Last Night I Touched You

I gazed intently as your eyes closed and the night shadows revealed the intensity of your delicate profile. You placed your hair underneath your head just as those weary eyes began to quietly close.My mind had never captured that moment before, yet….I was not too late. The eyes of my spirit touched you and you were totally unaware of just how glad you had made me feel and you effortlessly did nothing more than let the memories of the night lie silently and secretly with you and softly with me.

My hands found your long, flowing, golden hair irresistible. You were not awakened but
my finger tips were slowly, tenderly and gently aware of every fiber…inch by inch, each time I combed your locks with my fingers only. Stopping wasn’t a consideration. I could only imagine the end of one stroke and the beginning of the new.

I continued to be anxiously aware of the newness and precision of each blink of my own eyes with eager anticipation of the next, that I might touch you once again with my heart’s eyes. Having you there beside me...

wasn’t anything that was expected. The comfort of knowing you were safe without the fears of the world on your shoulders was ever so satisfying and calming. I had to touch you with the assurance of the moment, for I know that tomorrow is never promised.

I saw the pain of your dilemma and felt the agony of the miles you had walked before you could ever sleep. You couldn’t see the care that I was feeling and was compelled to touch you with but…it was there and it was real. Maybe you felt it when I rubbed my finger tips across your shoulder. I don’t know if you hear them say to you, “I just wanted to know you’re alright,” but they did.

Each time your body turned in uncertainty, I touched you and said, “Rest easy,” until I knew your fears were truly calmed. After inching closer to me, you finally reached out and put your arm across my shoulder and put your hand beneath my head. It came unexpectedly in the midst of your suffering. But, when it did, I also felt what you didn’t say in words, “Last night I touched you too and I want to touch you again tonight.”

Touching you with my hands last night was only an expression of something more. For a man to touch a woman’s body is no assurance that he will ever touch a woman at all. You may have the touch of my hands but did you sense anything more? My eyes may have touched you but what did you really see? My words may have touched you but life has taught us that words can be deceiving and we can’t always believe everything we hear. All I want you to remember is that last night “I” touched you. For if my soul could dare not touch you, then all you would be left with would be a weak consolation and never know I had touched you at all.

David Hammock. Copyright © 2008. All Rights Reserved.

"The Blue Danube" performed by Andre Rieu

Don't Tell Me That You Love Me

Don’t profess to love me, when I can’t count on you to keep your word. Words mean nothing without the actions to support them. When your words can’t be counted on, why should I count on your love? I can’t.

Don’t profess to love me when you lied to me two hours ago. What makes you think I ‘ll believe you now?

When your feelings change from one day to the next, and you tell me love is more than feeling, well….what are you feeling today?

Don’t describe the love you feel for me when you don’t treat me the way you describe.

Don’t profess a love you believe in when you don’t practice it yourself.

When you say that you think love is a certain way and yet you say you’re loving me, when it is in complete contradiction to the way you say you “think” love is, just what is it you’re doing?

When you write lots of nice things about love and profess to love me the way you write about, I have no reason to believe you.

When you don’t even know how to love yourself, what makes you think you can handle me?

On so called special occasions like Valentine’s Day, birthdays, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and you want to do something special for me because you “love me,” what makes you think one day is going to make up for months of treatment that wasn’t anything like what you’re attempting to do now?

When you don’t know how I need to be loved, what makes you think you can love me?

When you never ask, “How can I love you today, “why should I think you care?

When you say “I know just how to love you and make you happy,” and you don’t know me at all or as well as you think you do, just who do you think you are?

When you don’t ask from day to day, “How are you feeling?’ what makes you think you can even begin to love me? Or…do you think you know how I feel based on how you feel and the day you’re having?

When you don’t know what I believe about love, what makes you even think I want your love?

When you don’t see me for who I really am, instead of what you think I should be, or through a pair of glasses with poor lenses, what makes you think you can love me?

Just because you profess to love me, what makes you think I want it?

When you can’t see me for who I am, what I think, feel, believe, value, need, want, hope for, dream for and find important….DON’T tell me that you love me. You just don’t know how and you just don’ get it.

And for that matter….what makes you think you can love me in the first place?

David Hammock. Copyright © 2008. All Rights Reserved.

So...You've Felt Cheap Before?

