Blue Butterfly Glade

Floating cotton in oceans blue,
Summer song sing on winter dawns dew,
Peddles soft scent of camomiles wing,
En new the vines grow under Tuscan morn-ing.

There she does stand in the breeze of the sill,
Light of dawns perfection my blessed Gods will,
White wisps of the poppies it flutters her hair,
Pure hold of my gaze in hearts beating-ly stare.

Butterfly do we flutter in blue-winged glade,
With cobblestone trickles, it’s wisdom abade,
Gold morning the treasures her warmth is anew,
The soul filled with heavens is feast for these two.

By P. Joseph Colla

“Thank you Lord for every moment, the gifts of each and every blessing the day brings, and thank you for your greatest Gift, my Wife”

Posted in Beauty, Christian, Christianity, Healing, Health, Intercessory, Italy, Love, Marriage, Nobility, Prayer, Relationship, Soul Mate, Tuscany, Villa, Wealth, Wellness | Leave a comment

Grace; The Combination of Strength and Beauty

unnamed-1One might ask why Grace, and considering the question and possible explanation, factors, and an entire gambit of possibilities that might arise, if an answer needs to be given, better to just give the truth as remembered in stated memory; regardless of the who’s and why’s, but better to delve into the endless possibilities that such a name grants?

Given histories and losses coupled with difficulties, families devastated with untimely departures from this world, the “Gift of Grace” might present itself as the first and foremost answer to a possible explanation within the obvious choices for such a gift.

Grace is by definition; a blessing of unimaginable value, the greatest and purest giving of one to another, something so valuable in essence far beyond that which the recipients might deserve. Forgiveness is such an example, or also, sometimes in the case of debt, when it is unexpected or undeserved; this can be Grace. Or when someone is diagnosed with injuries or sicknesses, of which death is imminent, a sudden healing, a sudden forgiveness, when no mercy is deserved, isn’t this a true example of Grace? These examples would by no doubt be considered Godly, but so is Grace.

But are these the Grace that was presented in picking such a name?

When in the fact, considerations also went to the name of a particular Princess Grace, a woman of impeccable beauty and undeniable class, the kind of class not given by birth name or bought with mere coin, but realized as a product of the persons own inner light, that resonates by her in the most purest and genuinely good essence. The name of Grace was an obvious candidate, and the fact that my own education in Holland, and the further fact they called Princess Grace actually Princess Gracia, made a cute variation on the name as to the name our child.

But what of other kinds of Grace? The Grace of motion for example?

When motion or movement is part of the very essence of a persons life, being clearly an athlete from the very moment of birth, is it inconceivable that grace might be referenced? But people can not know as early as birth whether one might be athletic or not, or do they? In such a case as Grace, the demonstrations of physicality are so obvious that one might only look for a moment at the small baby lying before, and no doubt at all would appear that this little one would have that physicality, become a partner in life’s path long after such a thought originates.

What is Grace? If someone might ask me for my definition of Grace I might say it’s the combination of Strength and Beauty.

Strength in an undeniable character, being derived not only by the result or quantity of our physical ability but the ability to stand mentally when others would fall. Stand for truths, stand for moral ideals that transcend the personal desires of individuals and further add to the overall goodness of an environment they find themselves in. Strength in endurance, over adversity, or overcoming controversy, judging for one’s self the difference between light and dark, and having the courage to stand up for what is right, these are all qualities of strength. This kind of strength, without doubt, often involves a feeling of charity rather than self.

But what about Beauty, there are many types of beauty? No doubt when beauty is unmistakable resting in the picturesque qualities that present themselves, of which no one could deny, they are so easy to recognize. But more so the beauty of such a display usually presents itself without the need of presentation, adorning or the need to point fingers at? When athletes are considered beautiful there is always, without doubt, a certain image that comes to mind, one of fluid motion, long, strong and strides that seem to flow without much effort, usually absolutely relaxed in their ease of movement. A sort of flying while running, or better stated; “gliding.”

So what happens when you have not only Strength, but the combination of Beauty is added to the image, result; the picture of Grace manifests itself directly into your mind. How appropriate to have a daughter, a clear gift of Grace, modeled in thought and hopes to another Princess Gracia, who herself was of undeniable Grace, then to develop into such a young woman that again displays such Strength and Beauty and thus without even trying displays pure Grace.

So what happens when you have not only Strength, but the combination of Beauty is added to the image, result; the picture of Grace manifests itself directly into your mind. How appropriate to have a daughter, a clear gift of Grace, modeled in thought and hopes to another Princess Gracia, who herself was of undeniable Grace, then to develop into such a young woman that again displays such Strength and Beauty and thus without even trying displays pure Grace.

This is the Grace I know. This is the Grace I know.

By Peter Colla, Father of Grace

Posted in Beauty, Charity, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Father, Healing, Health, Love, Nobility, Parenting, Prayer, Princess Gracia, Relationship, Uncategorized, Wellness | Leave a comment

Miss Piggy Comes To Visit

img_0246What a joy it is to feed the creatures of morning light, the soft cooing voices and symphonies of fluttering sounds lift up the dry desert in its early hours and echoes sweet scents of being alive. Majestically highlighted are the images of light as they pass through the grasses under green flowered trees and soft drifting clouds, they themselves humming in almost indistinguishable tones, as their own deep praises for their creation sing among the many painted hues of this perfect masterpiece of day.

How gentle are these creatures, these sweet birds and how perfect do they feed among the seeds and scattered beans, thrown out in the yard for these blessed lives’ to come as they will dancing themselves in unfathomable yet unmistakable rhythms of their own desires? I have often fantasized that these birds may be in fact massager’s of God, sent early in the morning to sing out announcements of the glory that this particular day presents.

Mankind for centuries and in every culture has looked at the comings and goings of birds as signs regarding the desires of all of their gods. And if the One True God can create a bird to fly between the earth and heavens above, as most of us believe angels do, then how inconceivable is it to believe He might wish to send messages, signs or even dispatch these gentle creatures as angels unaware for us to there again possibly see His Majesty? Perhaps one day if we ourself look up enough, we to might fly with the mere thought and desire?

Today also was such a day, a morning quiet and accented by the softest of strokes, its gentle breezes flowing through only the tips of newest branches of the trees. They sway soft and free, slightly bending in the most humble reverences, back and forth their movements like the most subtle breath of a sleeping baby, pure and new in its contented existence.

It is nice on such a morning to just walk quietly around the house. Feel the sun-warmed earth under feet and touch the firm strength of the stone pebbles as they set their own strengths and life’s function against your feet. They give their support for your path as God has put His child on, and they, in turn, have the honor of supporting this walk. What a long journey they these stones have made, and wonder myself if this one event, this one opportunity, to support a Child of Him who created them, somehow becomes known to them themselves? Are they somehow in conscious thought as to why they were created in the first place, and if so are they somehow aware of this life task? How joyous it would be for them at this very moment, after millennia of waiting, endless days of sitting, nights of cold anticipation, to suddenly experience a touch with One whom all of this was created for.

Oh, how they must cry out in their own joy! Could we possibly hear them? I think so if we are quiet enough and listen with soft ears. One can almost hear the joyful praises of them as we finally touch them in consideration of their beauty or strength. Isn’t a Conch shell a perfect example of this? If we put out ear to it, you can clearly hear the soft quiet roar of their oceans voice, and the trumpet effect like some glorious megaphone, amplifying the voice of this gentle object as it praises without end.

imgres-3Suddenly I turn and standing before me is a javelina, a full grown female. A gentle creature coming to perhaps take a bean or two that I left for the birds. She is startled by the sudden and unexpected witness to her attempted bean theft. But not so startled that she scurries away because frankly I am not convinced she even sees me looking at her?

