It's ok to cry and a little Fort Worth MS Walk

  I am not a big crier.  I shed a tear once when the Yankees lost a playoff series.  I shed a tear when John Elway retired.  I shed a tear during the 3 Superbowl loses of the Denver Broncos. I even shed a tear when my dad died.  But really cry?  I can only remember a few times.  The night on the beach when I was 17 and I gave my life to Christ and the other was when Miriam was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).  Jurnee was about 14 months old and was running a high fever.  Miriam got a little scared when a friend suggested that the numbness that Miriam was experiencing could be a possible blood clot.  I tease Miriam that I told her for months to go to the Doctor, but after she talks to a girl friend we had to go to the Emergency Room.  Well, we went to the ER just a few days before Christmas 2007.  The ER doc wanted to run some tests and also an MRI.  We waited ad waited in the ER room for the results with poor Jurnee being sick.  The Doc came back and suggested we go see a Neurologist after the Holiday's.  The MRI showed a spot on Miriam's spine and brain.  It hit us pretty hard.  I tried to be strong, but I was weak on the inside.  We went to Church that next Sunday and I just broke down with a buddy/pastor at our church.  It was ok to cry.

  We have been raising money and participating in the MS walk since 2008.  I am proud to walk.  I am proud to fundraise and I am proud of Miriam.  Miriam is a trooper and one of the strongest women I know. She chases two kids around all day.  She gets a shot in her leg once a week, administered by me, and she keeps on going.  She hardly complains, and when she does complain about the heaviness in her legs and feet, it's just in passing.  She is tough, she is strong, but most of all she is loving and compassionate.  Miriam wants to help those more then she wants to help herself.  I am proud to call her my wife.  And that's why I fundraise.  I want to find a cure for this disease.

  The MS walk helps me to stay motivated.  A few years ago I ran the MS 5K.  While I was finishing up my run I noticed a group completing the 1 mile portion of the walk.  When I got closer, the group surrounded a person who was using a walker.  This person was moving slow and you could tell by his face that it was painful for him, but he would not give up.  He kept moving.  This man reminded me how important it is to keep moving.  To not give up.  To push through the pain even when it hurts.  This man had more strength and motivation than most people in this world.

  If you'd like to donate or just want to learn a little more about MS click HERE  The link will take you to my MS page.

The Eulogy but not a Lie

  God is still alive.  The Bible says that He is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.  Believing that, I still know that God still speaks to us through His word, through people and through dreams.  My dad died when I was 20 years old.  I still remember the events leading up to the moment I was told.  I was stationed at Altus AFB in Oklahoma.  It was April 19, 2000.  A Wednesday night.  I had an evening shift at work but requested about 2 hours off so I could attend church.  My best friend, D, was speaking that night since our Pastor was on vacation.  My buddy,  just separated from the Air Force and was working as a civilian on the base.  After church I headed back to work.  As soon as I got settled back in, I started to get the simulator ready to train my trainee.  My trainee came up to me and asked me if everything was ok.  I said yes and asked him why.  He told me that the First Sergeant, the Commander, and the Chaplain had been calling up at work.  I just laughed him off and said, "Sure glad it isn't about me."  I told my trainee we needed to get back to training.  Just then my buddy, who preached that night at church, and who was now a civilian, entered the RAPCON.  I didn't really pay any attention to it since I just saw him and since it hadn't been that long since he stopped working there.  About 10 minutes later the Assistant Chief Controller asked me to come into the office.

  The news just hung in the air after I was told my dad died.  We didn't know anything more since my dad was working for the Department of Defense in Italy.  My mom and sister were stateside because my baby sister had to get MedEvac'd back to the states because she had overdosed on some drugs.  My other sister was the one who found my dad dead on the bathroom floor and called for help.  She had just gotten back from a little trip to Amsterdam.  My grandfather, a retired Navy Master Chief, called the American Red Cross to have them break the news to me. I understand because all the emotions were raw.  My mom took an emotional beating because she was not there with my dad.  My sisters took an emotional beating because of all the events that surrounded his death.  And as for me, I was just numb.  I didn't know what to do, what to say or even what to feel.  The last time I saw my dad was when I was in Air Traffic School in Mississippi.  I was 18 years old.

   The Dream.  Before the news of my dads death I had a dream the weekend before.  In my dream my dad died of a virus.  I woke up suddenly, sweaty and my heart beating fast.  After I got my bearings I realized that it was only a dream.  I went back to bed and had the exact same dream.  It seemed so real that when I woke up I felt sad and empty on the inside.  I called my dad that morning.  He was in Italy and when he answered the phone I could tell he had been drinking.  I called my dad to tell him that I loved him and that I forgave him for the abuse and for everything.  He just laughed in a drunken manner and said he loved me too.  Three days later he was dead.  I believe in all my heart that God gave me that dream in order for me to call my dad and have that conversation with him.  I believe with all my heart that if my dad had died and I didn't talk to him and told him that I forgave him that I would have been more messed up than I was.

