readjusting.

i feel like i've lost sight lately. i know i've lost sight lately. i've become consumed and concerned with everything worldly going on around me and in me. i've been distracted, so distracted, in fact, that i've stopped seeking. if i'm being totally honest, i think i have to admit that only part of lack of seeking is due to being distracted. the rest of it is due to me being, well, angry, hurt, and just plain exhausted. i've been battling so many giants, and sometimes i do really well at not fighting on my own. lately though, lately, i've been trying to do it on my own. and the problem with doing it alone is that my pouch gets so full of stones that it weighs me down. it sags and drags behind behind, stretching and ripping the fabric along the way. there's beauty in this bruising process though. i think the lord knows what it takes for me to come to him. for some reason, i'm so stubborn and strong-willed, so hard-headed, so determined, and so gullible, that i think that i can do it on my own. and i try, and try, and try, and try...bound and determined to prove myself. see, the lord knows that i am so slow to learn these things, and so slow to take my eyes off of my own target, that unless he allows a distraction to occur, i may never look back. without the surmounting weight building up in my pack, it wouldn't cause me discomfort and it wouldn't drag. if it didn't cause me pain, if it didn't wear me down, then i wouldn't notice it. and if i didn't notice my heavy load, then i couldn't possibly notice the hole being ripped in the bottom of my tightly woven pack. and if i didn't notice the holes wearing through, if i didn't notice that they even existed, then i wouldn't pause to consider the origin of the tears. i wouldn't realize that they were being ripped by grace. see, my god, my savior, he knows these things about me. and he loves me just the same.

he loves me like that and i still fail to follow. heck, i fail to even seek. no longer will this be the case. i'm making the conscious effort to bow. i'm taking off my pack. again. i'm admitting that i don't know where i'm going. i don't even know where i am right now. i think i'll choose to be okay with that. every time i've ever known where i was going, i was in control. i was reading the map. that's not what i want; that's not what i need. i surrender to the unknown. i surrender to you, lord. be my vision and be my guide. help me seek you with everything i have. i want to search for you with all my heart.

"you will seek me and find me when you search for me with all your heart." jeremiah 29:13

relentless.

well, i did it. i cleared another hurdle. obviously it wasn't me alone; it was clearly Christ in me. really, all i did was yield to him and allow him to be my strength. that's no small task. at least not according to my track record. i have a history of NOT trusting. and wimping out. and worrying. and succumbing to anxiety. but none of that happened. not this time. i held my ground and didn't cower to the enemy. it wasn't easy. oh boy, was it difficult. but no one ever said this world was made for sissies. it's clearly not. the best way to survive--the ONLY way to survive and be effective--is to surrender to my weakness and allow Christ and Christ alone to be my strength. all other efforts are futile. i seem to learn this lesson slowly. but i'm so glad that i serve a God of unlimited patience and grace. there's no cut-off for how many tries i have to get it right. if there were, i'm pretty sure i would have surpassed that number long, long ago.

the Lord has brought me through so many challenges in the last nine months. i hate how that sounds because i always thought it was such a cliche kind of thing to say. and it always sounded so fake to me. but now i have discovered that there is no other way to say it: God IS my refuge and strength. period. no question about it. even when i don't feel Him, even when i don't acknowlege Him, even when i don't please Him, respect Him, fear Him, or love Him, He is still my refuge and strength. and He takes great delight in being such. why has it taken me so long to let Him? and why do i continue to struggle with this? these things i do not know. but one thing i am sure of: He is unrelenting. this i am constantly learning.

burying the dead.

a camera flashes to reveal birthday cake and shattered glass in the same still frame. smiles lie. so do tears. the truth is unbearable. things are not right. no matter what anyone says, no matter what anyone does, no matter how strongly anyone feels or hurts or cries or bleeds, things are not right. they can't be fixed. lives are disintegrated into pieces more numerous than the stars, and once again blown about by the cruel north wind. this time the pieces are too far apart to be retrieved. it's too late. the end has come. and so she sits silently at the bottom of the stairs, listening to the dead bury their own dead, and waiting for time to begin again.

i'm so mad. SO mad. i know i've been that way for a while now, i just didn't realize it until recently. i know i need to give my anger time and respect to say its piece. and i know my anger is justified. i can definitely rationalize it from every angle. but i don't like it. i don't like being angry. i don't even like the word angry. it's not pretty at all. it makes me grimace. i'm not exactly sure why. actually, i have a couple of guesses, but i don't really feel the need to expound on those here. i just need to say that i'm angry. that's a big enough step for now. figuring out what to do next will come soon enough. but for now, i'm angry. and i'm angry that i'm angry. maybe dr. lentz is right after all when he says that anger begets anger. that makes me mad if that's the case. way mad.

our house.