Unmistakable is their relations to the pig; they look like one, act like one, even smell like one often times, but their oh so much smaller stature leaves one often to consider whether they are closer to rabbits in relations then pigs. This is possibly also done to their continued ever-present state of fear and non-confrontational attitude. For they are normally and often seen in groups, relying on the strength of their numbers, hiding their heads behind each other or the seeming safety of brush and shadows. These timid creatures are built more for the foraging of roots and small fruits lying closest to the ground then more noble and lofty ambitions set even in the space between the heavens, like birds.

Let us take our little guest herself, we will call her Miss Piggy.

And while many would say she comes from noble stock, it is somewhat comical the sight that presents itself; short stocky little body, thick little legs, and those ridiculous little feet, way too small to support her round body they must hold. Not much of a path destined for her to walk with such little feet, as a matter of fact, it is difficult to even to recognize the tracks of these little animals leave after sneaking in at night? Sneaky little pig you do so love to sneak around at night.

She really can’t see much her eyes are so small, is it because she is normally such a creature of the night? Did God create her with such bad eyesight, or is it because she is always staring at the dark dirt of the night? Probably not, and while her constant fear prefers the night, it is only because the bright light hurts her eyes so much. Obviously, she only sees what is right in front of her, that immediate gratification resting in the dirt at the end of her little a bit to long nose.

imgres-2Those little ears covered in that thick hair of hers, she really doesn’t hear well at all, but is that because she can’t or just chooses not to? Funny I call the dog not to go near her, and as I do, she turns a completely different direction then both my sound or that of the approaching dog makes. What a comical sight turning around as if to chase her own tail when nothing at all is approaching. I have no intention to irritate her, one never knows about these creatures, and I heard they may viciously attack seemingly random anything they feel suddenly threatened by, so better to keep the dog away. I have also heard that when provoked they will so viciously attack, and often in directions completely opposite where the irritation actually originates, that this may even attack their own family or babies unaware. Is this because they cant see or don’t hear so good, or is it because they are so indulged with things of themselves, as piggies often do, that they really have no clue the consequences of their actions?

This poor little one, Miss Piggy seems to have hurt her left front leg, limping, almost resting it in the air at every moment, did she break it? Must not have been much of a break, she puts weight on it, at least once in a while. Maybe it was just a warning? Those front legs, the ones she uses to gather food, the work of her hands, one might say, what were you doing Miss Piggy with those hands that resulted in such pain? Did you put them someplace they didn’t belong? Did you do something, some path, some rocky road you shouldn’t have taken those oh to little feet down?

Well, today you were spotted sneaking in and trying to steal a bean. Where are your friends? Why are you alone? Maybe they are not so bold, maybe they know that creatures of the night should stay in the night? Sneaking around at night, nobody hardly knows you were there, those ridiculous little flat feet, they really don’t leave any signs? Built for quiet sneaking around! Shouldn’t you really stick to the night, Miss Piggy? Your dark color, your unmistakable stink, you are so easy to spot when you step into the light. Almost comical you trying to steal a bean from those winged creatures that fly in the heavens, they have no concern for you, no fear as you walk by, for you are no threat to them at all. Take all the beans you want for they will get many more, where they came from.

Funny how creatures cannot help but show their true nature? How nature reveals in its own light the images of the actions of our lives. How some caterpillars eventually look up and then fly in butterfly colors of winged spring. How snakes merely slither in the dust and pebbles they so desperately desire to poses, always crawling into the dark holes of the earth to escape the light that blinds their day.

Are we so different? Do we not as people stuff our emotions like every bite of chocolate and eventually bust from the overwhelming stretch of the wineskin swollen past the breath of human recognition. Some burning inside with the lies and filth in our mouths until even our own lungs rebel in cancerous uprising? People can love and emit love and beauty throughout their entire lives, and people can hate, eventually becoming ugly with the grimaces of the thoughts they so feed themselves every moment of every day.

Birds or pigs, creatures of the heavens or creatures of the night, how simple are the choices we have been so freely given through this glorious gift we call each day? We only must stop and choose, do we wish to see the light, or concentrate on the shadows these bright light cast?

By Peter Colla

“Lord, let me ever look to the heavens, let me be as a creature of the light, lifting my face out of the dust and giving thanks for the gifts the You so freely give.”

Posted in Battle, Charity, Christian, Christianity, Demons, Discipleship, Healing, Health, Marriage, Nature, Parenting, Physical Therapy, Relationship, Spiritual Warfare, Touch, Wealth, Wellness | Leave a comment

Is There Anything Worse Than An Un-Accomplished Life?

images-9There are so many things that fill a day, whereby a man finds beautiful and worthy of loving, often more in quantity than one can hardly put conscious thought to, even realization, especially when we barely have time to look. But stopping for a moment or seeing the contrast of the shadow against the bright lighted trees, gives its own realization as to how much we actually have to be thankful for.

I love among the many wonderful things of this my life, the opportunity I have been allowed to experience; to coach my own boys, and while it can be such a time consuming and often frustrating endeavor, every once in a while the overall picture seems to materialize before me like a subtlety painted masterpiece with its complex strokes and soft scented hues.

The flag football practice progresses to play, as they often do, and play requires a dividing up of teams with a light competitive game being initiated between two opposing groups of friends, sporting in fun and laughing in a gleeful cheer of excited athletic exertion. Often as the numbers may dictate, an odd number of enthusiastic participants requires the aging coach to himself participate, as to make the teams even, and allow a fair competition between these groups to progress, as was here point in case.

It was during this one particular game that I noticed watching, from the distant sideline, the grandfather of a couple of the players on the team. And while he was cautiously observing from the distance, it was evident that he intently watched, for his eye were obviously on the game every moment.

The grandfather quietly moved in, step by step, to see from a closer view. Moving under a tree into the shady end-zone taking a restful vantage point close to the action. Sitting comfortably on the ground next to another observer, one of the mothers of another child playing. He was so close to the play even the expressions could be read on his face from me and the teams only step away. It is so easy to read someone’s face when they are not aware that anyone is watching, and so was it here in this case.

For this grandfather had a look on his face of soft longing, in remembrance perhaps for the days when he himself once played football, for it is known he was quite an accomplished player himself in his youth. All those years ago, when he to not only had the skills of a coach but had the means to facilitate such endeavors, coupled also with the fact he had children to pour out those skills upon. What a gift his leadership skills may have been in the lives of any children, his children?

imgres-1Is it not like pouring cool water across the sun-drenched faces of our loving children, heat-drenched by exercise in the hot sun? Then to, the time when the youth, and the strength to participate, was something that could be beckoned from your own body like turning on a simple switch in a vast football stadium and having the response suddenly burst forth in glorious stadium light. Such was his look. This time, this chance, was so long ago, and but a moment.

But there was something else, there was also a shadow of a tear in those eyes, tears for the experience that he never quite had a chance to taste. For this Grandfather was by the worlds standard a rich man. Building his wealth and assimilating power drove him constantly for more, never taking the time to see his own children participate in their own sporting events, let alone take the time to ever coach them, this banquet table he never tasted from. So when other fathers were going to games, watching or coaching their children’s practice in blissful cheer, he was staying late in the office, or out having business drinks with other men, and women. Seeking the same satisfactions their money and power bought them, and these activities had little if anything to do with building a family, as they would often contend, even lie to themselves, or their wives and families, those families waiting at home, waiting.

Then suddenly a blink or a nod later, a little time passes, his children are grown, have children of their own, and they too are growing, needing experienced coaches, parents, and grandparents to spend some of these precious gifts they so abundantly receive, with them. But now he is too old, or is he?