   My best friend, D, would't let me be alone in the dorm room that night and told me that I would be staying with him and his family.  I had to prepare for a trip to Va. Beach.  My dads body was being flown from Italy to Dover AFB and then down to Va. Beach.  I had to catch a flight, and I had two great friends, Steve and Angela that sacrificed their time to drive me to Tinker AFB in Oklahoma City so I could catch a military flight.  Needless to say, the first plane never landed at Tinker.  It just kept on flying to Va.  The only other ride I could get was on a C-5 and that plane was going to Dover.  I had no choice but to take it.  Before I left, D had prayed with me and told me to read the book of Ecclesiastes.  That was the best advice I could have received at the time.  I read that book in the bible...twice.  If you just lost someone, or just going through a rough spot in life, I plead with you to read Ecclesiastes.

  When I arrived at Dover I met my mom, sister, and my Uncle.  It was a rough homecoming.  It was awkward and I was still numb.  The next morning I was asked to give the Eulogy.  But what do I say about a man, whom I grew to detest because of the way I was treated growing up even though I told him I forgave him?  What do I say about a man whom I hadn't seen or really spoken to for two years?  I prayed.  I prayed for guidance, strength, and wisdom. I didn't want to lie, but I also wanted to show love and mercy.  When I gave the eulogy I remember standing in front of everyone but I don't remember what was said.  I remember having written notes, but I don't remember what was on them.  I just know that what I said were words that God gave me, I honored my dad by not lying, but by speaking God's truth.



 

Time Management and a little bit of Baseball

   I don't think that it's a secret that I love Baseball.  Especially New York Yankee baseball.  I became a fan of the Yankees while growing up in Norfolk.  Before my Grandmother was murdered she would send me Yankee memorabilia.  Norfolk had a Triple A baseball team.  They were called the Tidewater Tides, now the Norfolk Tides.  The Major League Team affiliated with the Tides were the New York Mets.  Now my Grandmother, who lived in Denver, confused the Major League Team and sent me all Yankee items.  I still remember the Yankee "Piggy Bank" she sent me.  I miss that thing.

  My parents were not really big sports followers.  My dad never had time for such things, and my mom tried to follow Denver Bronco football.  So I grew up following Baseball and Football.  I loved Sports.  My old man could never figure out how I got so wrapped up into sports because he wasn't a big follower.  My Grandparents helped fuel my passion.  From the time I was about 8 years old I followed the Yankees.  I grew up watching guys like Dave Winfield, Chuck Knoblauch, and Don Mattingly.  I remember when Derek Jeter, Jorge Posada, Andy Pettite, and Mariano Rivera came into the league.  I LOVE YANKEE BASEBALL.  Maybe a little too much.

  What if?  What if I spent as much time reading my bible, studying the word, and even devoting some time with God that I do following baseball?  What if I turned off the MLB Network or ESPN long enough to be with God?  Ah Ha!!  That's the trick.  We tend to blame Satan for the wedge he puts between us and God.  And there is truth to that.  The enemy will do all he can do to distract us, to take our attention off God and onto other things.  We all have a choice.  God isn't a micro-manager.  If He were, he wouldn't have put the forbidden tree in the garden of Eden.  He placed it there to give us a choice.  To follow and obey Him, or not.  That's important to hear, because many many many people believe that being a Christian means adhering to strict rules.  That's like me saying that I'm a strict parent because I won't allow my daughter to play in the street.  We have that rule in place for her safety.  God has given us instructions for our safety, and if we don't follow Him we get burned and then we get upset at God.  Why?  It's not like we were tricked or didn't know better.  We know that drinking too much alcohol will cause us to be drunk.  We know that doing drugs will cause us to do stupid stuff.  We know that stealing is wrong.  We know that lying is wrong.  But if we do one of those things and something bad happens then we don't want to take responsibility for our own actions.

