to our safe spot, laughing along the way. It was always a dare to see who would stay the longest. 

We followed the stream, fishing the whole way and gathering bait and fish along the way. Someone would yell, “Got one,” and “Got another one.” On and on the day would go. At dusk, we knew we had to be out of there. There was another tale that said if you stayed after dark, bad things took place there, so we always headed out when the sun was setting. 

One day, we found ourselves near the catfish pond, which was close to the creek. It was turning dark, and we were trapped. We saw a caravan of cars coming in from the back side of Lake Raleigh, and we were scared. Our hearts pounded with fear, and we needed a plan to escape, or else we were going to die. We lay on the bank, peering over toward those cars winding down that dirt road, kicking up dust. Then all of a sudden, a voice behind us yelled, “What y’all boys doing?” We turned ever so slowly, and it was our friend Peanut who had permitted us to fish in the catfish pond the summer before. “Peanut, we just want to go home.” Did you catch that? We wanted to go home. Back to the place that meant pain, suffering, and yes, new tortures, but it was still home. I know it doesn’t make sense, but we wanted to go home! 

I don’t even understand it to this day. The word home meant family; it meant there were times of some togetherness. It’s where our mother was. The one who was supposed to protect us but failed immensely! I’m getting so close to that red door now, so we’d best move on. I’m about to unload on this whole situation. 

Peanut would visit us at the catfish pond from time to time and was a savior of sorts, a friend indeed. After he saw the fright in our eyes that evening, he said, “Come with me, I’ll show you the way out.” We followed him on foot, pushing our bikes up the hill and down a road that was less traveled, and he guided us safely back. He pointed us in the right direction, and I still remember that to this day. It was the safe way. You always have to have a safe way back; never give up! 

Now, some fifty years later, Lisa and I were riding around, and she said, “Where do you want to go today?” I said, “Lake Raleigh. I want to go to the dam today.” She had heard some stories from this place, but I wanted to go deeper and finally write about it. She put it in the GPS, and we followed the directions. As we approached, I saw Lake Raleigh Road on the screen. My heart froze for a moment in time as it all flashed before me. To my right, nothing but destruction, and to my left, Lake Raleigh Road, peace and harmony. A gift that gave me life; it gave us all life. 

The GPS said, “Turn here,” but it was not Lake Raleigh Road; it was the road less traveled. It was the road out back then; it was the road right before where I thought we were supposed to turn. But wait, Lake Raleigh Road was now a dead end. How could it be? There is now a new way in, a new way around. As we entered this new road, I wondered if we would be able to get to the dam and if the stream would still be there. As we traveled this new way in, I could see the old way. Why was this, I wondered. 

We went down one road and then another and another. I was trying to find this place on my own. When I finally listened to the GPS, it took me right to the place I remembered, Lake Raleigh. I saw the dam from a distance, and Lisa said, “Why are you in such a hurry?” 

“I want to see that place one more time,” I said. “I have to see it. Can we even get there from here?” It had changed so much over the years. There were people and places there that didn’t exist back then. As we kept walking on the paved trail, I saw the dam. We headed off-grid to get there, and then there it was. WOW! 

My heart filled with overflowing love and thankfulness for that place. I even whispered, “Thank you! Thank you for providing me with a safe haven in this place. I feel you working in this place even now.” I walked down the stream a few hundred yards, recounting all the memories flooding in my soul, and a rush of light in the darkness reminded me of who God is. 

As I looked up at the dam, I noticed it had changed. The water running down the face of the dam now made a new, soothing sound. Its appearance had transformed as well. The pipe is gone, and the sound it makes today is truly distinct. 

The dam was rebuilt in 1976, giving it a fresh beginning, while maintaining its original purpose: to hold back water, provide those downstream with cherished memories, and serve as a reserve of drinking water for life. A new beginning, a fresh start, and a place that brings life to all who encounter it. Even today, you can follow the stream to reach your destination, and you may encounter Peanut, who will guide you to safety on a road less traveled. You understand. Then, when you return some fifty years later, you will see—you can do it! Don’t quit!  

This story has produced many more tears than I had ever expected. I didn’t see it coming. Remember, God never stops moving. He is still doing it! Trust His road.

Editor: Sandra Wester  www.sandwestedit.com 

The Ellie Inn

  

 The Ellie Inn

We have all heard the expression: if these walls could talk, what would they say? Use your imagination and join me on this explorative journey. Stop for one moment. Stop scrolling. Stop looking at the reels. Give social media a break and listen to the walls speak. Listen to the echoes of times past. Hear the people whisper; hear the forever of history cry out.  

Have you ever walked into a place and thought about the history, the memories, the pain, the joy, and the life-changing words that may have been spoken there? I’m sure all of you have walked into a room and been met by a memory—the scent of it, the glance it brings, the smile it evokes, and even the hug that it offers. 

I recently had an encounter at The Ellie Inn, which is adjacent to my neighborhood. As I entered the front door of this magnificent place, I could hear the memories of humanity as well as the dreams and hopes of its visitors. I heard laughter and, of course, sadness. This was our first visit to this magical place. 

Let me give you a bit of the history of this exquisite place, as the owners describe it. Nestled in Fuquay-Varina, North Carolina, The Ellie Inn is a restored 1900s schoolhouse, perfect for intimate gatherings and special events.

The Ellie Inn is more than just a place to stay; it’s an experience where history and elegance come together. Every room retains unique details from its schoolhouse past while offering the modern amenities and conveniences needed for a comfortable stay. The charm of Ellie Nicholson’s legacy and the inviting atmosphere of this beautifully preserved home provide guests with a sense of timeless warmth and comfort.

Whether you’re celebrating life’s special moments, seeking a unique gathering place, or simply wanting a peaceful getaway, The Ellie Inn promises a one-of-a-kind experience. Here, the echoes of history enrich your memories, creating a backdrop for celebration, relaxation, and connection.