A newly, married husband, madly in love with his bride, generously spends hundred of dollars on his wife’s presents on their first Christmas together, getting her everything she wanted. There are no wrapped presents under the tree, for the husband, until the night before Christmas. Christmas morning gifts are unwrapped. The husband found two addressed to him, which his wife found on sale the day before, because she didn’t have time to make a purchase and she didn’t have any money. The wife had $5,000 in the bank; neither did she work. Needless to say, the husband neither wanted nor needed his two, cheap $20 gifts.

A minister was called upon to conduct the funeral services of a woman who had been like a second mother to him. He flew 700 miles at his own expense, and paid for his own incidentals. The minister was more than glad to perform the difficult and painful ceremony The family could not find it within themselves even after a year following the funeral to send a simple thank you note to the man who had been like a son to the woman he paid tribute to.

The mother of a son told him often how much she loved him. Yet something was missing. What the son really wanted was not for the mother to write checks and buy him “stuff.’ What the son told his mother many times was that he only wanted her to listen. Despite repeated attempts the son gave up shortly before his mother’s death and told her, “You will die never having known me.” “Why is that?’ the mother questioned. “You never listened.” The mother died at 74. The son was 50. The mother still doesn't know her son.

A business owner offers a client $10,000 plus all expenses paid for seven days work. This is five times the normal amount of payment the client would have received for the same amount of work. The client was asked to telephone or email the next day to make the arrangements for a one hour meeting, before proceeding. The potential client never even had the decency to follow up, despite their desperate need for the money and verbal agreement to the work requested.

I can tell you story after story of those people who seem to feel the path of least resistance, or the easy way in life is the best and only way and the right way, and those of us who believe in taking the high road wind up becoming their targets. We were created in the image of God to give Him glory and we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Yet…there are some people who just don’t have a clue what we do for them and more so, don’t care what your heart and mind are all about. There will always be masses of “TAKERS’ out there who have no true appreciation for what we do for them, nor does the meaning of the word “gratitude” even compute.

Be on guard for those who want to make you feel cheap. Stay away from dream killers, dream, discouragers, dream distracters, dream disappointers, dream disillusioners, dream disbelievers, dream, deceivers, and dream distorters. They’re not a dime a dozen…there a penny a dozen. Keep your boundaries set firm. God never intended for you to go through life feeling cheap. You’re not a doormat, so stop trying to accommodate dirty shoes. Tell your visitors to leave them outside your door, if they expect to pay you a visit. Ungracious people should be entitled to nothing except a lesson on growing up. You just might be able to help get them started. “Cast not your pearls before swine.” (Matthew 7:6)

David Hammock. Copyright © 2008. All Rights Reserved.

God Lives Under Kevin's Bed (From Kevin's Mom)

I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed.

At least that's what I heard him say one night.

He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, "Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed..."

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, Kevin is off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed. The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.

And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. 'That one's goin' to Chi-car-go! ' Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights. And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.

He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others His heart is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.

Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.

Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with him in a way that is difficult for an 'educated' person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.

It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap. I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all!

"God is Trying To Tell You Something" from The Color Purple

"Reflections of Passion" by Yanni

The Language of Loneliness

If tomorrows are only filled with empty yesterdays, then today is filled with loneliness only. I don’t like feeling lonely.

Some say it is inevitable. Some say it is just a part of life, and that we should all learn to live with it. Live with what?

People say go find something you’re interested in and do it; then the loneliness will go away.

Others believe that you’re being selfish if you’re lonely, or too self-absorbed.

“Think about somebody other than yourself,” they say. “Somebody’s worse off than you; just look around you,”then you won’t be so lonely, I’ve heard.

“Quit your crying, and complaining; no one wants to hear it.”These delightful tunes seem rather harmonious, particularly to those whom you remind of their own inadequacies and needs, who deny, block out, or ignore what’s really going on inside of themselves, so they can pretend to be strong for others who believe they really are.That way, loneliness doesn’t have to be loneliness;
and pretense doesn’t have to be disgusting, and we can all live happily ever after.

Some people believe that if you just go and find a person who needs you, or a cause to believe in, and just go do something, then you can bust up the gloomies and all will be well.

If you give what you have to make a difference and change things, then you’ll have done your part to make the world a better place, and you’ll be all the better for it….so the story goes. It’s a good story.

I believe in it too. Good Samaritans are needed and still make an impact in a cold, dark world.

All the while I’m thinking; they don’t understand. I know what language you speak. I can speak it too.

But you don’t understand my language.
You’re not even aware I’m talking,
Because you can’t hear yourself.
You’re too afraid to hear yourself.
You’ve learned to turn a deaf ear to your own words,
and you don’t even know you can’t hear.
Because if you really could hear yourself,
then you could hear me, if you were willing to.