   There is something else I know.  WE. LIVE. IN. A. IMPERFECT. WORLD.  Sorry to be the one to break the news to you.  People die of cancer.  Babies die and people are taken from the world sooner than we expect them to.  You knew this too didn't you?  BUT....here's the kicker...GOD'S STILL IN CONTROL.  The enemy may try to make us stumble, the enemy may try to tempt you, and the enemy will lie to you.  Here's a lie that Satan tried to put in my mind when my dad died.  The enemy tried to make me feel like it was God's fault.  I began to believe that lie.  Another lie that the enemy put in my head was that my dad was in Hell.  Now, one thing that I learned over time is that I don't really know what kind of relationship that my dad had with Christ.  I was tempted to turn my back on God forever, but this is what 1 Corinthians 10:13 told me though, "No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man.  God IS FAITHFUL, and He WILL NOT let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation He WILL ALSO PROVIDE the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it."  How did God provide for me you ask?  Glad you asked.  He provided a strong church family, a great friend, and a great support system.  Without those in place, only God knows where I would be today.


   In no way am I perfect.  I still stumble.  I still fall.  But I know that I am never alone.  The feeling that I may get at times that it's just me against the world is only a lie.  You see, when I die, I know where I will end up.  My body will be 6 feet under, but not my soul.  My body is only an Earth Tent like 2 Corinthians 5:1 says.  I need to do a better job with time management, and my prayer is that we all do a better job with that.  I pray that if you're reading this that you know where you're be when you die.

Questions that began to form....a continuation of the 2 previous posts

(This is a continuation of the previous posts.)  Questions began to form.  Would my parents divorce?  They did not, but our house would never be the same.  Every argument my mom and dad for years later, he would call her names such as “slut” and “whore”.  This is something that we should not have been exposed too.  My distrust in women I believed stemmed from this episode.  I have prayed that God protect me and help me, but there were times in my life where I started to think that my girlfriends were cheating on me, and I have tried hard to guard against that in my marriage.  I recognize what the enemy has tried to do, and by making me doubt things in my marriage will cause a domino effect.  All of us have this shape in our hearts and souls.  It is a Jesus size hole that we can only fill with the love, grace, and forgiveness of Jesus, the one and only living God.  But for years I had tried to fill that hole with the love from women.  

      I bring us back to the moment when I have the gun in my shaky hand.  It is a Saturday night and I cry out to God.  I remember crying for Jesus to save me.  It was as though the darkness around me lifted and I was aware of everything around me.  I pick myself off the beach, drive back home and place the gun back in the safe.  I don't sleep that night and get up the next morning and drive myself to church.  After the sermon the pastor gives the invitation and I walk out in complete faith and give myself over to God.  I wish I could say that from that moment on life has been easy, but it has not.  And if you think you need to be "good" or do good "works" to get to Heaven, than you are mistaken.  The gift of Salvation is FREE.  That's right.  Free.  Jesus was beaten and nailed to a cross for my sins.  For your sins.  Romans 3:23  "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." Romans 6:23a  "...The wages of sin is death..."Romans 6:23b  "...But the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."Romans 5:8,  "God demonstrates His own love for us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us!"  

You see.  I can't make this stuff up.  The TRUTH is so much better than any Testimony that I may have.  Pray for God to come into your life and guide you.  It's just that easy. 

I have been asked in the past to share my testimony with the church.  Mainly with youth kids.  There is something that actually bothers me.  In the Church, no matter what denomination, it feels as though it's "He who has the best testimony wins."  It shouldn't be like that at all.  We shouldn't glorify those that did drugs, cheated, killed, or lied and then turn their life over to Christ.  We should praise God for the turnaround, but My testimony, or others that you may have heard in past means that we have had it any harder than you.  Let me share a story.  After I shared my testimony with a fairly large youth group, a young girl about 12-13 years old approached me with tears in her eyes.  After talking with her in front of the stage, she shared with me that she wished she had a testimony like me because her testimony is that she was born and raised in a Christian home, with both parents still married, and she became a Christian at age 11.  I was heartbroken.  I told her that that was the testimony to have, not mine.  Do you realize how difficult it is to be a Christian in schools these days?  To constantly feel attacked?  To be joked and put down?  To constantly debate with teachers or friends about Christ's love? 

    I am no one important.  I am just a man.  A man who loves Christ, who loves his family, who continues to make mistakes, and continues to seek God.  

And so it continues....

