ABOUT THE EDITOR

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Addiction, Alcohol, Alcoholism, Battle, Change, Christianity, Depression, Drug use, Fighting, Grace, Jesus Christ, Keith Zieber, Laurie Zieber, Mentanoia, Radical, Redemption, Repent, Rethink, ReThink Point, Sexual Impurity, Truth

Note from Laurie: If your heart soars, each time you witness the transforming power of grace, and it fills your heart with awe and wonder. If you believe that you are the wretch that the words of that beautiful hymn refers to; you will be thrilled to follow Keith’s ReThink Point, in real time. We invite you to participate in the process, by contributing your wisdom and personal experience to the conversation, as Keith’s  mentors and friends. 

On the other hand… if you can’t wrap your head around the idea that strong arms, covered with colorful ink, can serve our God well, or if you feel a bit queasy about whether truth can be spoken, even during the re-taming of a tongue that has grown familiar with profanity; I lovingly suggest that you skip, happily, over Keith’s entries, and on to reading the other posts.  They are just as interesting and much less colorful. xoxo

Here’s Keith…

I feel like I should start by clarifying the title of this post…

I’ve heard people say, for years, that God is the author of our lives. So, I guess that, on account of free will, bestows upon me the title of Editor in Chief regarding this project.  In reality, I suppose we’re all editors, or, at least we all have creative control of our respective stories.  But I digress… This is my grand introduction to all of you, and I thought you should know a few things before we start the long trip, from there to here.

In January of 2009, I was born again.  Yes, I am a “Born Again Christian.”  I would have liked to believe that “rebirth” would have been more memorable, but I think you might have to actually become a new creation before you can remember exactly when it happened.  All I can tell you is that January of ’09 is an approximation of when I let God cross the threshold into my life.  As an aside, I have to tell you that this is NOT a story about how I became a child of God, and, suddenly, turned my life around.  To the contrary, my life seemed to get progressively worse, from that point.  It wasn’t until today, this very hour, in fact, that I realized just how much work God had to do, before I could even begin to become whole.  This, however, is also NOT a purging of my sins, or an “airing of dirty laundry.”  Oh, it’s in there, but that is not what this is about.  I’m here to tell a story, almost thirty years in the making, about a boy who becomes a man, against his will, and then goes around the world to cross the street, to his life defining ReThink Point!

But, wait!  There’s more!

I am a bad ass.  I can fight, and, until recently, did it very well and  frequently. I have been described with adjectives like ruthless, cold-blooded, cruel, aggressive(overly so), and one young man, who I love like a family member referred to me as, “A Fuckin’ Beast!”  I’m not telling you any of this in an attempt to recapture or relive past glories. In fact, I’ll only mention any fights as they are relevant to my journey.   But, I do feel like it’s pertinent to share, with you, that I’ve been a fighter for most of my life,  and I have the scars, broken knuckles, and the bum-knee to prove it.  I really don’t like to fight, rather, I love peace; but I have to admit that I do like the honesty of the conflict… Bellum est verus.

I am strong and intelligent.  Let me explain that when I say, “I’m Strong,” I meant VERY literally and, in the same breath, VERY figuratively.  My physical strength has served me, well, in my life.

I’ve been the smart, fat kid for as long as I can remember.  You get tough, or you die. 

Being a fat guy on a stocky, powerful frame, made life easier. I’ve always had an innate ability to lean into adversity.  It didn’t hurt that I was as tough as a leather boot, either.  It’s never been about rolling with the  punches, but more like, “Gimme your best shot!”  Some people call it moxie.  I think I’m just strong-willed.  I’m willing to concede that it may be bull-headedness, if you prefer.  Now, when I tell you I’m intelligent, I hope you’ll bear in mind that I am NOT well learned, and I HAVEN’T been wise.  Most of the wisdom you’ll find here is retrospective and/or borrowed from someone with an abundance, thereof.  However, I AM smarter than the average bear, and will, in all likelihood, remind you all of that fact…OFTEN.  You just have to know that about me, at the outset.

I have made my own decisions, good, bad, or ambiguous, all my life.  I’m telling THIS so that you can keep me honest.  I firmly believe in personal responsibility, but, like most people, have a tendency to give myself broad margins to alleviate some of the pangs of accountability.

Some of what you’ll read here will be fictional; an amalgamation of stories shared with me by secondhand, or even further removed, sources, but the overwhelming majority of it is my story(all of it is pretty introspective, though).  I’m sorry to say that, at the end of our journey, some of you may not like me, very much.  Most of you, though, will probably love me for my candidness, and, one way or the other, you will all know the REAL ME.

