Roughrider

The times he drank and smoked, wrapped up in other vices, were also the times he taught me the most about life. That’s the crooked truth. Humans are complicated like that. We can carry wisdom in one hand and a wound in the other.

Roughrider. Batman. My biological father.

Back then, he’d grab some liver and gizzards and point the truck toward Baker County like it was a ritual. A stop at the liquor store: fresh Sprite and Canadian Lord Calvert or Seagram’s 7. Pick up Zep, the black lab, and head out to Uncle Shorty’s cabin.
Maybe we’d set hooks. Maybe we’d throw a few lines in the Flint. Channel cats. Mud cats. The occasional flathead.

But the thing he always caught was a buzz. And in that buzz, he looked free. Free of tension. Free of the grind. Free of whatever was gnawing at him when nobody was watching.

He’d hold that big cup, liquor with a splash of Sprite, and he’d smoke like it was both habit and hymn. Salem Lights. One finger on the upper lip. Like he was trying to soothe something deeper than the nicotine could ever reach.
Later on, he put the liquor down for good. Took him a while to lay down the lung darts too. And I’m grateful for that. Truly.

But if I’m honest, what I wish he hadn’t lost was the release. The part of him that could exhale. The moments he could fully take it in and let go.
Because a lot of vices start as release valves. They’re the “fix” we reach for when we don’t know how to carry pain any other way.

And that’s where mercy comes in.
Mercy doesn’t mean pretending the vice is harmless. Mercy means seeing the person underneath it. Mercy means telling the truth without turning the sinner into a cartoon villain. Mercy means praying for the kind of freedom that doesn’t come from a bottle or a cigarette, but from surrender.

So yes, have mercy on the passionate ones. The ones who can make you laugh and teach you a thousand things, even while they’re fighting their own shadows.
But don’t confuse shadows for light.
The deepest release is still the oldest invitation:
Let go… and let God.

From The Red Clay Gospel The Holy Ordinary, Volume One. If this resonated, share with one person who might need it.

Red Clay Gospel Vol 1