Tag Archives: Kevin

Kevin Quote

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I found this old draft (from last year, I guess?), and rather than delete, I thought I’d share, since it’s pretty funny stuff.

Err…I guess I should put a sidebar here noting that I’m not usually noted for being a great judge of what’s funny, but whatever.

After dinner the other night, Lucas asked me to look up Nyan Cat because Kevin and I had never heard of it. While we were watching the original Nyan Cat video, Kevin declared, “I can feel my IQ points dropping.”

After watching clips of both Nyan Cat and Tac Nayn, Kevin gave the experience a thumbs-down this way: “So in the last five minutes I’ve seen the dumbest thing I’ve seen all day and the second dumbest thing I’ve seen all day.”

When we read that Nyan Cat was fifth on YouTube’s most-watched list for 2011, he again was not amused: “That tells you something about how many people are swimming in the shallow end.”

Ha! I love that man … Even if he did roll his eyes through Spamalot on Broadway. šŸ™‚

Kevin and Atticus’ Camping Madlibs

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After dinner at Applebee’s Monday, I grabbed up Atticus’ kids’ meal activity sheet and asked him and Kevin to help me fill in the “madlibs” story.

I asked “adjective?” or “animal?” or “your favorite food?” and they answered “pretty” or “wolf” or “hot dogs.”

The words they filled in are bold.

Oh, and Kevin’s Indian name, Badger, is “Uguna” in Cherokee, and Atticus’ Indian name, Stalking Wolf, is “Waya” (at least the “wolf” part). šŸ™‚

Here it is:

A Pretty Camping Adventure

One wet day, under the bright blue skies of the Virginia forest, Uguna and Waya decided to go on a hike. They put on their shirt and headed for the mountains. Before long, they saw a big wolf walking towards the picnic area. “Nanu,” said Waya. “He sure looks hungry. I bet he’d love a giant plate of hot dogs.” And with that they laughed and ran to Cherokee. THE END!

The Story of The Hawke

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The Hawke and Samaro spar in preparation of their next battle with the evil ones.

By Kevin R. Hawke

The Hawke is a superhero of epic proportions. He has seemingly unlimited powers. All of these powers derive from a special ring named Mr. Blue.

You see, this ring was made by a mysterious Navajo Indian in the year 2007. He was called by God to make a special ring for a special person. The Indian didn’t know who the ring was for; he just knew that he had to follow the will of God. He made the ring of sterling silver and turquoise. It was unlike any other ring ever made. Even the turquoise stone had silver strips running through it. He didn’t even quite know how he made it. He had never made anything so beautiful.

By God’s command, it was to be a size 16. The old Navajo thought, Who in the world would be able to wear such a big ring? But God assured him that the man would come along to retrieve it eventually.

The old Indian was told to give the ring to an 80-year-old lady in Greenwich Village. This would be the place that the mysterious owner of the ring would come.

Three years went by. The ring was kept on display for all to see. The lady had been told the story of how God led the Navajo to make the special ring. Even though she wondered if the Indian was crazy, she wanted to make sure that the rightful owner would see the ring if by some miracle he happened to wander into her little shop.

Finally, it was July 21, 2010; the man that would soon bear the ring happened to wander into the old lady’s store. He was there on vacation with his wife of almost five years. They perused the rings for some time and then he saw it.

The man’s last name was Hawke. He was a Cherokee Indian. He spotted the special ring and felt led to it. He asked the old lady if he could see the ring and she refused to show it to him. She had shown that ring to so many people over the years. It was the most beautiful man’s ring ever. Everyone wanted to see it. What would make this tattooed man any different?

Mr. Hawke was a tattooed man with a weird hat on called a trilby. He was a musician. We all know how strange and flamboyant they can be. Let’s face it; the old woman had given up on the dream of the Navajo she had met three years prior. Perhaps the Navajo was just crazy.

Mr. Hawke repeatedly begged her to show him the ring. She refused. She had become so hardened by the streets of New York City. She had lost all hope in God and life. There was so much crime and no one seemed to believe anymore.

The man called Hawke and his wife left and returned to the hotel. He couldn’t sleep that night. The thought of the ring wouldn’t leave his mind. He tossed and turned all night. Why would this ring be so important?

He decided to go back the next afternoon to confront the shop owner about the ring. He entered the store and the woman didn’t seem too happy about it. She was annoyed that Hawke kept asking about the ring. She told him that it was a size 16 and there was no way he could wear it. Hawke insisted that she let him try it.

