My Story

When writing, one needs a starting point, a beginning.  Not to mention a story, something interesting for eyes to hold onto to carry souls away, to reach cloud canopies and carve new canyons of thought.  Something to create windows of escape for some and diving boards of new beginnings for others.

My life used to read like a story.  Not like the fairytale outlines you see on Hollywood’s movie screens, but, more like the outlines you would read in a Jack Kerouac novel, except I was Jack Kerouac. My living was primarily done on paper, and, secondly done under the stars.  I wasn’t stretched out to include everyone in highschool, but concaved to allow my experiences to filter down into my screen of thought into stories.  But, after awhile my stories got hungrier, and bucked at reason and practicality.  Who cared if a degree was only a couple of years away.  I needed to write.  I wanted to explore.  And, I did.  Not enough wisdom was sown into my life to help me realize just how much a college degree could have helped me on my journey.  So in retrospect, I’m sowing that wisdom into my son’s life.  A high price I payed for those nuggets of wisdom.  Hopefully he will put them to good use.

God didn’t really make himself known to me until I was in my early 20s.  23 to be exact.  Until then I ran my fingers down life’s strings like an untrained harpist, picking out unique melodies while everyone else seemed to be reading their melodies from a book that I never heard of.  I was the awkward girl picking her strings on the courtyard picnic table while everyone else was in rehearsal gearing up for their future careers in the philharmonic orchestra.  That was me.

I traveled the scenic path for awhile, picking up euphoric experiences in my ignorance that God graciously sprinkled down. I had no friut born out of wisdom.  My cupboards were bare, but, I was happily ingesting Midwestern sunsets and Miami city life as I sought to fill the empty cavaties of my soul. These moments were like the salty Antlantic washing over my being, and I was like a questioning child panning for gold.  When I finally got saved it seemed as all the magic went away.  I had my answer.  It was all confined within the pages of one book that served as both divinity’s communication device and a life raft.  I needed it, somehow.  Not because it was like a soft meadow that I preferred over the bustling urban streets, but, because, it was more like an underground bomb shelter and life’s atmosphere was exploding with glowing stars of a uncertainty.

 

People

People are funny.  They are all places of power, places of knowing, of depth, of insight, of imaginable possibility.  When we enter into one another s life its like stepping into a sacred garden.  Don’t disturb the fruit.  Tread delicately.  Stand in awe.

Sometimes, I’m like a rock being slung out and away by their gravitational force.  But really, I’m a lost child floating and trying not  to hit her head on anything too sharp.

 

BALLOON STRINGS, MORE THAN JUST A VISION WHEN I LOOK UP

 So here we are,

There is a shelf,

And people are comparing notes,

And I am like a bandit

That stole kisses

And broke free

From the fire.

I am a phoenix

That didn’t belong

Because she didn’t fit in,

Because she was marked

For something

Greater

For an abstract horizon

That God had to mark

To obtain

An aim

That no one

Knew about.

You know I don’t want

The ordinary.

You know that’s not my desire.

But, You created me

In such a way

To do ok

In the fire

And to discern

The light

From the mire.

You’re refining me

Under a hand

That will never grow tired.

How multifaceted

Is this life!

And how few are the places

Left

Where one can imagine,

Where one can focus,

Where one can polish,

Where one can notice,

Where one can remember,

Where one can dream,

Where one is given,

To revel

In the things

That are unseen.

I am totally

Enamored

By this little plot of land;

And, the ocean

It is surrounding me,

Eating away

At its sand.

Lord,

You are the rock

And I am your child.

But, I am here

On this earth

For a while.

I am watching

All these projections

Trying to make sense

Of this light show

And trying to do it

In such a way

That I don’t

Let go

Of the balloon string

That is my faith.

So many tails to chase

But only one is true,

According to your word.

And so,

Let me not run

But hold on

To Your words

And Your truth

And let it set me free

Because

I know it will.

Why do I want more than faith?

Why do I want to run?

What is this desire?

This longing?

That fills me

That wants to kill me

When it’s done?

Passion?

Love?

If you are so great

To create

The universe

And it’s stars

Then let me taste

How great you are.

