So many things have happened since my last post, here (a few years ago!).

I hope to start again, soon.  God has worked many wonders in my life through this time.  There have been curve balls, nut nothing that has got me down.

Check out our ministry and heroin addiction outreach and information website.  It has taken most of my time over these years, and if I don't make it back here soon...  Well, stop by:

www.stopheroin.net

Oh!  I almost forgot!  Work has been moving forward again on my auto-biography! (yay!  I found some awesome software that really helps me with technical aspects of writing and it is so much easier to collect and organize my thoughts this way).  It will detail my life, but more than that it will chronicle my journey into, through and back out of addiction.  My involvement in the Mexican drug cartels will also finally be revealed in detail.

More to come on that, too.

Thanks and God bless!

Loved Ones Gone, But Never Forgotten...

As I grow older, I find myself remembering people and places from my childhood.

Like the places, many of the people are gone forever from this earth and never shall I see them again as I remember them. Sometimes I get a little sad, when I think about this. My Mama (pronounced muh-maw) and Papa (puh-paw) Garrison from Buffalo, West Virginia, Mama Hall and Papa Alton in Larue, Ohio, my Aunt Georgeanne, my Dad, My Grandma Betty Jean (pictured in the early 1940's), many friends and others. They are all gone, but of course not forgotten.

Lately, as my life has changed and I find myself more of an adult and more responsible than ever before in my life, I find myself taking pages from the books of each of these people. One book which has had a lot of pages dog-eared lately is my Grandma Betty Jean's and henceforth, her mothers book by proxy, my Mama Hall.

To explain this, I will need to provide you with the prospective I had of my Grandma. Maybe not who or what she really was, but "who I thought she was", so to say.

Grandma was young (17) when she married and soon after had my mother. She grew up in the hills of West Virginia, her parents having divorced sometime in her childhood. She often talked about how "mean" her stepmommy Catherine was. How Catherine had "threw all her comic books over the river bank". Catherine, my Grandma's sister Mary Ann and Grandma had a singing trio and they would travel around singing in churches. I have heard it told that they sang pretty.

Grandma and Grandpa were born around 1930. They grew up through the depression and into WWII. Grandma's mother, Mama Hall (who only died about 10 years ago, around 1998, close to 90 years old) often told stories about Oleo (which was a white margarine which came with a little yellow dye packet to make it look like butter), rations and then the boom times the war made back home (women working in factories, etc.). Mama had even moved to my hometown, Columbus, Ohio around the time of the war and worked in the Timken Roller Bearing factory.

My speculation is that since Grandma's father, my Great-Grand-Pappy Ralph, was in the Navy, off to the War, it lerft my Grandma pretty much to her own devices around the time she was 15-17 and she saw the writing on the wall. She hit the ground running, not looking back and starting life with a family of her own.

Given the circumstances, this was one of her best choices. She and my Grandpa eventually found themselves living and working in Columbus, Ohio. A lot of "hillbillies" were transplanted from Kentucky, West Virgina and even Tennessee to Ohio, Indiana and Michigan where the "jobs" were. Post war factories (especially automobile) were popping up all across the midwest. Grandma first worked in a pharmacy and later held a longterm position at the Western Electric (later to become AT&T) plant in Columbus, while Grandpa found himself at General Motors for about 38 years.

Truly, they were some of the most responsible people I ever met. There was never a hint of economic trouble (at least not visible to us kids, maybe as it should be). The house was always VERY clean and orderly. Everything had it's place and way of being put there. Both Grandma AND Grandpa were responsible for this, too. I am sure that she was the "mastermind" behind the planning and organization of things, but he was 100% on board with everything. Even though they had grown up in the hills, the presented a remarkable example of forward thinking in equality and shared responsibility.

After Grandma took an early buyout retirement (around 1975 when I was ten), she became more responsible for the house, at least the inside. Grandpa domain was about 85% outside, while hers became about 85% inside.

Just so you don't get the wrong idea, there were mistakes made. I am not here to air dirty laundry though, and it will suffice to say that the problems they had were well within the realm of what would be considered "normal".

Here is what I will say: Not anywhere in my life does 1 Corinthians 13:11-12 have more meaning:

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child: now that I am become a man, I have put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know fully even as also I was fully known. "

I often considered my Grandma to be "mean". My brother and I - I was the elder, so I was the likely instigator - actually (shamefully) called her, "Mean Betty Jean" on several occasions). Her "rules" seemed excessive and I did not see nor understand their purposes. She seemed often irritated, especially when we were smart, sassy or hateful. Looking back, it seems she had cause most of the time.

Since then, I have been a lot of places and worn a lot of hats. I have been a slob and irresponsible. I have been a Sergeant in the US Army Military Police. I have been a sometimes good, sometimes bad father of four. I was a drug addict and dealer. I was a prisoner, literally and figuratively.

