No Promise, No Guarantee

In the midst of life, I have lived by the idea that you should treat others as you want to be treated.  In that phrase, I can only guarantee that I will be me.  Most people want to live by these words, but in life, there is nothing that a promise can uphold.

In the 80's and 90's, my favorite artist was Laura Branigan.  She came out with a list of albums, in which I would listen to most frequently.  The one song that really touched me was the Song, "No Promise, No Guarantee".  This song talked of a lover whom had been hurt by another.  The lover wanted to move on, but could not, for the fear of being hurt again. In the song, the lover has discovered a new life, but could not give her heart forever, so the song goes, "No Promise, No Guarantee.

This song at the time meant just that, I was hurt too by another and could not get over the pain.  This pain stretched on for years; even today I feel how much that person meant to me. 

I move on.

It seems there is no guarantee in life, whether it is a lover, a friend,  family, jobs, or even heaven. 

It takes me back to the Spring of '79.  I was only a youngster then; but my mom received a call from my dad. He was going to have a visitor and he wanted us to meet her.  When we finally made it to his house, we were introduced to a sister and her young child.  She lived in Massachusetts and had wanted to meet all of us.  Throughout the week, she slowly got to know my family.  She was a half sister who my dad had never mentioned.  During her stay, my father opened up and became more to us then he had before.  She had sparked in him a life that had disappeared many years before I was born.  My memories take me back and I can still see her playing the guitar, singing, and laughing.  She had given us a promise of love, laughter, and a future that I could not see.  That first year after meeting my sister, I felt a love that my household had not felt.  After that, the phone calls quit coming and letters were returned to sender.  I had no animosity towards her, but felt, again, abandoned.  Ten years would pass and the phone calls began again.  I was in my late teens and I was tickled to again be apart of a lost family members life.  She gave me her address again and I would soon write, however, my first letter would only be returned. Years would pass and I received another phone call, she was excited that she had found me.  I had moved to Illinois and she didn't know if it was really me.  I again listened to the promises, but put no guarantee in them.  My experience gave me the truth that her words were not upright.  The past year I had heard more promises, photos were exchanged and even a working address and phone number were given.  Maybe things really changed.  I had made plans to finally make it to California and a stop with her was planned.  It seemed to go well.  I talked on the phone with her for several hours and she was excited that I would be coming to California.  At the end of the phone tag, she exclaimed, "I really don't want anything to do with you." 

"Really," I thought. After all the years of wanting to know me. "Really."

I could only think about the time she came to Wyoming and our first meeting.  The day we drove her to catch her flight, she'd sang to us.  This song I would hear for years.  My dad recorded it on his tape recorder as we went to the airport.  I didn't know if it was a message to him; which was the song by Kenny Loggins, "Please Come to Boston."  It has always been a memory, I'll never forget.  As the years passed, it became more diverse.  At the end of the song, it ended "Please come to L.A."  The end of the song was another place in which she was living, out in California.  I always thought I'd go see her. As fate would have it, no such meeting.  I had the promise of the song, being by the seaside, looking out over the ocean.

Time to move on.

Love of family is supposed to be a guarantee, but the love of your life is a shot in the dark.

Once a lover told me we would be forever.  I remember desiring the love of another, but again fate would break my heart.  As we watched the geese late in the afternoon, we embraced in the stillness of the warmth of the Wyoming sun.  I asked if we were to be together, and the promise was forever.  The promise really doesn't mean much.  After a few years of one soul and togetherness, it became a tearing of my heart.  To cry for another human being is worthy of heaven.  Isn't it?

Promises are always just that, Promises.  They really don't mean much.  I was promised that moving from a place that I considered heaven, would be a great change.  The promise has turned into hell.  I know Fort Collins is a place considered to be the number one place in the U.S. However, the dream of prosperity has been smothered by the false promise.  I watch as the homeless wander the sidewalks.  I often wonder, will that be me? The jobs are almost Nil and prosperity has almost withered into oblivion.  The place I work is up for sale, but I don't know if it will be.  So I wait, wonder, and grind my teeth.  I have sought out other opportunities, however, the last interview I had, had 150 people on the roster.  I don't know what my chances of finding work is, but I am not holding my breath.  I wanted Obama to fulfill his promises of American Jobs, but again, empty promises.  I was always told that if you work hard there would be a job for you.  I guess that's not true anymore. 

All that is left is the promise of heaven.  The promise for a better life is almost sucked away, so all that I have is the promise of God and Heaven.  Will God allow me to be in heaven?  I don't know; but this is the only hope I have left.  God and the promise of heaven. 

Again, there really is no guarantee.