It’s not that he is old, he is like many “so-called” rich men only concerned with one thing; holding onto the worthless golden calf he has sacrificed so much of his own life to build and possess. Now all the old man can do is consume his time with worrying about; “how not to lose” what he has so fanatically accumulated through his life. All these things, these worthless pieces of junk, the zero’s on the ledger, the sand slipping through his fat fingers, like some fat greedy old cat trying so desperately to hold all the sand in his corner of the litter box. Eyes gray and shadowed from the blindness of years staring into the brightness of hells flame, looking at those things he so desperately craves, those people he lusts after. He sits bent over angry and clawing at it, hands bowed in arthritic greed with the rake like talons, pulling it desperately close, just to see it slip through his old smoke-stained fingers like flowing rivers of dirty piss drenched sand. Sands draining through the hourglass, time lost, flowing like a river away and forever out of sight, cascading down in a whirlpool of dark hungry doom.

Jokingly I say to him; “come in and switch with me, I need a sub” but he just looks at me in bewilderment almost incomprehension, leaving me to wonder if he heard me at all. Little did I know until later contemplation, what an opportunity I was actually presenting to him?

Practice is over and I watch the two boys go with their grandfather, again, jokingly, I say to him; “I asked you to sub for me, I needed a break and thought you could come in and take my spot for a moment”. He looks at me in confusion and responds; “you don’t need a sub, you need more players, you need more depth.”

Confused myself at first by this statement, I explain that this is only a flag football team and has only five players on the field at any one time, so we only have eight players on our whole team. And while he is clearly confused he suddenly realizes the irony of his own statement, the clarity of recognition unfolds across his face; we not only have plenty of players but what he witnessed as a poor and tattered team, suddenly made sense and was actually rich having all we need. This team size ensures all the boys play as much as they want. Abundance is not depth or wealth, but having the ability to actually spend precious moments on the field with these kids, in and around their lives, time well spent, this is true wealth!

It was then I saw the second look on his face, one look more of his emotions, his bodily movements; the slumping of his shoulders, the heavy burden he has carried so long, one that just presses him now down, down to the earth. I see his soul; aged, worn down, consumed with a realization, maybe this whole life of accumulating things, the consequential desperateness of clawing at them, the crazed fear they may slip away, the hoarding, the grabbing of others’ possessions, the sand meant for others around him and not himself, his never ending neurosis to use other peoples sand as to not use his own vast pile, how this use of a life does not represent a life of accomplishment, but one of missed opportunity, one of “Un-Accomplishment”. I see such a burden of sadness and failure, it makes me sad for him, for I know this man well and he had such potential, “So much was given”.

images-7Greedy grumpy cat, oh how you’ve become fat and old, your bones are so tired, they snap so easy under that rocky path your eyes have brought you to. The walk you have chosen is so painful, your hair is so grey, even your breath stinks from the stench of all that goes in and out of your mouth. Don’t you see how foolish it appears when you also grab so selfishly at the few moving sands of everyone else around you, hissing and snarling at them and pulling these, stealing them, lying and deceiving the others, taking these few grains so you don’t have to use your own, pulling them under you into the urine and feces stench hoard you have been sitting on for so long. What a vast pile can pull under the genitals of a fat cat, sitting on it, defecating on it until the hemorrhoids he receives gives him the only sign that there is any life at all down there.

Is there nothing worse than an Un-Realized, Wasted, or Un-Accomplished Life? How sad when it ends and all the sands dry out to finally scatter to the wind. Does anyone ever remember the cat that sat on his pile of sand in his corner of the box, long following or even moments after the sands blow away?

images-10Years, days and seconds fly by, and it is as all the things a man says, does, and gathers, then suddenly realizes he neglected the one thing that may have been “A Calling” in his life? Is there not a sudden realization of a life Un-Accomplished? If so, how sad?

What is accomplishment anyway, what is satisfaction in life? Is it merely how big of a pile can one sit on, or is it using every grain of sand we have been blessed with, to bless everyone else around us, thus blessing ourselves in the process. Is it putting every drop of water into circulation, rather than leaving them to stagnate?

Putting all we have into life, leaving none to die.

“I do thank God for the sand he gave me, and the opportunity I have to share it with my wife, my children, my friends.”

“We are all at various times of our live’s “Fat Cat’s” and engaged in crazy acts of selfishness, but I pray I use the time I have been given for living, and witnessing life, coaching, seeing the gifts that manifest all around us, spending my few small specks of sand with others, and the wisdom of not just sitting on these until I die.”

by Peter Colla

Posted in Battle, Charity, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Father, Gracdfather, Greed, Healing, Health, Jesus, Love, Medicine, Parenting, Power, Prayer, Relationship, Spiritual Warfare, Uncategorized, Wealth, Wellness | Leave a comment

“A Morning With Villa La Fagianaia”

Villa La Fagianaia

Villa La Fagianaia

A honeymoon morning in Tuscany is a symphony of sounds, sights and feelings dancing across one mans senses with no less vibrato than the softest most superbly played Mozart.

A masterpiece of fresco pigments laid down with just a hint of pure virgin olive oil, gently stroked earth tones of softly shadowed greens, speckled with the purest yellow blossoms, red poppies, lavenders and light rose, all covered with the most subtle white and blue mist gently laying across the more distant hills.

The breath of the Villa La Fagianaia, whispers in her slumber sway, warm golden stones hug my love gently as she slumbers softly in this new day.

The light aired sheets caress soft morning skin as the cool fresh air flows as a trickle through the open sill.

Sweet is the flowered scents resting on damp misty cloud, tingling again with just the softest herbs of olive branch and nectar shroud.

IMG_4711Peddles of all possible name, dance in the lightest possible breeze, they bathe in the morning dew drops that caress their waking leaves.

The heads of slender grass glisten like diamonds with condensed droplets of pure life’s love, waiting each in turn to drop softly onto whom or what they may add their own essence from above.

The bell of some distant castled tower chimes a single tone, and her sounds slowly faint into distant responses unknown.

IMG_4710Memories of her solum tone linger long after her furthest pass, giving glimmer in her sweet taste of tiled rooftops of long past.

Birds chirp in some unfathomable yet random unity as they sing their praises of still another perfect days creation, they each speak of the infinite gift God has himself tasked them to preach.

Oh how tempting is it to just sore in the sky above and among the soft misty gardens of shimmering greens, earthly browns and blue tinted shadows. But they must linger, perched on the cool damp crested branch sent to task the song that must yet be sung among the most perfect mornings dance.

IMG_4708Soft silhouette, gentle bell tone, light vibrato melodies of a hundred separate ageless stone,

their voices all distinct yet separate in their blended harmonies, so do all these visions caress my longing senses even as the gentlest morning breeze touch my resting senses and plays to forgotten dreams of yesterday’s memories.

By Peter Colla

“Thank You Lord Jesus for all the greatest gifts You give me each and every day, even as I hardly begin to sense them”

Posted in Beauty, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Healing, Health, Italy, Love, Marriage, Physical Therapy, Relationship, Sanctuary, Tuscany, Uncategorized, Villa, Wellness | 1 Comment

Soft Is Her Dream

UnknownIn my mind’s eye I have dreamt once or maybe it was a lifetime in my slumber, of a beautiful garden of flowers and green, shaded trees with their cool enticing grasses, begging one to just come and lay your head in its dew touched fingers.

I walk, no run along a path, soft to feet yet firm with stones, cobblestones of honed stones ancient but newly set. I run along this path with the legs He has given me with ease glancing at the many flowers that line the walk.

I softly yet distinctly hear His voice say to me; “My dear son, touch any of the My flowers you see, give to them as you please, take them with you or not, your choice, for this is your garden that I have made you.”