Having finally resolved myself to not be the bad things I once clung to dearly. The Bible explains this better than I can in Ephesians 4:22-24:

"That ye put away, as concerning your former manner of life, the old man, that waxeth corrupt after the lusts of deceit; and that ye be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new man, that after God hath been created in righteousness and holiness of truth."

A wonderful directive and command. But how do I do this, what example do I use as a pattern for the "new man"?

For me, I borrow the "good pages" from all my loved ones, living and dead. From friends and family alike. Of course I temper that with my roadmap or owners manual for life, the living Word of God. Grandma's (and Grandpa's) book, as I said, has a LOT of dog eared pages. They are pictured here in about 1979-80 with my brother, sister, cousins and I.

I know my place now. I know that *I* must do my part out of love and I will enjoy life more abundantly.

Grandma died about three years ago. I was gone and not able to come home. It was sad. Since then (and since my recovery about 3 years ago, also), I have found myself often, when touching the face of God, seeing my Grandmother in Him.

With Love,

Ed Yaekle

Another Issue of the Heart

Strange days, indeed. Most peculiar, mama.

Yes, those are words from a John Lennon song (Nobody Told Me). Not one of my favorite people from a philosophical standpoint. However, those lyrics keep ringing in my head, today.

As you may recall, I recently had some heart troubles which required a procedure called an "ablation" ( http://www.ieee-virtual-museum.org/collection/event.php?id=3456995&lid=1 ). The doctors attempted to short circuit some misfiring circuits in my heart.

Well, they couldn't reach all of the misfires. Some were outside the heart, some in the upper chamber and right side, while they concentrated on the left ventricle. It was the "likely", from whence came the problems. Likely, but not all inclusive.

Since the ablation a few months ago (April, I think), there has been a significant worsening of my symptoms. Runaway VT (crazy, fluttering heartbeats), nausea, tiredness and more.

Finally, today, I got to see the cardiologist at the Minneapolis VA. He said my condition was rare but real. That they'd have to ablate (again) but from an outside angle, entering from a hole they make in my chest while I am under general anesthesia. For the latter, I am grateful! Being awake through the first ablation was torture!

Not only that, but they have to fly a specialist into Minneapolis from Los Angeles. They last time they did this kind of procedure was a year ago and they needed this surgeon then, too.

Well, it wasn't like I didn't expect or wasn't ready for this. I knew there were problems and they were increasing.

Here's something: I used to be an addict to narcotics, and doctors really didn't serve me well through all of that. I can't blame them 100% and I won't, but I have little faith in their capabilities (from past experience) and know firsthand how easily many of them can be "fooled" by a determined patient. Not that I want to do that, no. It just undermines my confidence in the medical profession.

This makes me uneasy to trust them and I find myself looking for reasons to avoid appointments, procedures and any contact beyond superficial with them.

First I'd like to ask you to pray for me. I'll need it.

Second I want to express my thankfulness and gratefulness that I have Stacey in my life. Without her, I would likely ignore this condition until (sooner than later, I fear) it killed me. I can become obstinate in making and keeping these appointments. Just today, when the doctor was an hour and 15 minutes late (and I had other things to do), I was ready to throw in the towel and go. If she hadn't been there supporting me, I would have left. Without doubt.

Many thanks to God for putting her in my life and path. Without her, I doubt whether I would have even known what was killing me and quite possibly already be in the grave. There are so many things that I want the chance to help with in life. I need to mend bridges I burned in addiction. I need to be a father, step father and husband; a brother, son and grandson; a friend. There are so many (now selfless) reasons to be here.

It reminds me of another song, this on by Jim Croce that says, "There never seems to be enough time, to do the things you want to do once you find them" (Time In A Bottle). Well, I have had a lot of them (the things I want to do) in my life for a long time and some of them are new but only now am I "finding" them. Knowing where my assurance lays is a great and wonderful gift. But knowing that I have to much to give back to so many (and much to a select few) finally, it is even more important.

Other things give me hope, too. I don't wish to put anyone on the spot or in the spotlight so I will be general. If they read this, they will know who they are: A simple kindness, word or contact from someone who has every right to hate me. The concern of a friend. Seeing the world from the eyes of a child, in wild wonder once again.

I thank God for each of these and more, too.

Thanks for listening.

Ed

A resource for families affected by addiction

Well, I am launching a website to help out people affected by addiction (especially those affected by opiate and all IV drug use). If you get the chance, stop by.

Here's the address: http://stopheroin.net/

It's purpose and mission is self-explanatory once you start looking around. There are videos, testimony, forums and links to help, inspiration and information. This is a new site so there is not a lot of traffic, yet. Of course I am not selling anything, I just want to let others in pain and addiction know that there is hope.

It is also my purpose to be a resource for the families of those addicted. "Real Information, Real Hope" is the sites motto, and it comes from real sources. I know many of you have powerful and moving testimonies and you'd be a wonderful resource for these people. Feel free to share and also forward the address to anyone whom you think it could help.