Finally, she gave in. She searched for the key to open the jewelry case and opened it up. She pulled the ring out and slid it onto Hawke’s finger. Her mouth fell open in surprise. The ring fit perfectly! She couldn’t believe it. After all these years, the prophecy had been fulfilled, or at least part of it.

Mr. Hawke left with the ring that would remain with him forever.

The ring was a gift from God, through a Navajo, through an old woman, to a Cherokee.

What would it mean? Why did God want this man to have this ring?

Not long after leaving the shop, Mr. Hawke witnessed a woman getting beat up by her loser boyfriend.

Without even thinking, something came over Hawke. The ring he had just bought started to change. The silver of the ring started to spread from the ring, up his right arm and then the silver spread over his entire body. And then a strip of turquoise wrapped around his head at the level of his eyes and at the level of his mouth. Turquoise strips also wrapped around his elbows and his knees.

This ring was definitely not a normal ring. It possessed powers given by God for the protection of society.

At that moment, Mr. Hawke turned into The Hawke.

He immediately stopped the man from beating on the woman. He secured him to a pole to wait for the police and got the woman to a hospital.

The ring had made him into a superhero. The ring could do anything that The Hawke could imagine. Its only perceivable limit was The Hawke’s imagination.

When the situation was over, all of the silver and turquoise retracted back into the ring, and Mr. Hawke seemed to be normal again.

But the ring seemed to guide Hawke from then on. It would send him to where a superhero was needed and he would always go where the ring led.

God had made a soldier to fight for His people.

COMING SOON: The Story of Samaro

A Mother’s Day Prayer

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On the bathroom counter — right where he knew I’d come first thing this morning — Kevin left me a sweet, sweet Mother’s Day card.

It lay atop a photo album open to a picture of me, in a blue hospital gown, holding a swaddled still-newborn Atticus with a little, curly-haired toddler Lucas by my side on the hospital bed.

The card begins, “Today I’m remembering how you looked that very first time you held our newborn child so tenderly in your arms…”

I’m crying because it’s so, so sweet, not just the card but the thought he put into choosing it and placing it.

And I’m crying because I miss him and can’t tell him what I’m typing right now until he returns home from his third day in a row working a more than 12-hour shift in the prison…no matter the holiday…

And I’m crying because he just doesn’t do cards. Usually. What a surprise!!!

And I’m crying because not only will I miss my sweet, considerate husband today, but I will also likely only see a third of my children today.

One is with me always, the way I know God intended from the start. The other two got caught in the fault lines when old relationships quaked. One ended up on the other side of the crevasse; the other still walks the thin limb between from week to week.

And this is not even counting the ones who have gone on before me, leaving me with a signature aching to ever hold them tight.

This morning, I pray for them all.

I offer up my joy and my pain for my children, in varying states of distant, and for my husband, who understands and feels with me all this and much, much more. Mother Mary, keep them safe and help them always to know they are loved.

And I pray for all mothers in varying states of longing for children here and gone ā€” including my own mother, who has seen more than her share of suffering from my own distance and woe. May God bless you all and comfort you.

Kevin: Me, My Dad and Elvis

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Me and my dad, about 1977

I feel like I’m constantly evolving into something else. It seems as if my past, my present, and my future are all intertwining into one strong rope that can’t be broken. That is a good thing.

I suspect that Jo thinks I’m a bit extreme for being so interested in Elvis, but he filled a void in my life, and I’ve never forgotten it. My earliest memory of Elvis must have been when he died. I remember sitting in the living room with my dad and watching concert after concert during the night. I thought he was the most awesome personality that I had ever seen.

I remember when my dad left. I remember there being lots of screaming and crying and me feeling like I was caught in the middle. I really tried to sink into the atmosphere and disappear. My daddy, the person everyone said I was just like, was leaving me. The word devastated is probably not strong enough to describe my feelings.

The truth is that I don’t know, with any certainty, how old I was when my dad left. I’m thinking around five or six. Who knows if I’m even remembering that night accurately, or not. It’s been about 32 years ago.

I remember watching my dad getting ready to go play music. He was my Elvis. He had the jet black hair and all. He wore the stylish clothes of the day and wore those cool side-zip boots. My dad was kind of famous around here. He was one of the T-birds. I remember sitting back stage while Susan Lea, the singer, would play with my hair and comb it like Elvis’.

Me, about 1976

I don’t really know how I ended up loving Elvis so much other than my relating him to my dad. After my dad left, I poured all of my hurt and pain into listening to Elvis. It’s like I could relate to the pain and hurt that I heard in his voice. I still hear it. I think that’s what draws a lot of people to him. He’s like a kid crying out for his parent. Perhaps he was crying out for his mommy that he loved so much.