My eye still rests further down the path because there is where the bright Son’s shine. I touch many flowers as I run by their beautiful faces turning towards me for a moment as I pass.

Then suddenly I hear steps of another gentle but firm, strong in purpose and heart, running even as in stride coming closer alongside.

Through the corner of my eye, I see her softly striding up alongside, with the slender strength of her gait. Powerful are her legs that carry such a treasure through her life.

She is wearing pure white linen in the soft dress that flows across her tanned sculpted majestic line graceful as a gazelle in her stride.

I dare take my glance but a moment to look to my side and see her soft hair pure light and flowing lightly with the breeze. Her perfect neck straight and true as is her heart.

Her gaze on the light of the path, her stride set right next to mine, so perfect I can hardly hear the footfalls as they softly caress the stones below.

Do I dare reach out to touch her hand? For how can such a beautiful daughter of the King possibly show any interest in me? But her breath is so sweet flowers and the musk of her gentle flower touching the very depth of my soul! I long to hold that taste but a lifetime deep with every breath!

I must, so I reach out in excited fear, my hand as I run, and in jubilation, I feel her tender touch as the sweetest softest fingertips a man has ever longed to kiss, tenderly touch mine in stride!

I look for but a moment and to my amazement, she is reaching also for me! Smiling even playing in her charm.

“Beautiful are the feet of the One who brings you love, my son” I hear Him say.

What a perfect smile she has as she dances along the cool path. White smile like her hair and wet red rosy lips smiling in life and love made for kissing life into a children’s hearts. She is the embodiment of love and life. Carrying truth with her every raised chests’ breath!

Her eyes reflecting and at the same time sparkling with an intensity matched only by the brightness at the end of the path.

My heart beats with thundering rhythm as it meets my own steps in stride. Almost stumbling as I look on in amazement, but quickly resume my step.

We both turn eye down the path, hand in hand a few flowers gathered to take along and with a pure laugh and sweet sound we run on to the infinite distant ends of this magnificent garden!

Cool waters of distant shores, snow-capped mountains of distant hills to climb, colors unfathomable and tastes, some almost as sweet as her breath!


Written as Seen in a Perfect Dream

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord, Thank You for Your most abundant gifts, they so abound in this world, but so it clear that You have made so very much for me, even in my dreams…”

Posted in Battle, Beauty, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Father, Healing, Health, Jesus, Land, Love, Marriage, Medicine, Nobility, Prayer, Relationship, Sanctuary, Soul Mate, Spiritual Warfare, Touch, Wellness | 3 Comments

A Local Therapist’s Take On The VA Debacle, And General Shinseki’s Resignation

A single man, while having the ability to change and effect many areas, maybe even breath life into a dying body, has little or no chance to affect the overall eventuality of said course the would be corpse is heading on its own; if it sees no wrong in its course, if it has no intention of changing, if it has no idea what the root cause of which the deathly infirmity sprang, it can not fathom the depth of cancer within, the mind of the afflicted whispering in dark places, and not even an inkling to the life styles that brought him to this dark deaths’ doorstep in the first place. This is the conundrum, the leader yelling to a deaf man who thinks he can hear, as he runs headlong off the cliff.

imgres-2Eric Shezeski was the sacrificial lamb, fall guy, doomed soldier chosen to rush yet again some heartless machine guns nest in a battle that could never be won by a single man. From the moment he accepted the VA’s Chiefs position, anyone or any commander, who had even the slightest knowledge of the depth of the disease that rests within the body of the Veteran’s Affairs Care System would have seen this eventuality long before The General ever stepped foot into the office.

What did it matter General Shinseki’s gave an illustrious and distinguished carrier of years with self-sacrifice and service to the protection of the rest of us Americans? Giving himself almost immediately in his long carrier in honor and dedication, to the point of multiple bronze stars, purple hearts, valor and honor, body parts, a life, dreams, all handed with dutiful ease for a single purpose as to only grant for the rest of us a possibility of life with a bit more comfort, security, and knowledge that our children can sleep at night without the fears that plague so many others throughout this world.

Some might say, what would I know, the writer of this article, never serving in the armed forces, didn’t work at the VA, how could I possibly even begin to think could comment on something I know nothing about?

Well, let me try!

For almost twenty-five years I practiced physical therapy in my own private practice, and for the greater part of that time frame, my office was literally only a couple of hundred feet from the Phoenix VA, the same VA that has become so newsworthy of late. Many a time would a veteran come wandering into my office hoping to be seen for his physical therapy needs, wondering if our office could possibly give him care, a handful of help, a thirsty man’s relief, a morsel he so desperately desired

It was at these moments we would become frequented with one of the heartaches that had become a regular daily routine in and around the bureaucracy that surrounded a veterans desire to merely receive some kind of reasonable medical treatment in a socially acceptable time frame. Medical Care which was only promised him in writing before his armed service was solicited years before.

images-7Tales upon stories of soldiers waiting weeks even months for just a response regarding their inquiries for a possible treatment of ailments, these hurting children of war still seem to be suffering today. They told me of having to wait weeks to just be evaluated for a hurt back or injured knee, and then just being told that the waiting list for treatment was longer still. This would result in often putting the eventual care of an acute injury out as far a six months or more, and it didn’t take a medical degree to understand that by waiting that long the acute injury has long since gone into the chronic realm of a treatment swamp.

Oh sure they could receive a pain med’s or some kind of muscle relaxer, but how can any rational thinking care provider possibly think that relaxing the muscles or dumbing down this person, could possibly help relieve the irritation, limitation on his life, or restrictions of this soldiers’ bodies, its freedom, his injured torn tissue or compressed disc has caused. Not to mention the possible addiction that could occur if pain meds are used for that long.

But that’s not where it ended!

These men out of desperation would more often than not venture into the private practices of Family Practitioners, often paying out of pocket because the wait to be seen by VA was too great. So prescription in hand they walk into my office, with the hope of some kind of relief in their eyes, not unlike my own child pleading for relief after scraping bloody his knee. But the nightmare of malcontent has only begun, for now, the bureaucracy again is called into motion.

Over the course of the last few years, insurance companies have used the ploy of verifying coverage, stating to an unsuspecting public that they are making sure that a person will have payments for a medical visit.In a short time to follow, an even later need to actually receive authorization before services could be rendered was initiated, basically giving permission to grant care, as a way to manage care (Joke!), the truth; cut costs by limiting services.

As it now stands the Doctor no longer tells you whether or not you will receive a needed medical procedure, but that right rests upon the non-medically trained person sitting behind the computer screen, staring into that heartless box of circuits, and decides based on a tabulation of data or cost-effectiveness stockholder desired profit margins and penny balancing ratios, whether or not you will have your care authorized. Nowhere worse is this seen than in the attempts to receive authorization around Veterans.

Prescription in hand! Care needed verifying and prescribed by a Doctor! The physical need witness and verified by a licensed Therapist who can give the patient what treatment he needs! But here lies the problem; getting care authorized at an out of VA location, even if the said clinic is contracted with veterans insurance plan, takes a special authorization, and again this can take weeks, even months. First the number you must call to request authorization always comes into an answering machine, of which return calls never seemed to come. Delays again!

One of the more astute, and by most peoples standards, almost to the point of crazily fanatic vet., who wouldn’t take no for an answer, said one day; “the only way to get it done is call over and over and over again, for a week or two straight and then they will call you back”. So this became the standard at my office for trying to receive even a call back from the “Auth Department” at VA.

imgres-3But it didn’t stop at that, care was often at first denied, second or third try too, or possibly the vet had to jump through countless hoops; with forms, requests, calls, report to this place or that, sit in this line or that, hurry up and wait, and when he finally did receive an authorization for care it was extremely limited to a fraction of the visits they needed to get better. The doctor would prescribe three weeks, auth would be for two visits. When these few visits ran out, the whole process started over again and this would cause lapses in care, risking the loss of any gains made by the visits to date.