My dad was an alcoholic.  He was a very abusive man both physically and verbally.  Many of you know what I mean. Many of you are living that right now.  But it’s not your fault.  He would hit my mom and many times he would hit my mom with the belt.  He would push me; hit me, and my sisters.  There were times he would pull our hair and I can remember when he got so angry with my sister that he was on top of her choking her.  How could God, a loving God allow this to happen to my sisters and me?  How could my mom be with a man like this I thought?  My dad was a good guy when he wasn’t drinking, and I guess the best example I could give of my dad’s actions are those of Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde. I remember the time in high school when I was called to the counselors office.  A social worker was there and my counselor was there.  They both wanted to ask me questions about my dad. I guess my sister wasn’t scared to speak up, but the same couldn’t be said for me.  They asked me if my dad was abusive, if he would beat us.  The answer of course was “yes”, but I defended my dad and said we got spanked just like any other kid would if they misbehaved.  I was sticking up for this man who would leave marks on me and who would leave the top of my head sore from pulling my hair and hitting me in the head.  I regret not speaking up, because the abuse would continue.  My sisters and me were abused, but sometimes I feel as though my younger sister may have taken it the worse.  She robbed our neighbor’s house, and hid the goods under my parent’s waterbed.  She was suspended from school for things like fighting and selling drugs.  She attempted suicide, but failed.  She would slash her wrists and finally ended up in a psychiatric institute in the Tidewater area.  Our family was ordered to go to court appointed family counseling.  Yet another outlet for me and my sisters to blow the whistle on my dad’s abusive behavior, and yet another time I did not speak up.  My younger sister was the only one to speak up, but because of her actions, no one took them seriously. It took many years for me to speak up when confronted and not remain silent.  I trusted no one.    

I would graduate middle school with a 3.9 or so grade point average.  When I entered High School that would all change.  My dad was a smart man.  He completed 12 years in the Navy as an enlisted man, and got a job with the Department of Defense installing computers on Naval ships and submarines.  He loved math and solving problems.  He expected a lot from his children especially in the area of academics.  I prided myself on being like my dad in the scholastic arena, with making A’s and B’s, but something happened when I hit the 9th grade.  All men who are a little older know what I am talking about.  Girls.  I began to notice girls.  They were not just girls though; these high school girls were women in my eyes.  I was 14 and there were these 17 and 18-year-old women all around me.  I couldn’t contain myself, and this was the beginning of the end of the 3.9 G.P.A.  In 9th grade I was enrolled in classes such as A.P English, A.P History, Algebra, and other classes of the sorts.  After the first semester of high school my report card started to spell words such as D-A-D and C-A-B and B-A-D.  I think Bad would be a good word to use.  My grades were bad, in fact horrible.  I was scared to bring it home to my dad.  I was in uncharted territory and did not know how to respond.  Was I going to have to be that one kid who beat his parents home to hide the report card?  When I got home I walked in with my mom standing there looking at a piece of paper.  I knew what it was.  It was my report card.  My dad would be home in a few hours and I just went straight to my room without saying a word.  I began to plan my funeral.  In my head I could imagine a great funeral with bagpipes playing Amazing Grace.  I heard my dad pull into the driveway, and my palms were sweaty.  I heard the front door open and close and my mom and dad talk.  I heard the T.V. cause my sisters were watching it.  After 20 minutes of wondering what would happen next, my dad came into the room with the belt.  “Bend over the side of the bed”, he ordered.  I got my spankings.  Every time I tried to move the belt would move faster in the air.  I got what seemed to be 10 spankings, but I knew it was much more then that.  My dad was angry.  After he left my room, my mom came in and told me to get ready to go to the Y.M.C.A.  As a family we went maybe 3 times a week.  My dad and I use to play racquetball, but I knew tonight wasn’t going to be a fun night.  My dad and I played a game, but instead of hitting the wall, my dad would hit me with the ball as hard as he could.  Some I would dodge, and others made contact.  One hit me in the chest and it welted up.  I couldn’t escape.  I was trapped.  I could have sought help with my grades, instead I entered my senior year with a 1.9 G.P.A.  I was ineligible to swim had to take 4 English classes my senior year in order to graduate. I buckled down and graduated with over a 2.0 G.P.A and amazingly an Advanced Studies diploma.   