Some of my story will, inevitably, incorporate the lives of other people; so, that being said, ALL of the names will be changed to protect the guilty, and to give the innocent some plausible deniability.  Actually, I just don’t believe it’s ethical to tell someone else’s story without his/her expressed, written consent (preferably in the presence of a licensed notary public), but, since I can’t tell my story, exclusive of the rest, I will lie about their identities, and make up names for them.

I warn you, now: My story is NOT for the feint of heart, the weak stomached, or those who raised me.  Like so many smart, creative, passionate people, who don’t know how to deal with their gifts, I’ve traversed a LOT of avenues to ease the pain.  Anything to just feel better, right?  I tried achievement… sort of.  I tried filling the gaps with friends, parties, and sexual conquests.  I even tried, for one horrifying season, to numb the pain through modern chemistry.  That’s code for drugs and alcohol for you strait-laced, nerdy, goody-goody, square types out there.

Oh, how I wish I could still be counted among you…

So, if you know my mother or my grandparents, I’ll thank you not to share, with them, my disclosures here.

If you’re still reading this, and you haven’t, yet, written me off as on over-indulgent fruit loop, go ahead, and bookmark this page, re-up on your supplies of coffee and cigarettes(if that’s your thing), strap on your helmets, and buckle your seat belts for a bumpy ride.  I can not fully express how proud I am to have you join me, as I revisit the road to my personal ReThink Point. 

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Change, Christian Living, Christianity, Grace, Jesus Christ, Laurie Zieber, Mentanoia, Radical, Repent, Rethink, ReThink Point, She Speaks To Inspire, The Mecca Restaurant, Women Ministry

I still claim that I was distracted, by the noise of the breakfast crowd, when I missed out on the first, major ReThink Point of my life.

 I met Mother and Daddy at The Mecca, a diner on Harry Hines Rd that is loved for its baking powder biscuits, sausage gravy, southern grits, and for its true Texas mojo.

Located as near to the downtown business district as it is to the other kind of business districts that operate around the Harry Hines and Cedar Springs area, The Mecca is loved by a huge, albeit mixed, bag of patrons, but they’re not confused about that.

Whoever you are, they’re going to serve you some great southern style food, friendly and fast, and you won’t have to ask for Tabasco.  There’s a bottle on every table. The Mecca knows how The Mecca rolls.  They’re loved for that, and for all that stands for.

I’m sure that, when I answered the question, my parents fully understood that we were moving forward, regardless. 

Regardless of logic, regardless of wisdom, and regardless of the fact that my Dad had looked me in the eye, and promised me that he would, not only, stand by my side; but he would do what was necessary so that I could remain standing; I was going to slam my eyes shut tight, hold my breath, put my shoulders back, and walk down an aisle I had no businesses walking down to make promises, before God, to another person, and in front of our friends and families, that I had no business making and, inevitably, would break.

For many years, I would claim that I declined the gift of the rethink point my father was offering, and subjected us all to the pain that would follow, out of a sense of integrity and a commitment to keeping my word.

It was a sad season of my life, when I saw the moving forward, regardless pattern repeating through the years.  When I realized that I had been choosing to walk aisle after aisle, braced for the inevitable pain that would follow, with my breath sucked in, my shoulders back, and my eyes slammed shut, I also knew that it was time to understand my motivation. Why would a smart woman continue to choose this level of tolerance for pain, in her own life?   I didn’t even have a chemical dependency or a chemical imbalance in my brain or body on which to place the blame.

Integrity, of course, had nothing to do with it.

 The journey that followed was a painfully long, often unproductive labor of identifying those less-noble, far more powerful motivators; then, the process of equipping myself with the tools to change what motivates me and learning to skillfully use those tools.  These were the birth pangs that led to the delivery of ReThink Point.

I’m grateful for the freedom to choose what motivates me, and what principals I’ll allow to guide my thinking. I put that gratitude into practice, when I put that freedom and ability to good use. 

I approach a ReThink Point differently now.  I open my eyes wide, instead of slamming them shut, because I am not afraid to look reality in the eye.  Like a woman who knows her self well, I breathe through my pain. If I’ve managed it alone for too long, I call someone who loves me to help; because only little girls hold their breath when they don’t get their way.  You’ll still see me with my shoulders back, most of the time, but only because I’ve bent my knees, first.

I’ve got some Texas mojo, myself, because, like The Mecca, I know how I roll.