But if we thought about treating without the authorization and we did, we were promptly told that any treatments being done outside of the authorization of the “All Important Claims Representative” would be denied and not be paid. Further, she was quick to remind us that; “unauthorized care could not be billed to the patient, because of contractual agreements the insurance company placed in our practicing agreement, treating unauthorized care could violate our contract and risk cancelation”, basically denying us the ability to treat other vets in the future.

We would have to treat basically for free, and risk financial repercussions, I could easily have filled a clinic the size of Walmart with such patients! But these poor soldiers, also because of injury and trauma were outcast economically as well, were often unable to pay anything out of pocket because of their own work and physical limitations.

I often would ask, considering the degree of difficulty even a few visits could require, why would the Vet still choose to be seen in the private sector? The answer was always the same, when it care to veterans care at the VA; long waits, overcrowded care facilities, understaffed, the lack of any empathy especially from the admission or administration, often even contempt they were given for bothering the staff member in the first place, the overall and standard feeling the Vet’s received was one of; “quit bothering us, and lets push them through as fast as possible to get them out of our hair!”

Now granted my experience was limited only to people who already had run into delays or negative behaviors, I have heard from many Vet’s who only had pleasant and positive experiences in their VA experience.

I had once commented to a Vet who told me of such a wait or foul treatment, about how my dog seemed to receive better care at the veterinarian’s every time I took him than he seemed to receive at the VA!

I explained my dog gets in on the same day, the people at the front desk smile and treat the dog nice, they have assistants that care and help with the visit, the Doctor actually sees the dog, and spends time with the dog more than just a minute or two, seeming to actually care, the dog gets touched not just talked at, a care plan is determined and finally a care is initiated immediately. I was not surprised that this story was received with just a simple nod of the head, a smirk, basically a simple affirmation by the Vet.

One might say; well doesn’t the veterinarian get paid cash by the dog owner so the dog should get better care, but the fact that these men and women risked their lives for the service and protection of our country seems to me as at least payment for common curiousness, and treatment better then a dog.

By today’s standards and even the most minimal care situations, patients still should expect to be seen in a reasonable time frame, at least within a day or two from the onset of an injury, to at least assure a treatment can be established before the injury worsens or other complications would arise. And if that time frame cannot be given because of full appointments or scheduling conflicts, I would feel it is reasonable to expect that said patient should be able to go elsewhere to receive care.

Complaints of waiting, and malcontent, bureaucratic red tape to the point where the Vet just wants to give up, or the injury gets so far along he just learns to live with it was common. A typical attitude reported by the Vet’s regarding hospital administrative staff is that the Vets are sometimes regarded as below them, bothersome, and not worth their time even to hear.

It doesn’t surprise me that as many complains or like comments I had heard throughout the years, would it finally come to the light of the public eye that “wait list or black listing” occurred against Vet’s who for no other reason than they might have made some lazy self-righteous nail filing office staff member mad, resulting in them being put on the bottom of a list, their file being put on the bottom of the pile, their request stuck in the no-work drawer or worse yet filed in the “Circular Receptacle”, that seemed to be the case I witnessed for years.

Oh and just try to get some kind of outsourcing contract for Vet’s in the private sector, the same restrictions, red tape, waiting time frames, denials and blacklist occurred. Insurance companies feed the public the lies that they contract to assure quality care, but anyone in the industry would tell you they contract to limit the availability of service, restriction of pay-ability by themselves and basic control over their constituents.

The VA falling short on so many levels that it would be considered by any reasonable thinking individual to be an atrocity to the taxpayer, who do care for the least for these people, the men, and women who have given and risked so much for us and our children, is not just a single problem that can be solved by any one man, even a General a War Hero. For it is a systemic problem that permeates within the entire attitude of the health care society at large.

images-5Insurance companies don’t care about giving its clients care, they are only looking for reasons and excuses to cut costs anywhere they can, give the least amount out while taking the most in, and not look like criminals doing it! But that’s a different discussion;

The VA is no different, it has been strapped with this obligation to care for the remnant of war and military spending, the political machine creates when it sends our sons into battle. Not everyone who participates in various levels of care for Veterans seems to care at all about them as people, and merely see them as burdens.

And what of our Government bureaucracy it can stand back and watch, knowing this has gone on for years, as its underlying agenda’s or reasons play out, while at the same time spend billions to fund these wars, all for the call of liberty?

No many at the VA don’t care about these people any more than the bureaucracies that sent them and profits from their deaths do!

So here comes the promises of reform! Send in a hero General Eric Shinseki, of which no one will ever doubt he could lead these obviously failing troops, who is used to having his orders followed without question. But somewhere along the line do we have to assume the body of the problem admits to itself there is a problem, then we have to hope it communicates to the leader there is even a problem and doesn’t just lie, and act as if it doesn’t exist, sweep it yet again under the rug, and hope it will fade from sight.

No, the problem is not a following of orders type issue, but a question of the heart of the Body of the VA. If the heart was changed, the parts of the body would recognize those parts of which didn’t fall in line with the new found love, honor and integrity, they would report these dishonorable actions or individuals that lie in dark corners, and the leadership would extract them as it would any cancer if healing of hearts could not be accomplished.

images-6Healing is as much as anyone might want to try to argue is from God and all about compassion, empathy, care and love, there is also a place of honor and integrity. And even while we are talking about military hospitals and such, soldiers fight wars and death is a part of this, of this no one can argue, but hospitals are supposed to be a place where soldiers can heal, and that my friend is almost the polar opposite of war.

The General while no doubt a great Commander and fine man, was doomed the minute he walked onto the playing field, for he was fighting a battle he was not trained for, any more than just being a heart patient somehow qualifies you to operate on one. For any chance of success he would have to have gotten in touch with the very heart of the VA if he had any hope in understanding the scope of the problem before him, and unfortunately, that heart right now has no intention of changing it is the bureaucracy we live in.

By Peter Colla PT

“Dear Jesus, I pray for those soldiers who might have lost their lives while waiting for care, and I pray further for the General, that he does not lose heart and realizes in his sacrifice, yet again the battle may now finally be exposed for a healing win.”

Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, End Times, General Shinseki, Health, Jesus, Military, Physical Therapy, Politics, Spiritual Warfare, Wellness | 1 Comment

The Call of a Healer? and excerpt from “The Touch”

images-3It is a fact of human nature, a person can not recognize exactly where they are if they have never experienced a like occurrence before. Consequently, if one is to become a healer in any part or capacity, it is imperative that they have the experience of being healed. One might say it is not in the discovery or desire to become a healer but in the surviving and eventual healing of a traumatic event the places the calling or recognition of healer on someone.

Of course we are all healed even on a day by day basis, throughout our lives, and subsequently, experiences might make us, even in the least degree, able to empathize with others, even in the simplest healing situations, thus holding to the Word; we are all called to be healers. But not all of us are brought to the ground, face down in the deep valley, facing consequences of health that shake the very fabric of our being and set to possible despair any chance of the life going forward even with a remote semblance of the one dreamed of thus far. Not all of us have our world destroyed by some health issue, or maybe eventual we do?

Case in study; I was a fifteen-year-old boy, somewhat athletic, more want, than ability, who happens to go on a hayride with his high school key club. A volunteer community service club, whose purpose is honestly more of a gathering for high school kids to meet than it is community service oriented, at least at the view of a fifteen-year-old high school boy.

images-4A perfect evening, cool desert night, just the right combination of sage-scented breezes, coupled with the sounds echoing in the night, coyotes just close enough with their yelps to press the girl closest to him just a bit closer for some kind of unseen and surely unjustified protection, dreams not yet fathomed or deserved.