Right from the owner's description, I heard the echoes and voices of those who have been in these rooms. How wonderful is this journey, and how marvelous is this place that speaks so loudly from history. This is where this story was born: from the place of if these walls could talk.

I have scheduled a time this week to sit and listen to the walls at The Ellie Inn. The owners were so gracious to allow me to write about this unique encounter.  

The Ellie Inn is a writer’s haven; it has all the components a writer needs. How blessed I am to have this experience. I feel like there may have been other writers before me in this place; I will find out soon because I will listen as the walls talk. They will tell me. 

I’ve arrived at the inn. I have this excited and anxious feeling in my soul. It’s hard to explain. I’m hoping that this will subside as I start to write. It’s not in the way at all, but the uncertainty of this story may be the cause. I’m exploring new territory emotionally. This place is magnificent! 

I first settled into a cozy spot near the stairway, a little area I’ve come to think of as the parlor, and later moved into the main entertaining space to continue writing. I am now sitting in a chair that wraps around me with a pillow under my left arm. As I look up at these walls, I wonder what has been said in this room. The dreams that were shared here, the lessons learned here, the names spoken here, and the visions that were discussed here. These walls are some twenty feet tall, and a sophisticated brown, textured ceiling crowns them. Their beauty sings new songs now. The past is gone, but the stories that speak here remain. 

I’ve finally calmed into a state where my mind and fingers move together, with no thoughts getting in the way. It feels like a river, carrying the stories of The Ellie Inn. My mind keeps telling my fingers to slow down. The river doesn’t need to rush. These stories are numerous, and this is not the end of the project. Take your time, my friend. Enjoy the writing. This is a special story.  

There is exuberant laughter here; the echoes are so audible and melodic, and it’s emotional for me as I hear them. My experiences as a child and later as a young person consisted of more survival than happiness. These feelings come unexpectedly in this place. I see myself in the corner of the room, curled up on the floor, in a time when hope was gone, and only sadness and the shadow of death filled my soul. 

The corner is my safe place right now as I listen to these stories. 

The joy is flowing all around me; it’s a river of laughter swirling around the room, like a whirlpool of grace, mercy, peace, and harmony. It’s a virtual vortex of love. As I sit in the corner in my own alternate world, thinking no one sees me, arms start to reach out to me from this whirlpool of love. They start to sing in unison: “Holy, holy, holy, bring your pain to the throne of grace and mercy.” The room is spinning faster and faster, and there are more and more now reaching out to me. As I lift my head, I can see others in the corners of the room. We make eye contact, and our hands start to move away from our curled position. 

This vortex of grace and mercy is swirling at a life-giving pace now, and I can see the faces of these radiant angels reaching out to me. I can see what’s written on their dreams and their hopes. It’s so extraordinary. I want to reach out, but I’m just not sure if I can. I’ve been here so long. Will I be here forever? I ask myself. Will I take a step and reach out to humanity and trust again? I glance around the room and view the corner across from me. I witness him reaching out his arms, and see the whirlpool gently pulling him in as if they have rescued a soul from the depths of darkness. At this moment, rejoicing erupts in this vortex of love, mercy, and grace. I hear the angels cry in an overwhelming sound of love. Will I be next? I’m so resistant at this moment. 

I want to move to a different space in the inn, but I can’t right now. The others must be rescued in all corners of the room. As one leaves, another takes his place. This is where hope lives. I have to stay for now. I know there are other spaces in the inn that need this sea of love to rescue them. But here I am in this space, still in the corner, but more alert now, slightly reaching out with my fingertips. I am more interested in seeing others rescued than taking care of my own rescue. 

I remember names from my past who were rescued by this whirlpool of love, mercy, and grace: Chris (my brother), Kevin (my best friend), Tammy (an important part of my story), Lisa (my wife), my sister, my mom, Keith (my friend), my dad, Matt (the son of Kevin and Tammy), and Shirley (a beautiful friend). So many in this glorious sea of love have peace now. I’m reaching out just a bit more now, experiencing the peace that is spoken in this place; I’m not sure if I am ready just yet. 

As the whirlpool slows, I can clearly see the arms of those who are still reaching out to me, inviting me to the table of healing, the table of love, and the table that represents the beauty of humanity. They are singing, “Come now, get up and start this journey. It won’t be easy but it’s a start. Let the pain stay in the corner, let the suffering die, and let the deserving be where they belong. This is not your fault.” The voices are loud as we face this reality of decisions. Will you come? Will you reach out and be one who comes to this place and now helps those who will come behind you? There are so many. It’s up to you to reach out. Your name needs to be written here. Lift your hands and join us. 

All we have to do is come to the inn and sit, listen, and be ready for the rescue. Love, joy, peace, and harmony; it’s a new beginning for us all. 

I must admit this whirlpool of mercy and grace is breathtaking. Its white, flowing clouds spin so slowly that I can see the vapors disappear at my fingertips as I touch them. I’m in the midst of a magnificent pool of gold, rubies, and turquoise colors, and nothing is hindering me from joining this place. And yet I’m always drawn by them—the others that need this more than me.       

I’m still not sure if it’s my time. I’m still working on myself, and I am hopeful that one day I will reach the place where I can completely heal. For now, I am standing in the corner and content with watching those who are pulled into the whirlpool of love, mercy, and grace. It’s okay to be you and to acknowledge that healing is happening. As long as you are here, you will have hope. Don’t quit now; renewal is happening here.

The Ellie Inn is waiting, and these lovely walls will always exude love, grace, and mercy. There will always be a whirlpool of hope here. Come experience this magnificent place of history. Will you join us here?

Editor: Sandra Wester  www.sandwestedit.com