It came and built a wall through our house,
pride did--
separating it into quadrants,
each large enough to contain just an individual ego.
Selfishness came and roofed our rooms,
leaving holes and gaps wide enough for bitterness and envy to leak through.
They say a house divided cannot stand.
I say what’s wrong with that?
Who said standing is ideal?
It’s when we continue standing in our own self-righteous indignation that the damage is done.
But should we fall, should we collapse,
then, then the battle is really won.
It’s in destruction that unity can be found,
and loyalty can be redefined;
a sense of family revived and declared.
So let our divided house fall,
crumble to the ground.
Shake away the filth
and let new love resound.

© 2008

on a splendid april afternoon.

Traces of the past, reminders of yesterday’s hardships, lay just below the skin’s surface, poking holes in some spots, but mostly just providing a faintly visible foundation for today’s joys and adventures. No giant of the past is great enough to shadow the blissful beauty of today. So rather than revel in the joy of their overcome obstacles, they sit peacefully, basking instead in the current companionship of the other. I watched as they scurried in excitement when they first spotted the solid bench, parked directly in front of a lake, and occupied only by a lifelike bronze statue perhaps reminiscent of former, heavier days. The fixed figure sat positioned squarely in the center of the bench, presenting an entertaining predicament for the pair. He sat first, on the right of the statue, and then squished as closely as possible to allow room for his companion. Slightly daunted, she approached wearily the eight inches of empty bench he so generously provided for her, and attempted to sit, pausing midway down at the confirming discovery that her supple frame required more than a mere eight inches of support. Rather than raise a fuss, or even deposit a frown, she instead simply shrugged her shoulders and repositioned herself on the other side of their still and silent friend.

Once they were both settled, the two lightheartedly teased and examined the figure that separated them, growing in even more delight at the addition of a new acquaintance. They poked and tousled the statue, wrapping playful arms around it and using its shoulders as head rests. I sat close enough to see the skin revealed when crossed legs cause already-short trousers to rise even higher, creating a slight gap between the hemline and the stockings’ top edge, but not near enough to hear their words. One need not hear verbal exchanges to know the two enjoyed each other. Completely enamored with each other and the world that nature offers around them, they radiated elation in their current state and anticipation at what lay around the next corner.

After what appeared to be a relaxing and inviting time, filled with heads thrown back in glee and love pats exchanged across the solid bronze, the pair arose, brushed off any visible specks of dirt from the other’s slacks, and walked off, arms linked. I watched them venture off the path when they encountered a unique patch of grass or a tuft of wildflowers as they floated between their recent resting place and their new destination. And I watched as they faded into the distance, even more refreshed and in love than before their afternoon adventure; so complete and so serene, lacking in nothing, yet taking in everything with eager excitement and joy.

© 2008

hope.

Tears fall one by one
And slowly erase the lies.
Each one holds a forgotten promise,
A broken dream,
A bitter yesterday.
They continue until summer fades into fall
And the branches of her soul hang heavy and bare;
Exposed.
There are no more tears to bleed,
No more lies to sing.
And her soul threatens to evaporate;
The final abandonment,
The ultimate betrayal is near.
With her back to the elixir,
Loneliness transcends both time and space.
Certainly she is doomed,
Should she fail to turn around.
On the other side of her dark and barren winter
Stands a budding tree,
A replenished soul,
And a promise of new life.
Turn around, my child.
Turn around.

© 2008

achy-breaky heart.

My heart aches. It's a dull, simmering longing. It's an ache that knows precisely why it aches. It's familiar; an echo of a past ripple. I think that's why it hurts so badly. I've had the solution at the tip of my fingers, but never yet have I been able to fully grasp it. One hand reaches out, straining and stretching. But the other remains behind me, chained to some heavy, binding tombstone. It wouldn't be a problem if only I were chained. This issue lies in the fact that the other is also imprisoned. The double imprisonment to separate tombstones prevents either party from reaching out completely and rescuing the wounded heart nearby. If one were unbound, free to stretch and soar and fly, he could land and bury roots wherever he chose; ideally beneath the tombstone of the one still in bondage. Clearly, such a mission remains impossible though, seeing as how both maintain equally strong chains bound to equally weak wrists.

So what is the answer? How does one escape from bondage? Or is escaping even the answer? Surely the answer isn't to lose the aches and longings. If erasing proves the answer, then how is such a task accomplished? How do memories fade? How do echoes die within the vast and endless cavern that stretches between two souls?

