Diary 54 (Morning)

Sometimes Morning can be more frightening than the night.

When the sun goes down you know what you have done for that day. There is always some level of certainty, either good or bad.  You know what you have accomplished and what you have not.  You know if it was a good or bad day, productive or a waste.

But Morning brings uncertainty.

And uncertainty can be more frightening than the darkest of nights.


Morning rides a blazing chariot, surrounded by colorful lofty clouds, pulled by horses that do not have names. Morning brings about the unknown, just like the unnamed horses that carry it.

However, the older I get the more I have come to love uncertainty. The older I get the more of a morning person I  become.

With every Morning that comes I learn more and more that the blazing chariot pulled by the unnamed horses also brings a gift to me. Riding the colorful lofty clouds, wrapped in the delicately in uncertainty,


Morning delivers freedom.


Freedoms to go, transform, and create the day into whatever I want.  To be what I choose, and to make my life into what I want it to be.

But without uncertainty there is no real freedom. Comfort is an invisible prison. I would rather live uncomfortably free than allow my soul to rot in a well-accommodated cell.  My greatest blessing in this life has been that God will not leave me alone, even though I sometimes ask for that. He will not allow me to become comfortable, because he wants me to be free.

So he sends Morning in a blazing chariot, pulled by unnamed horses delivering to me the greatest gift of all.


Freedom delicately wrapped in uncertainty.


Since realizing this over the years, my entire view on everything has changed.

Some people would say that I simply have the worst luck of all, that I cannot catch a break. But that cannot be further from the truth.

Being certainly uncertain is the best feeling that anyone can have, and I would not trade if for anything.

So what’s next for me? Honestly I don’t want to know. That would just make me comfortable and I’d rather not live like that.

So what will I do now? I know many of you would like me to answer that, but the truth is I have only been given today’s morning. And to be completely honest I would rather not know, because if I had things my way I would have been  a comfortable slave for a while now.


I do know one thing, and of this I am certain.

Today I am free.

Morning brought me that.


I am uncertain about tomorrow, but I am certainly ok with that!


Do not fear the unknown. Don’t be afraid of uncertainty. It is a gift from God. It is the keys to the comfortable shackles that will forever hold you from accomplishing great things.


Grab uncertainty and float away into the colorful lofty clouds because that is where freedom lives.




Posted 8 months ago


How I want to grow old

I want to grow old
In a far foreign land
With my tired old hands
And used up life plans

I want to grow old
In a house on a hill
On a bed made of books
Of adventures I took

I want to grow old
By a deep salty sea
With someone who believes
That growing old is lovely

Posted 8 months ago


Diary 53 (Born to lose)

I recently designed t-shirts for the Texas Tech Football team for their upcoming season. I thought it would be appropriate to write a post explaining the thought and meaning behind the design that I created.


Some people are born into this world to lose. They have the odds stacked against them.

They have every right to fail, and if they do most people  understand why.

Most people pity these individuals understanding that their situation sometimes is just out of their control and losing is the most realistic option for them.

“You have the worst luck ever.”

“You just can’t seem to catch a break.”

“I feel bad that you’re always going through these things.”

“I feel so sorry for you.”

I have heard all of those.

Because I am a born loser.

Like many other born losers, out of the womb I came into this world with the odds against me, and if I chose to lose many people would pity me, understanding that losing was the most realistic option for me.

But Pity is poisonous. It is lethal in the smallest of doses.

Pity will kill a man.

Or even worse, it can steal his legacy.

So over my 25 years of life I have learned to flee quickly when people spew poison over me in the form of their pity.

“You have the worst luck ever.”

“You just can’t seem to catch a break.”

“I feel bad that you’re always going through these things.”

“I feel so sorry for you.”

But my soul knows better than to ingest Pity.

Pity can kill a man.

Or even worse, it can steal his legacy.

I know the damage it can do because I have tasted it.

So now I flee with hands over my ears, closing them off to Pitiful Words that can chase down a man’s legacy like a lynch mob.

For me, my fortress of solitude where Pity cannot go has always been that of Work.

I have always fled to the security of the one thing that I believe holds universal value.


Work is the great equalizer.

Work can save a man.

But more importantly, it can give a man a legacy.


Being born a loser has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, because it has taught me the value and importance of work.

And work has saved me.

But more importantly it has given me a legacy to be proud of.


To my fellow born losers. Do not listen to Pity, and flee from those who try to poison you with it.

And in the event that it is you poisoning yourself with your own pity, run as fast as you can to do work that makes you proud.