Elvis was a very sweet person with a heart so big, but he also had a temper that matched it. No one could be more loving than me when I was a kid, but I also had that terrible temper. We both love our mommas dearly, and the rest of our family. Elvis and I both loved Christmas. Somehow, I have fought that feeling for many years since my grandpa died. It’s like I let Christmas die with him. I need to embrace Christmas with that love that I used to have for it. I have more reason now than I ever had to absolutely love Christmas. The only negatives are having to work and that some of the family that I love have died, but they’re always with us in spirit. I want to love life like I used to. I deserve it.

I have the most beautiful wife in the entire world. I also have beautiful and smart children that I love dearly. I have every reason in the world to love Christmas. I’m taking Christmas back for myself! I love life and I want to enjoy it now. I understand what Christmas means now and I want to revel in it. It’s all about love and the truth is that I’m bubbling over with love. I need to stop trying to contain it and just let it overflow. I need to stop being so wrapped up in myself and let the people that I love know that I love them beyond the shadow of a doubt.

I love my wife more than life itself. I want her to be bubbling over with my love for her. I’m running out of time. We all are. Time is something we really can’t make more of.

Since I’ve been a dad, I’ve wanted to be super consistent for my children, but what I’ve found is that this desire is not always possible to enact. The truth is that I’m ever-evolving. I don’t want to remain the same and consistent. I don’t really like who I am. I am certainly not perfectly holy yet, so I can’t be consistent. I need to be fluid and to change. Fortunately, my kids are pretty forgiving and understanding.

I want them to know that there is no one on this planet that I love more than their sweet, sweet mama. I wish I could kiss her on the forehead right now.

I’ve got to get past trying to be the same as I already am because that is not where I need to be.

I have just as much love in me as anybody in this world does. My whole life and the life of my beautiful wife and kids and everybody that I come into contact with will be changed if I truly let everyone see all of the love that I have inside. I will do it starting now. I promise to God that this is my highest priority above all else.

I’ve removed my lapis rosary and took my tiger’s-eye rosary out of my pocket. There’s such a fine line between faith and superstition. I need a break from them. I must guard against superstition. I feel good about this decision. The truth is that I don’t need the rosary to pray and I usually pray without it because I can’t hold on to it a lot of the time that I’m praying. Praying is about as automatic for me as breathing. I need to not have requirements for whether I wear a rosary or a scapular, or not. I will always fulfill my commitment to the Church and the Confraternity. That’s all that matters in regards to the rosary.

I need to not bog myself down with anything. My only focus is to be true love. I want to be pure and clean. The presence of pure love will always make a difference and, with God’s help, I will be that. He wants all of us to be that love, and to share that love, for He is love itself.

Currently, I’m wearing only my wedding ring and my anniversary ring. I’m focusing on the incredible love I have for my wife. She is so beautiful. I love her from head to toe. I don’t know why God decided to give me the gift of Jo, but I’m sure glad He did. I want her to totally feel how much I love her. Please help me with that God.

Kevin R. Hawke (John of the Cross)
February 23, 2012

Kevin Makes Me a Poet!

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Just a few songs ago…

Kevin’s playing one of his originals while I work on novel study questions and sing along (read: partially paying attention).

He’s in one of the verses when he knows he’s singing the wrong lyrics again…

Kevin, still strumming along: “I’ve gotten to where I mess that one up every time. That’s not the one that goes there, is it?”

Me, looking up from the laptop: “I don’t know. I just follow you. So if you mess up, I do, too.”

Maybe it’ll work its way into our next song. šŸ˜›

Kevin: My Heart’s Desire

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I just canā€™t understand how someone can be so concerned with pleasing God and still fail so miserably.

It seems like whatever I do is wrong. It doesnā€™t seem like Iā€™m getting any closer to holiness. Iā€™m still fighting the same old demons: the O.C.D., the anger, the selfishness, the pride, the seemingly everything.

I guess some people (like Jo) think Iā€™m very critical of them, but thatā€™s nothing compared to how critical I am of myself. I pray that God will make me perfectly holy without any stain, blemish, or anything that even remotely resembles sin. I hope He does that right now as Iā€™m writing this and I remain holy forever, without exception.

Thatā€™s what I want more than anything.

I want God to wash me perfectly clean like a freshly baptized person, and I want to be totally forgiven of my sins and of any punishment due to sin. I want God to totally guide me in everything I do.

I donā€™t want free will. I want Godā€™s will to be my will.