Here we have our young lad, wide-eyed and heart racing, eager to see all of life’s thrills his world has yet to give. Who does he happen to find himself next to? No other than Debbie, not only the cutest and most popular girl in the freshman class but also star cheerleader, someone he is sure had no idea of his existence until this particular day. Greater gift upon gift; she happens to be sitting next to me, plus the added bonus of finding most of what I am saying so far quite interesting, at least she is laughing and smiling.

And while I may have been a rising star in the Key Club world, being somewhat of a hand at poster painting, nothing can I say or even imagine is deserving the honor being granted me today by Debbie. Nothing except possibly the fact that my best friend Don is also one of the most popular upper class-men at the school. Don not only talked me into joining the Key Club but asked me to come tonight to this already monuments event. Don is not only an undefeated wrestler of over hundreds of straight matches to date, three-time state champion but to date, the most honorable, humble, trustworthy person I had ever known, extra plus he happens to like me.

Shortly following the halt of the hay wagon and the even more cozy gathering around a campfire, I recognize that Don is taking on all contenders in one-on-one wrestling matches up on the hay wagon. While being no fool, I know full well even with maybe twenty or thirty pounds on the smaller 125 lbs. wrestler I have absolutely no chance. But observing the laughs Debbie is emitting at the various boys being flipped around like rag dolls, and knowing the wrestling champ is my friend, figures to grant me even more points than I have already accumulated tonight, so I step up to challenge my friend. Who is, by the way, not even breathing hard after disposing of another friend of mine twice his size and maybe a half bigger than myself.

After only minimal grabs and thrusts I quickly find myself face down in a bit of a double headlock, facing the laughing smiles of my friend in front of me. Not wanting to give up in quick time, less than a ten count, and hoping to use my weight and size to any advantage it might grant me, I decide to slide my legs more to the center and try to widen my position, to put on some kind of stalemate maneuver. Countering any move Don might pull out of his pocket, I hold on tight and just stall for time settling on a draw, at least to the eyes of anybody who might happen to be watching. This would surely impress princess Debbie who no doubts stand and watch in cheering joy.

How soft and perfected is the gift a Father, so many years ago given this young son, the creation of flesh, muscles, tendons, working in smooth unison formed in perfected functional beauty granting strength and ability…his knee. Strength and stability to take punishments and play over years, constructed in inner function combined with outer perfection that muscles clothed in soft skin demonstrate anything if only the masterpiece of a Father’s creation. So slides the knee across the surface of the wood and straw, unaware the lurking dangers set in place months if not years before, ahead waits is the fang of serpents bite. A splinter four or five inches long just split enough off of the dry wood and placed in just exactly the right angle as to wait like a dagger for the unprotected young flesh to slide by. The strike is no less unexpected, or less devastatingly ruthless as any snake bite, and long after awareness of the body jumps to your aid, far foregone is any chance to avoid its deep bite.

The immediate agony and the almost instantaneous jump to my knee, leaves not only my friend but everyone else around without doubt that something horrendously wrong had occurred. Before long, forgotten was my attention to Princess Debbie, even ignored were the inquiries of my friend Don, with my only attention on looking at the source of the pain trying desperately to shed the meager light of the fire on any wisdom it might bring to the injury. I begin working vigorously to remove the almost pencil thick stub of wood that had now not only lodged under my knee cap but also broke off only leaving a small stub sticking out, with it’s nearly too small of a remnant to grab and pull out.

So with my limited experience and absolutely no training, all I was left with is the inherent knowledge and pain that this intruder must be removed. Pressure on the opposite side of the knee seemed to cause the end of the stick to push out just enough until I could securely attach fingernails like a vice to the dagger of wood. Then with one burning and painful pull, I dislodge it from my precious knee. Long and almost stiletto-like, this bloody two and a half inch long piece of a wood splinter from under my knee cap inside my knee slid out, like a dagger from a sheath.

Immediately I almost instinctively knew that this was not going to be the end of my new problem, for as the knee increased in pain so did it increase also in swollen size and stiffness, to the point where I could hardly place any weight on it. Long gone are the teeth of the serpent, but the venom and damage still seemed to be doing its work.

The ride back has faded from my memory, and while I vaguely remember still sitting talking to Debbie and maybe assuring my worried friend Don everything was going to be fine, my mind can hardly remember doing much other than constantly looking to the now injured knee. The injury had reduced my entire world from one of joy, laughter, campfires, cheerleaders, coyotes, Gods blessings, and dreams, to an area of view slightly larger than the scope of a view including only a few inches that surrounded my knee. My world had become my injured knee.

After a rapid visit to emergency room with it’s overworked and under-rested doctors, who granted their own portion of wisdom find nothing, and then an even more rapid revisit only three days later, (four days before recommended by the previous Dr., I might add) to an orthopedic surgeon who seemed to be granted much more wisdom than the previous doctor, I found myself quickly being rushed into the operating room. I was too young to understand the diagnosis, but not so to witness the shocked look on the doctors face, and frantic orders the moment he barked them out at everyone around, as he drew a syringe of green pussy fluid from my now extremely swollen and bright red-purple knee.

I am not sure where I heard those dire words; in all of the two or three operations that followed, or the almost one month of lying on my back in the hospital. Not being able to hold down any food and losing nearly forty pounds, whether it being a reaction that also erupted making me deathly sick and vomiting to any antibiotic being used, or the shock of the trauma on my young body, made the choice of any antibiotic all but sidelined, result; my knee had been peeled like a banana and the only treatment that remained a washing with clean saline (water with a hint of salt) pumped run through a tube over the now exposed tissue of my knee. In all this frantic chaos somewhere I did hear the doctor try to console my mother as he was urging her “If we couldn’t get the infection under control and out of my knee they would probably have to take my leg off?”

I wasn’t a particularly fast runner, but if I did participate in any athletics, something I always had an enormous interest in doing, running seemed to be the only skill I could come close to demonstrating. Plus being raised pretty much from the south side of the tracks, I always knew that if I was going to get through college, getting into some kind of program where a scholarship was involved seemed to be a must. It so happens that the same friend Don, I wrestled on the hay wagon, was also to a degree helping me with application and qualification into the Military Academies. There being one point that was necessary for admittance into any such schools, a student must letter in Varsity sports all four years of his high school career in order to even be considered. That single fact was rushing through my mind as a foregone conclusion from the very moment I was sitting by the fire to even with every word the doctor spoke.

images-1I have always walked and spoke to God, even from a young age, and while I had no idea what was going to happen, for no reason I could understand then, I wasn’t afraid and just knew I was going to be ok, I was going to get through it. Finally, after at least a month, the infection was finally subsided and I was finally stable enough leave. I remember sitting and the doctor looking at my now mangled knee which couldn’t straighten out, and even but a fractional amount bend, telling me; “how lucky I was.” I quickly asked; “will I ever run or jump again?’ He looked at me with a sad but somewhat consoling smile and said; “Probably not.”

That was not going to work well into my plans of possibly getting into an Academy. As the doctor left the room with my mother, I remember there was another man who stood near and looking at me said; “You want to run again? Do whatever you can, hobble if you must, first a little, then a lot, then miles, and before you know it you will run.” “If you want it bad enough you can get it back.” That statement even if far down the road, and contrary to what the doctor said did give me hope, if even only a very little bit.

Months of walking with crutches followed, little if any progress as the knee swelling reduced, it remained stiff an painful to put even a little weight on, and if you asked me anything about that time in my life, all I think I could remember is images of my knee, bandaging it, carefully lifting in and out of a car, and walking with crutches. That is all! I had become reduced to my knee injury, no longer participating in clubs, sports, or any activities I can remember, as a matter of fact, I remember pretty much being alone.