It's amazing, this chance I have to live past my addiction; That I may turn, reach back and help others. We are all spokes in the wheel of each others lives. Only when we interact do we find it possible to move forward. Alone, the wheel cannot turn.

Thank you.

Ed Yaekle
e.yaekle@yahoo.com

Election (2008, not eternal)

News and Politics

Well, I imagine a lot of people watch the news. I don’t anymore. If it is not some mind candy that I can eat and walk away from in a half hour or less, then TV and movies are out of the picture usually, too. Only if I am trying to kill time or have no other viable alternative, do I find myself in front of the TV.

This brings me to my point. My wife told me the other day that, in this upcoming presidential election, McCain and Clinton or Obama are likely to be our next presidential candidates. That’s like saying "Well, you can have constipation or diarreah (with a corn or no corn option), your choice, enjoy!!".

I don’t want to go into a tirade about why they each are poor choices, they just are. Each has his or her own unique terminal flaws. I really don’t like to complain about anything but this year is worse than the Bush/Clinton/Perot year. I wonder if it was like this when they elected Millard Fillmore? "Well, at least he has a funny name!". I guess Obama would almost fill that bill.

As for myself, I won’t be voting. Certain "rough and rowdy" behaviors from my past has precluded this possibility for the next 3-7 years. I guess I have no room to complain, but I never missed an opportunity to vote in any election before this.

A recent episode of the Simpsons had 8 year old Ralph Wiggum pegged as the "Being There" write-in candidate. Maybe they are on to something!

Blessings,

Ed Yaekle
e.yaekle@yahoo.com

A Heart Issue (literally)

Friday, March 28, 2008
7:39 PM - My Recent Hospital Stay

Ok, I have been having a heart problem for the past year or two. As of recent, it has become more pronounced and problematic. Here is what the doctors say is going on:

I have experienced some ventricular tachycardia (rapid, runaway heartbeats).

Here’s the medical definition:

Definition of Ventricular tachycardia

Ventricular tachycardia: An abnormally rapid heart rhythm that originates from a ventricle, one of the lower chambers of the heart. Although the beat is regular, ventricular tachycardia is life-threatening because it can lead to a dreaded condition, ventricular fibrillation.

In ventricular fibrillation, the ventricles beat rapidly in a chaotic, purposeless fashion. The heart cannot pump blood effectively to the body. If untreated, ventricular fibrillation can be fatal within minutes, or even seconds. An estimated 250,000 Americans die in this way each year.

Ventricular tachycardia is most commonly associated with heart attacks or scarring of the heart muscle from a previous heart attack.

Anytime that I exert myself and my heart rate would start to rise naturally, it suddenly goes into a fast and irregular beat pattern. This creates several problems.

First and probably most insignificant, a heart rate that spikes and flutters up to 180 beats per minute (as in my stress test) is most discomforting. My heart feels like it is going to jump out of my chest and sometimes I get dizzy and nauseated. I sweat abnormally, am winded rapidly and then become tired (not sleepy, but fatigued). This does not happen to me exclusively when I am exerting myself. Sometimes I can be doing nothing or even singing and it starts. It has even awakened me at night.

For whatever reason (the doctors are not sure why, but it is not uncommon and there is evidence that my heart has arrested in the past year) my heart’s electrical system is malfunctioning and misfiring. In a normal heart, the impulse starts in the upper chamber (atrium) and travels to the lower (ventricle), which is the pumping chamber. In my case, this impulse is either stopping or taking a wrong path at some point.

This causes the irregular and fast heartbeats, followed by all the above-mentioned symptoms.

The doctors ran some other tests to eliminate all possibilities. They checked my cholesterol and the levels were remarkably low. They did an angiogram that showed all my arteries free and clear from any obstruction, working perfectly.

A heart ultrasound performed while I was still in the MN Teen Challenge program showed that my heart (at the time) was only pumping at 50% of capacity. Being in the program made taking care of this situation impossible. Completing the program and taking care of this heart problem were two goals, which worked in opposite directions from one another. Since I was adjudicated to Teen Challenge, completing the program became my short-term objective (temporally speaking).

Truly, I believed that God would see me through this until it was the right time and season for this purpose to address this health issue.

Well, starting late last summer at a Twins game with a group from MNTC where we sang the Star Spangled Banner (I was one of the four soloists!), this issue became very real and contemporary. We had to do a lot of walking and the seats we had were at the top of the stadium. When I got to the top, I felt as if my heart was going to come out of my chest. Never had it hurt this bad and I truly thought that death was very close and waiting for me that evening.

By the end of the game, it had settled down enough to get me back to MNTC and by the next day, it was better. Since then there have been more and more episodes and over the past few weeks (months) new symptoms (dizziness, sickness and fatigue) have compounded the problem.

Now that I am in a stable, controllable life (and the symptoms are worsening), I find it not only possible but also now necessary to deal with this problem responsibly.