I donā€™t want to cuss, be angry, be impatient, be selfish, be hurtful, be unkind, be arrogant. I want to love everyone and everyone love me.

God is love. No love = no God.

I want every morsel of my molecules to be love.

It seems as if my patron saint was the perfect fit because he is who I am least like, but also who I really need to be like.

But I seem to run from these things. Sometimes I think God is trying to force me toward John of the Cross, the Brown Scapular, and the Crucifix. And I seem to shy away from all of them sometimes.

Perhaps itā€™s fear. I donā€™t feel like I really know what God wants. More often than not, I feel like He wants me to sincerely try to be like John of the Cross. I think He wants me to be as much like him as I can possibly be in my state of life. This would probably require me to study the Crucifix intensely and to wear the Brown Scapular that Iā€™ve been vested with.

In my heart, I want holiness, but I seem to be fighting something bigger than me. Maybe thatā€™s Satan.

God, I need you to clear the way for me to serve you completely and faithfully as a Catholic, father, and husband. I love my wife and kids and truly desire to be the best husband and father for them. I want to be sweet, gentle, kind, loving, honorable, understanding, patient, and considerate. I want to be a great listener. I want to be a person in tune with everyone elseā€™s needs and concerns.

ā€œHe must increase. I must decrease.ā€

God, please hear my cries. Please do not let me continue to disappoint You and my family. Please pour me right now into the mold of the perfect saint, Mary. I want all my prayers and hopes and dreams to go through her to Jesus to God. I want all that I am to go through Mary. Please do not let me sin anymore. God, please let me bask in your sunlight forever as the model Catholic, husband, father, worker, servant, and friend. Please hear my cries, in the name of Jesus through Your beautiful example of holiness, Mary. I love you God.

Itā€™s so easy for me to get stuck in a certain spiritual place.

Work is really hard. So many people cursing and being mean and talking about each other. I have fallen into that trap so many times. With Godā€™s help, I wonā€™t sin anymore (not even at that seemingly God-forsaken prison). I have to be perfectly holy starting now and never ending.

I am grateful for Maryā€™s guidance. She used the rosary to guide me to the Church. Itā€™s time to remove this empty cross and to wear my rosary and Scapular. I will also carry my beautiful Tigerā€™s Eye rosary that Jo gave me. That rosary is my favorite ever, but I also love the other one, the Lapis Lazuli, that Jo gave me. It has the Scapular attached to it. That rosary and I have been through an awful lot together.

I believe God desires me to be as much like John of the Cross as I can possibly be, so I will wear my Lapis rosary with Brown Scapular attached and live as much like John as I can by practicing Carmelite spirituality. I will have my special Tigerā€™s Eye rosary to pray with. I need that Crucifix to look at and meditate upon because Jesus is the perfect example of selflessness and sacrifice for others.

Nothing says Catholic like the rosary , the Brown Scapular, and the Crucifix. I am Catholic to my very core. I would very willingly die for my beliefs in the truth.

John of the Cross, please make me like you as much as is possible and make me truly worthy to call you my patron saint and worthy to be your namesake. Please enable me and make me wear the Carmelite Brown Scapular forever and to carry my Tigerā€™s Eye rosary forever. Please, through your intercession with God, make this happen and donā€™t let me ever consider any other options and be tempted by Satan. I also want to wear my Wedding Ring forever to show my love for my beautiful wife. Please!!

Kevin R. Hawke (John of the Cross)
January 23, 2012

Photo courtesy of the rosary’s creator at Heartfelt Rosaries.

Kevin’s Conversion Story

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Grandma Simpson & Atticus, June 2008

My grandma, Ethel Mae Simpson, was quite an extraordinary woman. Born in 1923 and raised in a rather poor environment, she always lived a rather simple life. But her life was extraordinary in that she lived a life of faith and prayer. She was a lifelong member of Mount Olivet United Methodist Church.

She married the love of her life in 1940 and went on to have three children. She remained faithful to Grandpa even after he died. I really admire that. She knew that no one could replace him. She always talked about him like he had just left on a trip. You wouldnā€™t know that he had been dead for years.

Grandma is largely responsible for my faith. Like I said earlier, she was a lifelong United Methodist. She was the type that couldnā€™t be stopped if she had her mind made up. When I came along (I was born in 1973), Grandma made up her mind that I was going to go to church with her and she wasnā€™t taking no for an answer. She made sure that every Sunday I went to church. I believed in God and was even baptized Methodist on December 23, 1984. I was eleven.