One memory comes to mind although; I remember one particular day at school, with two crutches and fumbling horribly at my locker as I wrestled with books and papers and those two ridiculous crutches. Suddenly I get hit with a can or a wadded up piece of paper in the head, causing me to drop my books or papers all over the ground, and the almost immediately the eruption of laughter behind me, as I realize one of the upper class-men football players was not only the instigator of the teasing but now was making his way over to press his fun over his new found victim. I vaguely remember him making comments like “poor little cripple boy” or something as he gets closer and kicks my book to push them even further out of my now pathetic attempts to reach.

I remember saying something back, almost challenging the almost twice as large boy, but such comments were only met with more laughter from not only him but his friends who sat nearby and laughed him on. The boy moved towards me with a sneer and I was sure that at least a knocking to the ground was the minimal I could expect from this exchange coming. This was going to hurt my knee.

Then suddenly there was an almost immediate silence, lifting my eyes up from my now mangled book, I see that my provoker now laid in the clutches of John, who must have come suddenly around the corner. John was not only the star of both the basketball and football team being that he was at least six foot five and every bit as strong as he was tall, a mammoth of a man by anyone’s standards. He lifted my large, but seemingly light to John’s standards, assailant off of his feet and slammed him quite forcibly against the lockers, and said; “You pick every piece of those papers, and if you ever touch my friend again, it’s going to be you on those crutches!”

Not a word from my assailant except a fearful head nod, nor either from the friends who were moments before laughing, because the minute John went into action, they all ran like they saw charging lion! John releases the boy who scrambles to pick up the papers in such a frantic state, it was clear to me he was much more frightened now then I had ever been even moments before. He said “sorry” as he handed me my books, and quickly left the scene. Tears were now running down my face, and for the life of me I don’t realize why, or maybe now after all these years, I do. John softly says; “Are you all right?” “I don’t think those guys are going to bother you ever again.” He smiled and turned to walk away.

And all I could say was “Ya.”

A month or so later I would be picked out of the crowd at church and would experience what I would for the rest of my life remember as the time I thought I was healed. Mario Marillo picked me out of the crowd, a seemingly impossible task seeing that I was standing all the way in the back and way over to the side, well out of view of not only the pastor but anyone else who might see us kids talking and socializing during church. He called out “And there is a boy, they told him he’d never run again, he’d never jump again, and he’s right there!” turning his arm to his side and pointing his finger right between my eyes, while not even looking at me, I was shocked to see him continuing to look forward at the crowd and not even look at where he pointed. All my friends around where urging me to go down saying; “That’s you, that’s you!”

After hobbling down on my crutches, he looked at me and said; “They told you; you will never run again, they told you; you would never jump again.” “But I will tell you not only will you run and jump again, there will come a day when you run faster and jump higher than anyone you will ever meet.” He touched me on the head, everyone cheered and I hobbled back to my chair. After being prodded by my friends and those around me, I admitted that maybe I felt little different, maybe, and life went on.

Years later, after hobbling turned into jogging, and jogging into running, first laps, then miles, and making not only the varsity cross country team, but going to State and our team winning the state championship twice. Track team pole vaulting, with later 440 sprinting and our team winning the state championship twice. Getting nominated to not one but all of three of the military academies, Annapolis, Colorado Springs and West Point, and getting accepted into Westpoint, just to pass on them all and go onto Oral Roberts University, because it was were I believed at the time God wanted me to go. Then walk onto their NCAA Class One cross country team.

imgresA couple years and I travel to Europe, meet my future wife and work my way into playing the highest level of Korfbal, the second most popular sport in Holland right behind soccer, and the one my future wife happens to play on the Dutch National Team. Five years, finding myself studying physical therapy and running my way onto the highest level playing team out of any American to play the sport in that country. I got to play with her on the same team for one reason, and one reason alone, and this was clearly spoken by her head coach Theo, not only one of the finest coaches I have ever had the pleasure of working with but also one of the best men it has ever been my honor to know, because at this point he said; I was faster and jumped higher than any person he knew in the sport, and certainly faster and jumped higher than anyone he’d met. That fact became evident to me over the course of the next few years, and later would come into significance in my mind as well as spirit.

imagesI was healed, and more importantly, somewhere along the way I certainly stopped seeing my world being defined and limited to my injured knee, I started dreaming again. My world became large again, even to encompass multiple continents.

For all those years when I would infrequently think back or only rarely give credit to the healing, finally at this later stage I began to. I finally and more often would tell the story of Mario Marillo and his pointing me out of the crowd, the crutches, and hobbling, and God being faithful to his word. But now as I ponder and think more clearly about things, I realize Mario was and is a profit, merely pointing out for the edification of the body that which God already had done, quietly and softly months before.

Because at one moment there was a boy and his whole world had reduced to that simple injured knee. Then Jesus showed up in the body and form of John, and picked up that enemy and rebuked it, driving it away once and for all, issuing in healing, renewing a spirit, bringing precious water on dry and parched dreams. And it was at that very moment I realize now, thinking back all those years, I no longer thought of myself as a knee, but as a friend of Him. That I know now is why I cried all those years ago; when Jesus steps in and helps us, heals us, opens the prison, scares away the devils, one can not help but cry.

imgres-1With that healing, was also my call to be a healer. So the question to the reader is; since you have also already been healed, to what degree are you called to be a healer? This, I guess, will depend on your experience.

Years later I started feeling that which manifested in the physical, it began with my hands getting warm. The first physical sign I could remember experiencing that told me something was different, something supernatural, something that left no doubt in my mind, my life and path had forever been changed all those years ago by a sliver of wood.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, thank you first of all for every and all of the healing given me so often in every day of my life, and I pray you show me where, and when, and finally what capacity You would honor me in assisting You in the healing of Your children.”

Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Demons, Discipleship, Father, Healing, Health, Jesus, Medicine, Real Estate, Spiritual Warfare, Touch, Uncategorized, Wellness | Leave a comment

Father’s Choice, and excerpt from A Fathers Love

images-2How many times do my children ask Me to do something? Ask me if they can have this item or that, asking if they can be allowed to do this activity or another, all within the reasonable granting access of my ability to deliver but more often than not within the decisionary realm of a single question “is it really in their best interest to give?” Answer; almost constantly.

I so often sit and watch my young son enveloped in the task at hand sorting through the infinite gifts that God has so graciously given her, puzzled in the beautiful realizations of discovery that is granted each and every day this life’s dawn has so generously granted. There is a purity in the touch of a child’s discovery that feeds a place in a Fathers heart, like the breath of a baby’s slumber or the sounds of permeating my sole as his sweet sounds of contentment reach my heart like the fragrances of mornings dew in grassy gardens or fresh baked bread on a hungry heart.

The question of the day; “Being that it is time to move from this place, and move to another town, another land, a new home, should I tell Him, should I ask her what she thinks, his opinion, his vote?”.

I know my wife’s opinion, she would have us ask, for we are not only leaving a place that has been home, for as long as the child could remember, but has been a place of safety, success, many are the friends all of the children have around, the grace of abundance reins deep within all surroundings. Our Son has grown in maturity and she would include him in the decision-making process, for no other reason than to honor him. I am not as sure.

We already know what the child most likely will want. The child knows what they see, they have their friends, they know the homes, the successes, and the security of the neighborhood already discovered, conquered by the discoveries and adventures of yesterdays play. They have already overcome the fears of yesterday to find the gifts in smiles of friends found, they have built their own treasures in this short life’s garden formed with perfect soft new young hands.