My wife has been an enormous blessing and has helped me to do that which I did not want to do in seeking medical help. On top of that, she is there for me everyday. I could not ask for more. My daughter Lydia and son Will were also very supportive and helped me improve my outlook by caring when they had every right to turn away. Lydia has been a bastion of strength, hope and love for me for a very long time. Thanks, baby!

As I type this (you probably will not read this until after this is all done), it is Wednesday March 26th, 2008 at about 8pm. Tomorrow morning the doctors have scheduled me for an "Ablation".

This procedure is similar to an angiogram/angioplasty in that they enter the heart in a similar fashion.

Once they reach the heart, they map the electrical pathways and then they start using high frequency waves to destroy or ablate (destroy) the part of the heart’s electrical pathway that is causing this abnormal beating.

As of now, the stress test I had Monday the 24th showed my heart is pumping at 42% capacity.

The heart rate at rest is about 40-50 beats per minute (bpm) and then spikes to 180 bpm in stress or strain. It is actually beating more than 40-50 bpm (regularly), but the timing and strength of the beats is off. This also makes my legs swell.

I hope that this surgery will eliminate this problem. I have been to Doug Stanton’s revival (DSMI) a few times before coming to the hospital and many friends are praying for me.

I believe this will be fine and I will even feel better than I have for years, so I am excited and actually looking forward to this getting behind me. I want to be the positive thinking, motivated and productive man God made me to be.

UPDATE

Ok, as I type this it is Friday March 28th, 2008. The doctors performed the ablation on my heart yesterday. First, I am ok. There were no major problems with the procedure.

The irregularity, which caused my heart to v-tach in the stress test no longer, exists. They kept finding more and more irregularities, however. One by one, they "zapped" them until there were only one or two left. These remaining problems were on the outside of the heart, unlike the other ones and the operation is performed from the inside of the heart.

The doctor tried to zap these remaining problem areas from the inside, but he is not sure if it will go away. As of the end of the ablation, this irregularity remained. Nevertheless, I am still hopeful, as my heart rate has settled down in many circumstances. On top of this, the doctor has placed me on a "beta blocker" which should help to control these final irregularities. I hope to return to work, soon.

At this time, I want to explain a little about the procedure. It was very difficult. Being awake the entire time made it nearly unbearable.

Anyone who knows me (especially as I am, now), will know that I try to refrain from complaining. Negativity and complaining allowed and helped me to feel sorry for myself, which in turn eventually led me to a major addiction. I do not abide well with negative thoughts and actions, anymore. So now, I really try to see the positive when and where I can. It does not always turn out that way, but I do try.

They took me around 8 a.m. and started strapping me in. This was a very uncomfortable and narrow table (I am not a small man). Many of you will know that I have a bad back, having had a lamenectomy (disc removal) performed. I had to remain motionless (flat on my back) from 8am to 4:30pm, and then still on my back until 6pm (though I could move a little for the final hour and a half). This was screaming agony.

My right arm was also trapped in a bad position and it became very, very painful as well. Add to this the pain involved with the catheter (placed in my right groin) and the discomfort of the device burning the inside of my heart… well, my nerves were shot by the afternoon and I was ready to tell the doctor to pull the plug on this (roughly 6 hours into the thing).

Though I had been resolved to do these things without any sedation or mood altering medications from the doctor, I had to relent. They gave me something to relax me and for pain too, around noon (and it was still so bad I nearly quit and hour or two later).

Anyway, I prayed, sang and cried some. It was like torture, but eventually it was over and that was what I kept telling myself as it went on. "Just hang on, it’ll be done and a week from now, it won’t matter" is what I said to myself.

All these things made it difficult to persevere, but the "icing on the cake" belongs to two other factors.

One was at the point in the procedure when they wanted to switch the entrance site to my left groin. This may not sound like a big deal, but installing the catheter was a very painful and stressful ordeal. I have massive bruising from the initial catheter, covering my entire right groin and lap. At the point and time when they wanted to do this, I was already on the edge of nevermore. When the female doctor (the one who had already been the mean doctor) started sticking me without explaining, I said out loud that I was now freaking out and I could not take much more.

The main doctor called the shot to desist from this course of action. Thankfully!

The other factor (which really did have me at the edge of nevermore) was the Isopryl medicine they kept dripping into my IV when they wanted my heart to race. They put that in me a dozen times or more, if they did it once (which they did). Already near a frantic panic with the pain, emotional stress and other factors, this medicine gave me the physical symptoms of a panic attack and tachycardia, instantaneously. After about a dozen rounds, I was frazzled.

Compound all the other factors with the fact that they kept on finding more and more irregularities (thus making the procedure that much longer), I was "shaked and baked". Stick in the fork, I was done.

Well, having said all that, I am still optimistic that things will work out. It was rough to live through, but like I told myself, it won’t really matter (the bad things) a week from now and I hope to enjoy the benefits.

Thanks for listening.

Ed Yaekle

Becoming Offended

Things often seem to get worse before they get better.

We often hear this repeated, almost as if it were the gospel. The word gospel means “good news” however, and this does not seem to be “good news” to me.