But, I think it’s just

The exercise

Of simple faith

That knits me to You

That allows me to see,

All the ins and outs

That you do.

Maybe I just want this vision

To be as great

As you are.

But, You want it simplified

To Your truth

Because You are God

And You command the waves

To go

And to stay.

You define

What is right,

And what is vain.

Let me be

A vassal

To Your will.

You gave me this vision

Now let me be yoked

To You

And remain still

Even if my

Sliver of land

Grows even smaller

Because the God of the Universe

Will be with me,

And, You will be all I see,

And all I need,

When I look up.

 

 

 

Kittens: a discourse of unbelief aka not a litany of truth

Every time i show my true colors

someone loves

to shows up

and complain

maybe look a little deeper

thats the signifigance

in the sturcture

that is my name

maybe its the tension

of this tug of war

that i need

i know the colors

of Your truth

and if it is

its a calling

that every creature

You create

heeds

and i am usually caught

doing what i’m supposed to do

but all these kittens

can seem

a little deeper

than distractions to me

and what future do i see you with

that i foresee

i’m not complaining

i’m just crying out

and contending with the word

 “free”

God

disregard

is a pretty bold token to hold

when your Son died for me

i’m braided

and rated

and catching up with the wind

that blows in and out

through my spirit

from within

below

i am not helpless

just full of holes

that i allow

when i’m aloud

and unsupervised

irresponsibility

does it look good on me?

i know the mark that i’m made for

and i hold all the wisdom within

i just though i’d take off this rubber

and go for a swim

in shark infested waters

hey hey…

What?

“What do you want?” He posed the question like a threat.

“Your love.”, she whispered.

At this point she didn’t care if he heard her or not. She was in a strange place, where stalactites and stalagmites grew. Life was a blur.

She stepped out in the night, her anger was real and bitter in her heart. Where did it come from? Why did she care? It was because these things were real. What if she didn’t want to work these things out?

She wanted to be Jack Kerouac. She longed to be a drifter. But, life had changed. She didn’t have regrets anymore. The canvas had changed. The fabric was made whole. The voices she heeded where different. She didn’t dare to compare them. But, she still cared.

Maybe there wasn’t a poetic ending. Maybe the tail of her kite was lost in the sky for now. Maybe passion was missing.

Love

Whats really important?? Life is important. Theres a little girl who waits two years in an attic to survive only to perish under the cruel hand of dictatorship. I only believe in Christ because I know I would suffocate without him. I’m not perfect. Why does God hand me the things He has? I stopped asking that a long time ago so I could have the luxury of grasping at the thing that are good,  pure, and pleasant. Things I couldn’t even pretend to understand before I was saved. I question my perspective sometimes. I know it’s a matter of faith, but sometimes love even wants to skew my vision.

Love is a commodity that exists in the Body of Christ. How is it sustained? By the Holy Spirit, one head of three in the triune nature of God. How does this work in everyday life?  I’m not sure, only that maybe I stand taller on a level playing field. We all play by the same rules, and the rules are set against us without the concept of grace, that was a concept of love, that begins and ends with God.

I wish sometimes t hat I could stop being human. There are so few things that I feel that really need to be said or done. Except when it comes to love. Thats a debt we’re never really supposed to be free of paying. So many needy people. Of course, until we get our own needs met, its hard to think about anyone else’s. God solidified my concept of reality. I’m thankful to Him for that.

Anyway, I’m thankful for all the people who God has put in my life. And being amidst a Body of Love is like trying to solidify snow that wants to become water. You can’t really solidify a break. Thats not a bad thing.

Andera 3

“Thanks,” she giggled, not quite sure how to take the new ring that fit so perfectly on her finger.

“No problem,” he replied, with a knowing smile. He took a sip of his tea and sat beside her.

The music she put on earlier now filled her ear. Jars of Clay. Much Afraid. She forgot.

“So, how was your day?,” she asked.

“Good,” he replied. He picked up the newspaper that lay offhandedly  on her table.

She rolled her thoughts around their relationship, and all the days that lay before her.

Despite her reputation, God was on her mind, and she found it easier and easier to rest her mind at his feet.

Life was big, vast. She needed God.

Juno nuzzled her ankle. She picked him up and snuggled. 

She was tired.