A few years earlier, another defining moment in my life was one that I believe would cause more damage than being abused.  It would play a role in my respect for women. I remember being about 10, but I cannot remember exactly. .  I know it was before my Grandmother was murdered.  I have always tried to block it from my memory.   An elderly woman and two men occupied the house to the left of ours.  I remember the guys name for it seems as though it is engraved in my skull.  His name was Stan and it took me years to forgive him.  Our family befriended these people, and there were times that this man would be at the house swimming in our above ground pool and having some beers with my dad.  I remember my dad being at work and me and my sisters watching T.V.  As a good nosy son I was I pushed my little face against the window to see what my mom was doing.  My mom and Stan were standing on our side of the fence talking with the other man.  The second man was standing on his side of the fence facing me, while my mom and Stan were standing with their backs to me.  I remember this next action being in slow motion.  This man, who was taller than my mom, turned to her, bent over and kissed her.  WOW!!  This man kissed my mom on the lips.  I had only seen my dad do this.  My heart sank and I sat back confused.  I think my mom may have noticed me backing away from the window.  I dashed to the kitchen sink to do dishes, the task I was given before my mom went outside.  Minutes later my mom came inside and told me not to tell my dad, that this was our little secret.  I was confused.  Being secretive should not have been something that should have been asked from a pre-teen.  I loved my mom, but I also loved my dad.  What should I do?  Later that night we went for a walk, and guess who came with me, my mom, and sisters?  You got it.  Stan. My mom and Stan held hands on our walk, and my stomach twisted in knots.  I could not believe this.  Weeks later, my mom went M.I.A after an explosive argument with my dad.  I went to my best friends house to see if she was hiding there.  My dad was crying and did not know where his wife was.  The phone finally rang, and my dad answered it.  He said “Where are you?” and with a hard hang up, he told us to get in the car.  We drove for what seemed to be hours, but it was only 10 minutes.  There was my mom standing by a pay phone in the Food Lion parking lot.  Stan was in a vehicle a few spots from my mom.  My mom got in the car and that’s when all hell broke loose.  I don’t remember the entire conversation and for the sake of keeping this a PG rating post for now, my dad asked my mom if she slept with this man.  She never answered, but later I would overhear a conversation she would have with my grandma telling her she had slept with this man.  This was one of only 3 times I witnessed my dad cry. The other times were at the death mf my grandma and the third when I was brought home after threatening to commit suicide for a second time.........  

In the beginning.........

As a beginning of a Toby Mac song goes “Stories.  We all got ‘em.”  But what does that have to do with me writing this to you?  Well, there has to be a beginning and I didn’t know where to start.  All great writers have this attention getting statement, but I couldn’t come up with a catchy one.  I begin this by saying that I am doing this in pure obedience to God.  For years I have felt this tug at my heart to share my testimony with those who may have lost someone, for those who think that life can not get any worse, or for those who may be contemplating suicide.  My name is Jimmy Clouse.  I was born in Portsmouth, Virginia in 1979.  That’s where I will begin my story I suppose.  There always has to be a beginning.  My dad, whom I am named after, was a military man.  He was in the Navy and he followed the footsteps of his dad.  My mom, Cindy, was a stay at home mom, a job in which I respect all women for.  Let’s jump approximately 17 years into the future.  The year is 1997 and it’s a summer night in Virginia Beach.  I have tears running down my face, and my hands are trembling.  I hear the waves crashing against the shore, and I am on my knees.  I hear a siren in the distance and I am utterly alone.  At least that’s what the devil wants me to believe.  He wants me to believe that I don’t belong here.  I have a gun in my hand, which is the reason my hand trembles.  The gun is my fathers’, and I took it from the safe.  My dad was working part time as a security guard at the Norfolk Grey Hound station at the time, and the safe was not locked.  “Just my luck” I thought before I left the house.  Before I left the house, I witnessed, yet again, another drunken episode by my dad.  He came into the house in a rage, yelling at mom and beating me and my sisters down with his words that made me feel as though I could do nothing right.  But why do I have his gun you may ask?  Well, I was going to commit suicide.  With tears on my face and a light breeze off the ocean, I placed the gun barrel in my mouth tasting that cold steel.  I take it out. Scared. Then I place the gun to the side of my head.  With the gun ‘s barrel pressed firmly against my head, my hands really begin to shake.  I begin to cry and lower the gun.  “What am I doing?” I ask myself.  "How did I get here?  I’m a popular guy.  I am one of the Captains on the swim team, I don’t think I’m an ugly dude, so what could have caused me to be on the beach, in the middle of the night ready to end my life?"

The day is August 19, 1992.  We live in Roland Park in Norfolk, VA.  I have two sisters.  I am the oldest sibling. We are playing in our backyard on a swing set that my dad built for us.  It only has two swings, and my dad never completed the slide, but there is a platform and we have fun with what we have.  I remember that we have a few of our friends playing at the house with us.  It’s about 10 a.m in the morning when my dad comes in the backyard and asks our friends to leave.  He asks us kids to come into the house.   We’re confused, because we think we have done something wrong.  But this time it’s different.  My mom is crying, and my dad sits us down.  He tells us that our grandmother, my mom’s mom, and my uncle, my mom’s half brother, have been murdered.  But that wasn’t all.  They have been murdered by my grandfather. My sisters and I don’t know how to react.  We live in Virginia and my mom’s parents live in Edgewater, Colorado, just outside of Denver.  If there was a day that I had to pin point a day I grew from being a child into a man, I would pin point this day...............