Half of this equation is based upon our attitude when we find ourselves caught in some miry morass. It’s the old adage that talks about glasses being half empty and half full, eyes of beholders and so on.

We always have the ability to choose how we react to adversity and uncomfortable situations. Only when we choose to allow our fears, pride and prejudices to become stumbling blocks do we then fail and become those ugly, bitter and stressed out creatures we hate to see in others, let alone in ourselves.

The next time someone cuts you off in traffic, violating some “right” that you have claimed as your own, dare to look at yourself in the rearview mirror as you go on with your tirade. You’ll quickly find yourself feeling sheepish and unable to look in that mirror any longer.

This is a simple illustration. It is a metaphor for a larger and more sinister problem in our lives. Offense. When we choose to own offense, allowing ourselves to become offended (for whatever reason), we open the door to a plethora of negative emotions.

In the forefront of this emotional gruel are anger and insecurity. Anger generally appears first.

It rears its ugly head and we then react instead of taking the time to choose our logical and adult course of action. In choosing to react instead of taking the time to act, we begin a course and downward spiral of unhealthy behaviors.

It is well known that anger and stress cause us real physical harm. High blood pressure, headaches, ulcers and panic attacks are a few (among many) of the things we subject our bodies to simply by owning offense.

Then we must consider the impact that this offense and the subsequent emotions and behaviors have on our relationships with the people who are significant in our lives. As for myself, I have found it most difficult to be kind, considerate, patient and loving toward my wife when I am in the midst of a stressful, and worse yet, angry situation. She does not deserve this. Nor do I, from her.

There are situations where a righteous anger is justified. The abuse of a child is an example of this. Sometimes we must deal with difficult, greedy and immoral people in the course of our day. Even in these situations, we must search for resolution in a timely fashion. It is said that one should not let the sun go down on their anger or that you should not go to bed angry.

Understanding that we have no control over the actions of others, we can plan our own actions, business and decisions in a fashion that does not include these rogue factors. For our own sanity, health and contentment (and for those we love), we must choose to separate the wheat from the chaff in our lives, discarding the garbage.

Each day can be a challenge, but it is necessary to find a way to deal with this. It really starts with little steps. You can choose to not react the next time you are cut off in traffic, or you can choose to let the guy in (magnanimously), who “cheated” to get in front of the line. It may not seem “fair” (according to your gut reaction), but you must remember that it isn’t about “fair” or “teaching him a lesson”. It’s about you. It’s about you choosing to not be offended, to act graciously instead of owning offense, anger, fear and insecurity.

I promise you that you will be able to look in the rearview mirror and not feel foolish or sheepish when you act instead of reacting, knowing you did the right thing. Not so much for the other guy but for you, your health and most importantly, for those you love.

One last point: Anger, anxiety and insecurity almost exclusively have a root cause based in fear. If we get beyond taking offense and still yet anger plagues us, we must look further and find the fear causing it. Once light is shone on to a dark place, the darkness can no longer exist. They share no quarter. Bringing fear and darkness into the light of day takes its power away.

Don’t allow pride or insecurities to block you living the full, healthy and content life you were meant to have. Don’t allow it to steal, kill and destroy your relationships and everything pure, lovely, admirable, true and noble, those things to which you should cling dearly.

Ed Yaekle

The Picture: A Dream Remembered

I wrote this story one morning while sitting in chapel at Teen Challenge. The previous night I had a dream, which was the real inspiration for what follows.

First, I must provide you with a little background, so this will all make sense:

The day before (while in a class), the instructor had (rather dramatically, I might add) passed out the photo (face-down). He then asked us all to turn it over and study it. The photo had the following caption:

"Pulitzer Prize" winnning photo taken in 1994 during the Sudan famine."

"The picture depicts a famine stricken child crawling toward an United Nations food camp, located a kilometer away."

"The vulture is waiting for the child to die so that it can eat it. This picture shocked the whole world. No one knows what happened to the child, including the photographer Kevin Carter who left the place as soon as the photograph was taken."

"Three months later he committed suicide due to depression."

Many of you may have already viewed this sad, sad scene. If you can refrain from scrolling down right now, then please wait. The picture is placed within the story, as it would manifest itself, chronologically.

After studying the picture as the instructor had requested, I became very upset. I even had to leave the classroom. An overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame had overcome me. Here we were, a room full of former addicts and we were (for the most part) healthy, wealthy (by world standards) and most any afflictions we suffered were self-imposed.

Still yet, we felt sorry for ourselves. We had been so very self-centered with out addictions. It was shameful, our behaviors, in the face of this world truth. Only by the dream (chronicled in this story), which I had later that night did I finally understand and receive absolution from God from these feelings from Satan.

You see, as you read you'll understand that demons are real. Very real. Not in a metaphorical sense, nor in some idealist's imaginings. Demons are not just a Christian way of explaining things that we find wrong in ourselves (though many Christian Counselors will automatically explain them as such). No, demons are very real. The often manifest themselves with certain subtlety, but not always.