This is all a mystery to me, and to others too, no doubt. One colossal, frustrating, and brilliant mystery, woven through the threads of time.

Slow dance.

I am overwhelmed. So many voices scream and yell and cry, that the one faithful, supportive cheer falls upon deaf ears. Everywhere I turn is another megaphone, another foghorn, another speaker blasting nothing but noise into my ears. Noise. All of it. Useless jibber-jabber; idle, incomprehensible chatter that does nothing but fill my ears and cement out the good, fruitful encouragement and assurance.

So many up-beat, easily choreographed songs play with mesmerizing rhythms and enticingly catchy lyrics, but all I really want is a slow dance. I just want to be held, cradled, enveloped as a beloved. I want to trust my partner enough to follow His lead without even focusing on it. I just want to follow the rhythm that I sense in His pulse and in His step. I want to be held so close that all I can hear is His gentle whisper; that still, small voice. I just want to slow dance.

Sometimes I feel like my feelings are like a roll of toilet paper. . . They're necessary, but not comfortable; useful at specified times of need; expensive; helpful in some situations, but in others, make more of a smeared mess out of things. And it seems like when I DON'T need the toilet paper, it always comes bounding my direction, unraveling and leaving a mess to clean up. But then, when I am in the most dire of circumstances, when I most NEED the toilet paper/emotion, all I have is a dry tube of cardboard. Awesome. Just what I always wanted. Hah. I know, I'm dripping with sarcasm. I'm just so frustrated right now. Some days are just so overwhelming. I try to find the balance between my feelings and reality, but sometimes there's not even a scale that I can use to weigh everything. And even if there were a scale, I'd max it out for sure. Feelings are so contradictory and so exhausting. Yet, I honestly can't imagine life without them. Strange. Such a paradox.

soaking.

Many times in life I feel like it's my job to be a wet sponge. I feel compelled to wring myself inside out so that I can drip every last possible molecule of liquid onto those around me, lathering them up with much needed nourishment and moisture. And this is all done with good intentions, and to satisfy appropriate needs and longings. But what happens when the sponge is dry? How effective is a dry sponge? The answer seems pretty obvious to me at this point: a dry sponge is useful for little--if anything--more than retaining moldy particles and mildewy odors from once desirable and satisfying sustenance.

For quite some time now, I've felt like a dry sponge. I see remnants of fruit in my life, but overall I've felt shriveled and dry. Ineffective to say the least. What is the solution? While a sponge might be pitched when it reaches such a state, I as a human, as a minister, can not so easily excuse myself. I have been given the responsibility and privelege of serving others, of being the embodiment of Christ. Tossing myself into the nearest trash can is no option at all.

The way I see it, I am left with one positive alternative: soak. Refill. Expand. Moisturize. The only way that can be done is by diving in to the Living Water that Christ alone offers. That means digging in, drinking deeply. It's not always easy and I definitely don't always like the bi-products of conviction and change that ensue, but it definitely beats the alternative. Rotting does not appeal to me in any way. I desire to be fruitful. I long to pour into others. In order to do so effectively, I've got to keep tabs on my fluid levels. I've got to be completely saturated, drenched.

So right now, I'm soaking.

confession numero uno.

I ate five Dove Rich Dark Chocolate Promises today. Make that six. I bought them to share with the girls in my DNow group this weekend. Oops.

But that's not the real confession. The true confession is that I spent the last two hours trying to come up with a name for this blog. Pathetic? Completely. Especially considering I probably won't stick with the one I chose. Aye-yai-yai. What's one more thing in my life to waver on?

Up to seven now...
Going straight to my hips, I know.
[Insert appropriate eye-roll here.]

Speaking of wavering...
Another real confession: I'm seriously considering switching my major. Yes, I'm serious. I know. I'm 3 and 1/2 years into it and I'm hitting the brakes. Untimely? Not really. I've been approaching a crossroads for quite some time now. And I think within the past two months, I've finally arrived. Really, I couldn't have coasted in at a better time. Not that I think that I'm in control of the timeline; I know I'm not. And I'm glad I'm not. I could not have worked out the timing better. Although I'm feeling rather strongly about the direction in which I'm being pulled, I don't know that I'm quite ready to verbalize/write it yet. I want to be certain. That comes with more time and more prayer. I already know one thing though, whatever the final verdict, I will go boldly. My God is not a God of confusion or fear. Fear and faith cannot occupy the same. So I am brave. I sparkle confidently.

And I will follow the advice of my last Dove Promise:
"Be fearless."

Final count: Eight.