As a Father, I too want nothing more than to give all of my children everything that they desire, nothing less than honor, but that is the dilemma, when does a gift cross the line of good and become a burden? A difficult decision even for the most loving and caring father, to weigh all the factors and consequences as to an action, fit the flower into a garden of already abundance, as to not make it a distraction or greater yet, a stressor inhibiting said child with burdens they are not yet ready to carry.

imgresWhen is it prudent for a father to just bring the new challenge into the life of the child without burdening them in advance with a question of whether or not they wish to proceed. So often in my own past, challenges and new homes, lands, valleys were delivered to me, without warning or question, by my Father, leaving me only the experience of discovery, and sometimes a long uphill climb to find the mountaintop on the other side.

Children are so eager to grow up, so quick to run through the discoveries this life brings, sprinting with haphazard recklessness down these steep paths this rocky world has presented, often unafraid of the dangers that rest within the shadows of loose foundations and tangled footings waiting like serpents to catch unexpecting naive feet and bring soft pure bodies crashing down. It is in these lacks of experiences, lessons not yet learned, children run instead of walk, leap before looking, taste that which would poison, turn left in the direction that looks at the time to be the most desirable, but if they only had known through experience left held dangers, when right is the way she needed to choose.

It is also easy to understand when a child is left to choose for themselves, left to make decisions without experiences, that they might in time after choosing incorrectly, begin to resent He or she who gave them the choice in the first place. For who’s responsibility is it when a child falls, the child’s, or the teacher who failed to teach, the one who cares so little as to not warn them before falling? A good father would never bring them into a place without giving the means to climb out.

I remind my wife and myself, children have not the experiences to draw upon to make reasonable and prudent conclusions when decisions are given them that may have lasting effects on their development. Basically, they do not have all the pieces of the equation to effectively come to the right conclusion. And it may be wrong to put him already in a position to try to decide?

I have often seen children who given far too many choices, being placed in a position of needing to decide many things for themselves, left alone to their own ways, seemingly leading to behaviors that others might observe as selfish or even rebellious. Why would this be, if they seem to be getting everything they desire, wouldn’t one conclude they should be happier, more content? Why do they seem so overstressed?

imagesAnd granted our Son is talented, mature well beyond his years, given to so many examples of mature decision making, how a father so desires to honor her with being involved in this so delicate decision. But no, the burden of stress outweighs any honors she might gain, he is just not in a place yet to make such decisions, she just doesn’t have all the facts, he doesn’t know all of the pieces, the players, the consequences, the opportunities, so the decision needs to rest on the Father.

So that leaves One and I ask myself, should I take my family from this home they love, this place of friends, these faces of familiarity, smiles, and safety, and cross the desert of unknowns to a new home. The question is thrust upon the shoulders of this child that dwells within my own sleeping mind, the ponderance of all possibilities, factors of need, responsibility, opportunities, what is better for the facility as a whole, the good of all, and the decision that will grant the greatest Good.

That is ultimately the responsibility of the Father for His child, to provide the greatest place he can in this most dangerous world, giving the opportunity to live the life God has assigned, and do it in a way that places the least stress on the developing child, granting the most use of all of His gifts to insure my Son grows to strong man, unburdened by as much as I can carry, so she use every morsel, every breath, every drop of pure water to grow to her greatest potential, a blossom of perfected beauty unique in this most spectacular garden. And as a father, as a child I need to ask The Father in me, what am I to do, show me where and when I am to go. Not the place I think or am trying to rationalize based on my limited experiences, but the place where an older and wiser Father advises.

Sitting in front of me as my mind wrestles with all of these prayers, my son quietly uses a sanding rock to delicately form a bird out of a soft piece of wood. Meticulously he works fashioning shape and beauty for that lump of clay that sage wood was only moments before slowly transforms into a creation of infinite beauty and value. The bird takes form as pieces flake off and perfection replaces the imagined creation in his mind. Even more beautiful is the concentration and efforts his little hands’ place on every stroke of the wood stone on the immersing bird. The sweet smile as she forms and works the precious creation in His hands. No greater a smile than his fathers, as he watches in bathing warmth his son work. A father blinks and fluttering away a bird flies, released in the imagination and creation of his son. Beautiful, no perfect, is the only word The Father can with tear filled eye sigh as he watches his child play.

images-1How a Father loves watching his child create, emulate Gods given purity, unburdened by a world just steps away, and ever under the constant eye of the father who love seeing the discovery in every breath his child breaths into his newly imaginary bird, greater is his love with every breath, how is it possible that a father could love a child more, but as impossible as it is to immagion, so every day, with every growing breath, so to does the Fathers love grow, it grows with experiences and memories, with every hair, every sound, every smell, every touch, with steps, with falls, with smiles, with tears, hopes and fears, and dreams, and imaginary created birds.

The child looks to the Father for the answers as to where it is best to go, what it is she is to do, what berry he can eat, what water is safe to drink, when it is safe to close my eyes and trust that as I sleep, my Father will ever be standing watch making sure safe and lovingly tomorrow I will wake.

By Peter Colla

“Jesus, help me to make the right decisions not only where to go, but in how and with whom I will walk, every step, every breath, every moment.”

Posted in Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Father, Intercessory, Jesus, Parenting, Prayer, Spiritual Warfare, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Gods Gift Handed From One To Another

Indian Creek Main

I imagined somewhere left in this land, fashioned by the creative hand of God, there still is left properties nestled softly on the edge of yet still nearly untouched lands, preserved from times long past as memorials to a time of virgin forest with abundant game and clear streams.

How difficult am I to wonder the depth and breadth of Gods creation except to experience it first hand. Nestled gently between three canopied Ponderosa dense mountain hills flows year round crystal clear streams, trickling in soft-spoken serenity peacefulness for any within ears reach. The coolness and clear fresh taste of the waters are only rivaled by the glistening of the many diverse colors reflecting gently from the pebbles as elk abundantly drink from her shores. Such a place, I dare hope still exists and does; Indian Creek Meadows.

And as her name might suggest; Imagine a soft grassy meadow lined on all sides by this majestic oak and pined ridges, a stream flowing right through the heart of the property, then let your mind dare hope, two natural springs producing the clearest and cleanest water tested and tasted, a sense of heavenly gardens’ comes to mind. As the cool year round brook flows cutting its way gently so many years ago through the natural rock wall formation, this grand majestic structure of beauty passes also through the property.

What makes the property even more attractive is its location, lying almost hidden at the end of maintained forest service road, bordering on seven side national forests that continue on for almost sixty miles in secluded and pioneering like access. A favorite place having over one hundred and seventy acres that for decades blessed private hunting and naturalist enthusiasts alike, only minutes from an active precious metals mine, this land itself must have been at one time considered for such prospectus, having its own derelict cabin and closed off mine on the property.

Only a few miles from town, yet far enough to allow a body the sense of seclusion, there is still the security of know town and utility is within reach. Multiple beautiful pad locations exist, with forest roads already cut in, granting the owner all possible views whether mountain, meadow, stream or any combination. If someone wishes a piece of true natural seclusion, safely away from the prying eye of neighbors, this is a true sanctuary.

This gift from Gods hand is being offered for sale either in whole or in part and would be perfect for consideration in a conservation land tax credit option, or as a refuge long and away in times of tribulation. This blessing I wish at this time to either share or hand off to him or her who will build a place for a safe and secure peaceful sanctuary, away from the business of the town, hidden in the hills and forests of central Colorado.

Bless You


“Dear Lord let the gift of which You have handed me be given to him whom You intend it to, allow the peace and blessing this land is intended to be granted to them who desire it.”


Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, End Times, Intercessory, Jesus, Land, Prayer, Real Estate, Sanctuary | Leave a comment