Sometimes, no one can touch you.
Sometimes, no one can feel you.
Sometimes, no one can hear you.
Sometimes, there’s just you….. and there’s loneliness.

We don’t always know what to do with our loneliness. Only God really knows the answer.

We should not be so provoked to determine its cause; but rather, loneliness needs someone to respond with arms that embrace it, with something called “compassion.”

Some people say that with God you never feel alone, and you should never feel lonely. Its one thing to not “be” alone; I find this always true.

It is quite another thing to “feel” lonely.
Sometimes there’s just you.
Sometimes there’s just God.
Sometimes…..it feels like there is no one else.

In a magnificent, perfect world,
Things would be different.
But it’s not a perfect world.

Some people just aren’t going to respond.
Even when you need them….
Even when you want them.…
Even when they should…..
Even when they could….
Even when they feel the pain of loneliness….
Even when your heart cries and aches so much….
That all you want is someone to “be” with you.

If we could just offer our “presence” to another, it would be more than most dare give when the heart throbs with the awkwardness of being lonely.

To need someone to walk with you, when all you want
is for them to be near….to be close and say what they mean, and mean what they say, as they try to help. Just to hear someone say, “I see you’re lonely. I know you’re hurting.”

To sit beside someone on their mourning bench, makes all the difference in the world.

Comfort, we all need. Few truly know how to give it. Few want to give it. Most are afraid to give it. Only a few will give it.

If there’s any message at all from loneliness, it’s, “I need you…come walk with me.”

“How can I love God whom I’ve not seen, if I don’t love my brother, whom I have seen?”

Do you understand my language? Ask me more….but only if you want to.

Copyright © 2006. David Hammock. All Rights Reserved.

The Clueless Ghetto

I have a question.

I need your help.

I’m trying to find my way.

Do you know where I’m talking about?

Yeah man.

I know where you’re talking about.

Just go down the street.

You can’t miss it.

I knock on the door.

“You’re looking for who?

Man…what chu doin’ ova here?

you betta get out a here

before somebody blows you away.”

Officer, can you help me?

I’m trying to find my way.

“Uh…I’m on my beat.

I can’t leave.

I’m filling in for a buddy of mine.

I don’t usually work this side of town.

Sorry.

Try one of the cabbies.”

Hey taxi! Taxi!

Can you help me out?

I’m trying to find my way.

“Man…you hail me for this?

What’s your problem?

You expect me to just put on brakes,

pull over,

and tell you what you want to know?”

“You know how much it costs me each year,

just to drive a cab in New York City?

I’m on my way to Brooklyn.

Take a hike.

Try the grocery store on the corner.”

Thanks. I will.

Where’s your manager?

“He’s in the back. Don’t go back there though.

We just got robbed last week.

He’s got a gun.

Police told him to carry it.”

Hey manager…you back here?

“Can’t you see I’m busy.

Come back tomorrow."

I need your help.

I’m trying to find....…

“I don’t care what you want.

I’m busy.

Don’t you get it?

You almost got a 9mm slug in

the head.”

“Ask somebody on the street.”

I already tried that.

“Well ask somebody else.”

Alright. I will.

Hey man.

Live around here?

“Yeah. About 10 blocks up, off Broadway and 110th.”

I’m trying to find my way.

Can you help me out?

“Sure. Go back to where you started.

Look next to the bread shop.

You’ll see it.”

Thanks. Gotta’ run.

What’s this?

“I’ve been shot man!

Can you help me get to the hospital?”

No, I don’t have a clue where the hospital is.

Can you remember how to get to where I’m talking about?

“I think it….I think it’s…..I can’t breathe man.

Can’t you see; I don’t have a clue?

I’m.....?


Copyright© 2007. David Hammock. All Rights Reserved.

"Why Can't We Be Friends?"

"Love is Unbreakable"

Celtic Woman, "You Raise Me Up"

"Somewhere Over the Rainbow"

"My Eyes Adored You"

A wise man said to me once, "You can always tell what a woman really feels by the light in her eye." I never forgot that. It has come in handy along the way. We've all heard that the eyes are the "windows to the soul." Sometimes we don't like what we see in other people's eyes and they probably feel the same about us. Maybe there's more in the soul of another than we want to see and it reminds us of ourselves. Nevertheless...the eyes can be the most incredible journey we will ever take, if we dare to take it. It's amazing what we will discover.