I thought I had everything figured out until my sweet, precious grandpa died in 1991. My whole world crashed. I just couldnā€™t understand why Grandpa would leave me like that. I became quite angry with God. I turned against everybody and everything. For about six years, I was antiā€“everything.

In about 1997, I started exploring Wicca. Itā€™s a natureā€“based religion with a ā€œSunā€“godā€ and a ā€œMoonā€“goddessā€ and a motto of, ā€œan it harm none, do what thou wilt.ā€ It seemed so peaceful and natural. I prayed to Woden and Freya and became rather spiritual. All creation is special. Like all religions, there is some truth in this one, but not all of the truth. Frankly, I didnā€™t think any religion had all of the truth.

By 2005, when I married the woman of my dreams, I believed in God, but couldnā€™t describe it much more than that. Jo and I got married on July 27, 2005, in New York City. What an awesome day. I married the most beautiful woman ever.

We went back to NYC in 2006 for our anniversary. On our oneā€“year anniversary, we left the busy streets and walked into St. Bartholomewā€™s. Jo was pregnant and needed a break from walking in the 100-degree weather. I thought it would be cool to see a pretty church. I wasnā€™t really looking for anything or expecting anything.

When my Queen and I walked into St. Bartā€™s and the door shut behind us, something came over me. The peace beyond all understanding came down on me. I immediately knew that God had reached down his mighty hand and grabbed hold of me. My whole life was changed right then.

Jo bought me a beautiful silver Celtic cross necklace in the St. Bart’s gift shop to remind me of this awesome moment. I felt on fire for God. I wore this cross always.

We had Atticus September 25, 2006. On October 26, 2006, I was ordained as a minister by St. Lukeā€™s Evangelical Christian Ministries. St. Bartā€™s is an Episcopal church, but I became an Evangelical minister. I preached one sermon. It was on forgiveness. My grandma came to the church that I preached at just to hear me. It was at Victory Family Church in Danville, Va.

In 2008, we went back to St. Bartā€™s, and I bought a rosary. I didnā€™t know what a rosary was; I just knew that I had to have one. After we got home, I fell to my knees and prayed to have the dedication of a monk as much as I can, considering Iā€™m a married man. I then felt led to pray the Lordā€™s Prayer 150 times every day. I used my new rosary to count the prayers.

At work, I asked some of the officers if they ever prayed the Lordā€™s Prayer. Most of them said no. I found it interesting that people seemed to think it was better to pray a prayer they made up instead of the prayer Jesus told them to pray. Hmmm. I knew the Lordā€™s Prayer very well because we prayed it every week at Mount Olivet, where I grew up.

One of the officers at work referred to the Lordā€™s Prayer as the model prayer. I had never heard it called that. So, it was time to dig into the Internet.

I found that someone did call it the model prayer in the nineteenth century, but it was more commonly called the Lordā€™s Prayer (at least by Protestants). Prior to the Protestant Reformation, it was called the Pater Noster (Our Father in Latin). The earliest record I could find of that was 350 A.D. The monks in 350 A.D. prayed the 150 Psalms a day, but some monks couldnā€™t read. The illiterate monks prayed 150 Pater Nosters a day.

Wait a minute!! Thatā€™s what I was led to do. I was led to pray 150 Our Fathers (Pater Nosters) per day just like the monks did in 350. God had answered my prayer of making me dedicated like the monks by starting with making me pray like them. Wow! God had ā€œspokenā€ to me again.

My logic started to lean toward checking out the Catholic Church. After all, monks are Catholic. We almost immediately went to Sacred Heart Catholic Church to check it out.

I also did a lot of searching on the Internet trying to disprove the Church, but found that it canā€™t be done. Jo and I went on to be confirmed Catholic in 2010.

This meant that my ordination was not valid and, for some time, I didnā€™t wear my special Celtic cross because itā€™s what I wore when I was Rev. Kevin R. Hawke. I was trying to separate myself from my Protestant roots, but in reality, I didnā€™t need to.

I love the Catholic Church and know that it is the absolute truth, but I might not have ever found it without the dedication of my beautiful grandmother and her United Methodist beliefs. Or what about the fact that the peace of Jesus came over me in an Episcopal church? God can use these churches to lead you to the true Church, the Catholic Church.

A few days ago, January 15, 2012, was my grandmaā€™s birthday. It was the first one since she died. On that day, I put my special Celtic cross back on. Although my grandma and her Methodist church didnā€™t have all of the truth, I might not have ever found it without her. Thank God for grandma.

Kevin R. Hawke
(John of the Cross)
January 18, 2012