Sometimes they are as bold as a lion, a vulture or even a baby.

The Picture: A Dream Remembered by Edward T. Yaekle

Part 1

It is very hot. I find myself in a room in an impoverished village. There is another person in this room. He is a photographer, a white man. He is sweating, somewhat unkempt, preoccupied and unaware that I am in his room. Nervously, he lights his cigarette (which he quickly throws away, after lighting). The air here is very stale. He loads the pockets of his vest with film, lenses and then hangs a camera about his neck, heading out the door.

As he enters the street, he fails to notice the little one sitting on a stool near his doorway. Purposefully, the man walks to the edge of town and continues into a savannah. The little one follows the man's movements with desperate eyes. Passing through the savannah, many dangerous beasts look on hungrily at this man, but none dare approach him. His trek continues and his footsteps seem to fall on an unerring path to an unknown destination. Finally, he comes to a dry riverbed. It is very rocky.

The heat is now very oppressive and dry. The man is sweating profusely, his shirt soaked.

Trudgingly he enters the rocky basin and stumbles, trying to keep his balance. The world seems to be uncannily silent; nothing makes a sound except for the man's footsteps and labored breathing.

After some time, he rounds a corner and faces a disturbing scene. There, in the riverbed is a little one (I recognize it as the same little one from the village, though I do not understand how it came to this place so quickly, by itself). As we look on, a large vulture lands behind the little one, staring quite menacingly.

The man reaches for his camera, only to find it already in his hand. His hand trembles mightily, trying to steady for the picture. The shutter opens and closes, forever searing the image into the sands of time.

Part 2

Time has passed. I find myself in an apartment in an old city. This flat belongs to the photographer and it is a mess. There are empty Scotch Whiskey bottles everywhere, as well as piles of garbage. Even though right in front of me, he is still unaware of my presence. He looks terrible and the stench is overwhelming (it appears that he has not bathed nor shaved in days, maybe weeks). Anger, fear, shame and depression seem to flash across his face, boiling just below the skin.

He has a pistol in his hand.

Now I find myself on the street in front of the apartment building, looking up at the open window. Looking around, I see the little one from the village sitting on a step, nearby. It stares at me, balefully then gives me an eerie smile that makes my skin crawl and my spine to shiver.

Suddenly, my attention is commandeered by a loud, single gunshot coming from the window.
When I finally look back towards the little one, it is gone without a trace.

Part 3

An office in another city, a big city, is where I now find myself. I stand behind a desk where a woman sits. There is something amiss. This woman is unclean. As recent as last night this woman participated in unspeakable acts; Debasing, immoral, illegal and even cruel acts. Yes, she is unclean.

On her desk lies a photo, "the picture". She stares at it hungrily, lustfully. Her hand reaches for the phone and she dials a number. After a few moments, she seems pleased with the answer her collaborator provides, and she gently replaces the receiver in its cradle. She is full of a negative energy that lingers heavy in the air. I am sickened. I must leave this place.

Outside of the office building, I see the little one, though now noticeably larger. It sees me, too and gives me an eerie grin once again. I become violently ill.

Part 4

This is a meeting room. There are three large, expensive tables set up in a "U" formation and a single chair in the middle. It faces the center of the head table.

In this chair sits the woman from the office. She holds a large envelope in her hand. In front of her is a man who seems to be in charge of this assembly. He is fat. Though he dresses well, it is a fa9ade.

There is nothing clean about this man. He reminds me of the pigs in Orwell's "Animal Farm". In fact, the woman is one of the dogs and the others surrounding them in their places at the tables are the sheep.

Pig man says something and reaches out with his fat, sausage fingers while dog woman hands him the envelope. Almost prematurely, crocodile tears well in his eyes, but the sheep do not notice as he opens the envelope and the picture comes out. He passes the picture right and when it makes full circle, all seem in one accord.

Pig man and dog woman share a knowing glance.

There is a sign on the wall behind them that reads "Pulitzer Committee".

Part 5

The demon has grown exponentially. I find myself in a room or an apartment, but maybe it's an office. I cannot tell. I know that it smells of death and fear, and it is very, very filthy. It's here, the demon. It is so full of itself and it's accomplishments that it hardly realizes my presence or if it does, I no longer matter as I am insignificant to it.

Suddenly, I am bombarded with images in my head. These are not images of love. I see printing presses and they are rolling out millions of copies of The Picture for newspapers and magazine.

Copy machines across the world shed their eerie light as they duplicate the demons child. I swoon and almost fall as the millions of electronic blips on computer networks send a countless number of bytes across eons of time and space, each one bearing the demons personal mark.

He is pleased with himself, the demon.

Part 6

Suddenly, I find myself near the beginning of this strange odyssey. I am standing in the riverbed, near the vulture and the child. I do not see the photographer, but I am not looking for him, either. What is happening in front of me has my attention, once again.