In a fortress of true hard work, Pity cannot go.

That is where you will be safe.

What you are born to be is not what you have to be. What people say you should be isn’t always what you can be.

Who you want to be is all that matters, and work will get you there.

But Work does not pick up hitchhikers.

Because the hitchhiker that sees Work passing them on the highway and tries to catch a ride is always mistaken.

Work is not meant to give a lazy man a ride.

The man that is ok with walking his own road, even if it may be alone, finds Work.

Work does not save the hitchhiker with his thumb out.

Work saves the man who walked.

Work rewards those who arrive barefoot and bloody.

My name is Baron Batch and I was born a loser.

Maybe you were too?

You have every right to fail. People expect it and will even pity you if you do.


Run as fast as you can from that.

Your legacy is at stake.

You may have been born to lose, but you can always work to win.

Arrive barefoot and bloody, and let your feet tell your story.





born to lose



Posted 9 months ago


The death of a Dreamer

In the graveyard of Gratification
The bones of lazy beggars lie
While bright-eyed Dreamers march bravely through
And never ponder why

Complaining murmurs come from unmarked graves
Surrounded by blades of grass
“We are good intentions that never moved”
“While unbiased time still passed ”

In the grassy blades
That cover graves
Of once bright-eyed dreamers that marched so brave…
An unplanned picnic once occurred

Years ago these Dreamers marched
Carrying gifts in baskets intended for the world.
God given fruitful hopes and dreams
To make his name be heard

Rolled up on their backs were blankets
Knitted from uniquely different strands
Woven from the Dreamers heart
Matched specific to each hand

These bright-eyed Dreamers marched bravely
Hardly ever stopping
Only slowing for rumbling bellies
Or when fatigue came knocking

Contently eager to share their gifts
They quickly ate and used no forks
With gracious and humble hands they held
The stale sustaining bread of work

These Dreamers marched bravely on
Backs loaded with their passions
God given fruitful hopes and dreams
Swinging from their arms

They soon came upon a town
Its name was Gratification
Boldly stating on the welcome sign
“Here nothing’s used in moderation”

Looking for a place to rest
They spotted a grassy field
With achy backs and tired arms
They stopped for a brief sustaining meal

The meticulously knitted blankets
Of passions first were laid
And soon from tattered baskets
Precious contents were displayed

Un-content and tired with only eating
The stale sustaining bread of work
They removed the other contents
And gratifyingly partook

God given fruitful hopes and dreams
Were quickly laid out first
Followed by fermented grapes of goals
That they gulped to quench their thirst

The knitted blankets wove from passions
That were meant for joyful warmth
Were never meant to sit on
So gaping holes began to form

In the grassy field of Gratification
Passions sat so beaten worn and torn
Passions that were never met for sitting on
But to make a cold world warm

They gluttonously gorged themselves
Becoming drunk with wine in hand
Their eyes transformed to foggy glass
As the brightness slowly dimmed

The glassy dim eyed Dreamers
Devoured the gifts they once intended for the world.
And with hands no longer humbled by the bread of work
They clutched their shiny forks

Finally full from feasting
They soon became too obese to move
The once marching bright-eyed Dreamers
Now gluttonously sat confused

As unbiased time still passed
They all forgot why they were marching
They consumed all the dreams and goals they had
But without passionate work it all meant nothing

They began to fight and claw
Over the last scraps of a rotting meal
With hands now accustomed to using forks
The bread of work did not appeal

The once beautifully knitted blankets
Now resembled dirty rags
And the once hardworking humble Dreamers
Now pride fully sat and begged

The grassy picnic spot transforms
As Unbiased Time dances forward fast
Now sits the eternal home of Dreams that died
A place where bones of lazy beggars rest

The ghosts of once marching bright-eyed dreamers
Wander while murmuring complaints
Decaying Hopes haunt in solitude
Roam alone in denial of their fate

Don’t sit on your passions
While feasting on your goals
Passions are never meant for sitting on
But to bring warmth to the cold

You will grow tired and when you do
Stop for a brief sustaining meal
But know that work is all you need
Then resume marching up the hill

Keep your eyes alertly cautious
For grassy fields of Gratification
They are mirages where Dreamers go to die
While they think they’re on vacation

With humble hands stay content
Eat the stale sustaining bread of work
When you die and leave your gifts behind
In heaven use your fork

Be uniquely bold with hardworking hands
Accomplish something most people never do
Mold your passions into something big
Something that will forever outlive you

Posted 12 months ago