My Son, the Artist and Poet, Who Doesn't Know It

"I will sing of the LORD's great love forever; with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known through all generations." ---Psalm 89:1

My son is a musician, artist and poet, yet he does not know it!

My son, who will turn 25 on June 1^st, today, is a great artist and poet, and as the title of this hub indicates, he just does not know it.

I constantly tell him of his great gifts of music, painting and writing poetry, yet he does not think he is that good.

He is also a great musician and was accepted to a Magnet school in high school, which really was based solely due to his blowing them away with his sheer talent in playing Classical Gas on the guitar. One day he just picked up the guitar and started playing that complicated song without any music to read or anything. He could have gone to Julliard with scholarships, but alas, he was just not interested in such, at that young age, as he had to sow a few oaks.

He loves to paint and I have included some of his painting here in this hub.

At the age of 18, he had gotten into trouble due to drinking, and we realized he needed to get help, and he did, and it took the first time (through much prayer and by the grace of God). Praise Him! My son has been sober going on six years. He was sober before any of his children (my grandchildren) were born.

Not only is he is an exceptional dad to his children, he also has full custody of his girls, even at a young age. His son was born later and they all now live with the love of his life.

He also helps many with the disease of addiction all over the state through AA. He chairs AA meetings. He is a sponsor to persons twice his age from all walks of life, from professionals, attorneys, judges; you name it, as the disease of addiction does not choose only certain types of persons. So, even at his very young age, he is helping others in great ways to get their lives back on track, or even save their lives by seeing they go through the 12-step program of AA.

During the time when his girls were only three months old and two and a half years old, they came to live with my husband and I for about 18 months, until he could get back on his own.

Although, my son is able to help so many, he was not able to help his very own wife, who had gotten addicted to prescription painkillers prescribed by her doctor for back pain. To make a long story short, it went from prescription drugs, alcohol, and then street drugs and then down into the gutter, almost literally. My son tried everything he knew to try to help his wife, but she did not want the help, and my son had to make a very hard, but wise decision, to take his children and leave their home, as his children were being placed in harm's way. For over a year, my son had to take care of his babies and a sick wife, who could not even care for herself.

We started noticing things did not seem right, but my son did not tell us of such hardships, as he just knew in his heart he could help his wife, but this was not the case. He realized he had to get those girls out of that environment and real fast too, and showed up at our home with them both. After he told us what was going on, of course, they we welcomed them with opened arms. This all happened during the time I found out I had DCIS breast cancer. Of course, I was healed of the cancer and he and his girls are just fine, all by the grace of God.

When my son was going through his rebellious stage, when he turned 18, he went right out and got a tattoo, and he has written a funny (but not really) poem about his tattoos. I think he had gotten the first tattoo just to do the opposite of what I was telling him about his future employment, in regards to tattoos not being in certain places, where employers would not want to hire him due to their visibility.

My son writes in a whole different manner than I write, as you will read!

My Tattoos

By Jeffrey Kyle Davis

I cannot tell you what they mean,

Or why I got them for that matter,

Because I got them all in a blackout.

I woke up sore and didn’t know why.

I muddled in confusion as to why my body ached.

I started to cry while I stood dumbfounded

At the grim reaper tattooed on my forearm.

I also found one on my neck,

And another on my stomach and chest.

Now everywhere I go, people ask,

What they mean and if they hurt.

I honestly reply, “I haven’t a clue.”

Suddenly, I begin to cry.

“What is wrong?” they ask, baffled by my emotions.

I reply, “I haven’t a clue.”

I quickly think of a brilliant lie,

I tell them; today I found out that I have cancer,

And vehemently run to the bar.

Where I drink with fierce loyalty.

Upon awakening, I step out of the bed,

And in my intoxicated slumber,

I realize my hand is killing me.

I panic, and dreadfully glance down at my hand,

Where in Old English letters,

My grandmother’s name sits tattooed to my knuckles.

I cry uncontrollably,

And wonder hopelessly, when this will end?

Probably when I stop going to the bar.

But until then, I guess I’ll keep waking up with new tattoos.

This story is sad, because it is true.

© June 13, 2010

In reality, the tattoos on his knuckles say, in Old English letters, "P A P A" for his "Papa Tank", who was my husband's step-dad. He died from lung cancer a couple of years ago. His Papa Tank served in the U.S. Army Rangers. My son loved him very much.

My son thought, for this poem, it would be funnier to say his grandmother's name was tattooed on his knuckles.

As I stated, my son has full custody of his girls, and now has a son with his new love in his life. They are a very happy family now.

These are his three beautiful children he blessed me with at a young age! There is never a dull moment at their house.

He is a hard worker and works to provide for his children, so maybe one day, he can devote more time to his gifts of music, writing and art.

God is so faithful to turn his life around, as I have prayed everyday of his life. So great, so great is His faithfulness. I went to fight for my son when the enemy came to kill, steal and destroy him, and this was one of those times I had to put on that full armor of God and go into battle against the enemy’s schemes.

"But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen and protect you from the evil one." ----2 Thessalonians 3:3

A Picture of God

By Jeffrey Kyle Davis

Today I drew a picture of God.

Oh, what a beautiful face it was.

After all the years of hopeless searching,

I found Him in the strangest of places.

So, I drew a picture to remember Him.

Surprised, I did not have to wait

For the grave or pray.

How odd, for I was dying that day.

For hell had been in me.

The inescapable solitude

I so unskillfully built.

With my raw, bare hands bleeding

From my vanity.

This was the life, my self-willed.

I screamed at the top

Of my tarred, black, smoker’s lungs,

Of how I now felt the pain

And was no longer numb.

At that moment, I felt peace,

When a loving hand touched the

Despicable me.

God was in the touch of this man.

A man who once felt the fatigue

Of the road most traveled with the bitter end.

I found God in a selfless hand

And drew a picture to remind myself of

How grateful I am.

© July 7, 2010

Often, I am reminded of the Parable of the Lost Son at Luke 15:11-31 in the Bible, when I think of my son.

Although our son was lost for a bit, we always loved him and never stopped loving him, as we placed our faith and hope in our Lord God, and we did get our son back!

So great, so great is His faithfulness.

My son most likely knows he does have true talent in all of these areas; however, he also realizes his first priority in life . . . his three beautiful children, who have blessed his life and mine!

The love of my son's life texted me early this morning saying that my son wanted to get a new tattoo, so, if we wanted, we could just get him cash for his birthday.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! :)

Happy Birthday Son!

© Copyright Faith Reaper June 1, 2013