The vulture takes an ungainly step toward the child and breaks into flight. I notice that the demon, which has occupied this innocent child now appears to be in a panic. I can sense that it wants to flee, but it is no longer the confident and proud entity I saw in the last scene. It is experiencing fear; true fear.

The vulture, as it starts it's lethargic flight begins to polymorph into something. The light is so bright from this image that I find the need to squint and partially cover my eyes, that I do not go blind. It has changed into a snow white dove.

The demon screams and cries, but it has no power. A light opens from the heavens and I hear a voice that says, "This is My Son, with whom I am well pleased". The demon tries in desperation to give me one last evil grin, but he has lost his power. The dove lights upon the shoulder of the demon and immediately the screaming ceases. There is a tangible feeling of peace and hope in and for the world.

The child no longer suffers and I see it sitting on the lap of a kind, old and white bearded grandfather, laughing and playing without a care.

I will sleep well this night.

The End

Here is what I feel was revealed to me:

1) That I should appreciate what I have.

2) That the way I was, was very selfish, but also that I do not have to live under condemnation for what I did. It is not the way I am, now.

3) Though the real child in this picture was of course not a demon, the photo itself was hijacked and a demon attached itself to the image. This demon began by first possessing the photographer. This photographer was especially susceptible as when I researched him I found that he had addiction and depression issues, already. After the demon starting feeding on the negativity, he grew and hungered for more. This image was its way of spreading despair and sadness.

4) That Christ the Redeemer saves and saves unconditionally. That there is real and true power in nothing more or less than the name of Christ. Demons flee and tremble at the sound of His name. His blood sealed the deal. None of us need to suffer the fate of the photographer, thanks to this life giving blood.

5) Finally, that there truly is no condemnation in those who are in Christ Jesus. As for myself, I could wallow in the quagmire of shame and guilt for many lifetimes. I have hurt my children and many who love(d) me. While I do not feel good about any of the poor decisions I have made, at the same time I do not find it necessary to punish and beat myself for them. On the contrary, as long as I do not repeat those mistakes and continue on as before, then I must not live in condemnation or it will lead me directly back to that very place.

Please remember all of the above, should the picture and the demon attached to it try and attack you with feelings of guilt, shame or excessive sorrow.

Finally, yes I know that the Pulitzer Prize is not awarded or decided in the fashion described in this story or more precisely, in the dream. The dream took a metaphorical license and used a "parable" if you will, to illustrate its point.

Ed Yaekle
www.myspace.com/ed_y

The Power of Prayer in Our Daily Lives

Picture: A 2007 Saturn Ion

One may look at the picture and wonder what this automobile has to do with the power of prayer. Please allow me to explain.

On Saturday January 19th, 2008, my fiancee Stacey and I almost purchased this car. We have an older mini-van (a 1996 Grand Voyager), which is starting to show it's age. The transmission has been replaced twice, electrical systems work when they want to, there are dents and dings and to top it off, our windshield cracked all the way across a few weeks before this.

I had scheduled an appointment to have a used windshield installed (It was $225 used, where a new one was like $325) on Monday the 21st of January. We discussed this and decided to try and get a different vehicle, instead. Enough money had been poured into the old van, we thought.

Sure enough, a local dealership in the Twin Cities area said they could get us in a car. Truth be told, neither of us has great credit. Stacey has been a struggling single mom who was left with bills and attorney fees from a bad marriage/relationship. Me? Well, if you read my testimony, you'll understand that I did not live in the world of responsible and law-abiding people. I had used every resource to benefit me and my addiction, including my credit. My score is like 508 or something. BAD.

We had figured it out in our budget, and we could afford about a $400 cash downpayment, we hoped to get about $1500 trade in allowance and our monthly payment could be as high as $150 (maybe pushed up just a little, but not much). The dealer had sent us info on a Kia Sedona (2003) which ran around $6999. A payment would hit in at around $120 so it seemed perfect.

When we got there, we were informed that we did not qualify for this car. We had to get a newer car with a value of around $10,000 to qualify for "special financing". Also that me and my income would not be helpful and it should be on Stacey's credit and income, alone.

Some (what I'd call shady) things started happening in the quest for finances at this point. Nothing which one could call illegal, but surely questionable. Now, my old self would have been right on board with this practice. I would have been lying and helping myself in whatever way I could to achieve my ends. I even heard that old man talking to me, but fortunately Christ has not given me a spirit of timidity but of strength, power and love. I was able to refrain from such immoral behavior and rebuke these thoughts. Praise God!

Still, Satan was not finished. The salesman came back, stating that if we had $500 (instead of the $400 we could afford), that if we agreed to a payment of $313 per month and took the only car they offered (pictured above), then we would just sign and walk away, driving home the new car.

Temptation was there. However, God told me to resist the Devil and he will flee from me. Now, I could have took a dump and came up with the extra $100. We could have signed the paper and BANG! There we'd be, driving home. I knew, however that I needed a moment. Not to think things through in my head, but to simply ask God for a solution.

So, I tell the salesman that the only way I can really do the extra $100 is to give him my credit card and they could bill it in a month for the $100. He said he'd have to ask his manager (of course), but didn't think it'd be a problem. As soon as he left, I started talking to God. I asked him for a solution. He knew we needed a good vehicle, reliable transportation. But He also knew as I did, that there was no way we could afford the $313 payment and even giving the entire $400 plus another $100 would put us behind the eight-ball, so to speak. I asked Him for guidance and help, and thanked Him for allowing me to even be here, alive.

3 or 4 minutes later, the salesman returned. He was puzzled and said, "I don't understand, but the bank just called back". Something (God) had popped up a red flag, and all the sudden we'd have to wait until Monday to get a managers approval (which should not be a problem, he said). He apologized and said he didn't know what happened.

I knew what happened. God took care of his one lost sheep, once again. As much as we wanted that car, we knew it was wrong and the wrong thing to do. I thank God for His divine intervention.

To top it off, we get back in the old car to go home. As we are about 10 minutes into our trip, my cell phone rings. On a Saturday afternoon, guess who it is? It's the glass repair company "just confirming" my appointment on Monday to replace the windshield on our car. To me, it was "just a confirmation", alright. A confirmation that we were doing the right thing.

There is one other thing. Monday, when I went to get the used auto-glass installed, Stacey and I waited as they installed it (about an hour and a half). It was boring and we were both tired as it was like 5pm and we had both had long days. They finally come out and say that it is almost ready. They also said that we were "lucky", as they could not find the used windshield and the guy had already started the job when he realized this. They gave us a new windshield for the $225 quoted price instead of the $325, which a new on usually costs! A reward for obedience? I don't believe that, but it was surely a blessing from God.

Here's once last thing. Stacey, my fiancee. It is so cool. She was on board with "whatever I had decided to do". She didn't complain, whine or ask for her own way. She didn't try to force the hand and make us walk away with the car. She's awesome and God gave her to me. I am so blessed.

Thank you, God.

God Bless You!

Ed Yaekle

e.yaekle@yahoo.com

http://413solutions.blogspot.com/

35W Bridge Collapse

The pictures above depict horrible scenes. Man's pride and confidence in himself is once again shaken as another of his creations fail, passing into the annals of time, only to be forgotten like so many other happenstances in history.

As for this writer, I will not forget this day or these scenes. You see, by all rights I should have been on that bridge when it collapsed.

This bridge fell just after 6pm on a Wednesday night. For a year leading up to this event, I was unfailingly on a bus headed for a church service in Forest Lake, MN. My trip started in downtown Minneapolis (1619 Portland Avenue South, MNTC) and I passed over this bridge each Wednesday evening just after 6pm.

This Wednesday evening was no different. My fellow students and I had loaded onto the bus and were heading out of the parking lot. Just as we made the corner from 17th Avenue left onto Portland Avenue South, the bus drivers cellular phone rang.

It was the charge-staff from our facility (MNTC) calling. He instructed the driver to alternate his route and vary from the regular, shorter way which we always took. The driver had to swing from the far right lane on Portland Avenue back to the far left lane, so he could turn left onto 18th or 19th Avenue and then up Park Avenue, left on 15th and over to 94 West. We then went up to 694, to 35W north and on to Forest Lake (Maranatha AG Church).

If you know Minneapolis, you know that due to many factors, this is not the way one would voluntarily or logically choose to go. It's longer, there is a lot of traffic and it just doesn't make sense.

We were about 10 or 15 minutes into this alternate route when the radio announcer broke in with the news flash, saying that the bridge had just collapsed.

We should have been on that bridge. As the story unfolded, we heard that a school bus full of children had went in (later found inaccurate, though there were children in a bus on the bridge who were rescued, praise God). Many of us knew that God had showed us special favor. We don't know why we were given this Grace and others were not, but I have an idea.

The charge-staff who re-routed the bus for no apparent reason: This man was sensitive to not only the roars of God in a silent room, but he could also hear God's whispers in a windstorm. His obedience to the prompting of the Holy Spirit is what saved our lives. There were about 60 of us on that bus that night.

Thank you, Glen (charge-staff). Thank you, God.

As we exited the bus, many of us fell to the ground and prayed. Yes, we were thankful that we were spared. However, thanksgiving (for most of us) was not the fervent prayer on our lips and hearts. We prayed for those who didn't hear. For those poor souls and their families. We knew that we would have went home had we been on that bridge. There are other who may not have had that confidence and security.

We prayed for them.

As for myself, I hope to continue to strive to be in the place where Glen was that night, when he heard God's voice. I must admit, I thought it asinine to go the long way around without a valid reason. Having been humbled in this, more than ever I see that God speaks to us in ways we really do not understand. Understanding is not the key, however. Obedience is the true key.

God Bless You!

Ed Yaekle
e.yaekle@yahoo.com
413Solutions.Blogspot.com