A New Name

"What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears." (Hosea 6:4)

"Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first." (Revelation 2:4-5)

"I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die" (Revelation 3:1b-2)

"You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked." (Revelation 3:17)

You poor wretched soul, mine. You do not realize that all along it has been THE GOD, Yaweh, who has kept you. Your soul is fed by HIS love, and your cares are met in HIS arms, and by the grace of a GOD who requires the sacrifice of HIS most precious Son to pay the debts of drunkards, addicts, thieves, perverts, murderers and everything in between... by HIS grace, there is hope.

"To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it." (Revelation 2:17)

The man (or woman, as the case may be) behind the curtain.

"Our whole destiny seems to lie in...being as little as possible ourselves, in acquiring a fragrance that is not our own but borrowed, in becoming clean mirrors filled with the image of a face that is not ours."--C.S. Lewis

Oh, Clive! I love you. I love familiarity; I am not going to lie. Infact, I could (at this very moment) go up to my room and find a pencil where I left it - "um, what does that have to do with familiarity?", you may ask. The catch is, I could do that with my eyes closed. Relying on what has been in place for some 5 years now (the layout of my house), that which has evolved little (if at all) from originality at such a pace that I've have to aclimate. That being said -- I don't like change. Try as I may, I just don't care for it. I love going to different places and trying different things, and seeing different cultures and peoples. I LOVE different foods, etcetera, etcetera; but when I come home to HOME I like familiar. My mom moves the furniture around and I feel like my family has changed beyong recognition (okay, not quite to that degree. It's just to make a point). This, however - the changing of things in the home - is rare and far in between. However, after a conversation with a very dear friend, it suddenly occured to me that just as my desk has a place in my room where it serves it's purpose, so I have a place in my family. We all do; it's just that, like our furniture, we ourselves do some renovation, we move things around, change the routine, and get familiar with each change that comes along. We do this so well, in fact, that we learn to live without those who leave us. What happens when they come home? I ponder this as I contemplate leaving home for a time (a short, sweet, time!) in search of adventure and life and ehm "education". What if I misplace my place, and my familiarity is tossed out the window like our old casset stereo? Then, I remember that my place is, as Lewis says, 'in aquiring a fragrance that is not my own, and in becomming a clean mirror reflecting Another's face'. This, dear one, is your place.
(It's also in throwing the occasional fit, and stumbling and realizing that you are really who you used to be only better, that those around you are also that, and that you really do have a place it's just not the same as it once was; and in the end, it will be better.) Happy... new (ick!)... Year!

Think.

Stop the madness long enough to actually see.
Truth, it's hidden deep in compromise.
Thoughts that pulse and probe,
Pain that lies within open wounds.
Smiles conceal more than tongues,
And numbness is more than not feeling.
THE SON OF GOD - SLAIN
MY HEART A MURDEROUS SMEAR.
THE LIGHT OF GOD SHOWN.
CHRIST'S BLOOD - REDEMTION - SALVATION IS HERE.
I cry, I cry at night. I hold my hands around my side.
I long, just long for a day without a fight.
Will my brokeness know a day without apathy?
Stop this madnesss. Break The silence.
I cry, I cry, but nothing's comming out.
REDEEM ME, ABBA, MY FATHER.
BRING ME WITHING YOUR WINGS.
I WONDER, WILL I DIE WITHIN SUCH A PLACE?
IF I MUST DIE, LET ME DIE CRYING LOVE INTO THIS WORLD'S DYING FACE.
... let me dare to be, more than who i am. who YOU make me.

Mechanical Christianity

I see it alot. Mostly, in me. If you've grown up in the chuch, perhaps you'd understand where I am coming from. We have Sunday worship ever Sunday morning from this time - to this time, we go to worship practice, we got to a candle light service. You sing, maybe you even memorized the words to the songs because you sing them so often. Showing up for church, whether I'm ready or not, is so detached from how I'm actually feeling most of the time. But, I've learned what answers earn respect, I know how to make people cry tears of joy with a song, I've learned to manipulate everyone's heart but my own. Because, I become a machine. This monstrous Christain machine. I spew out the right answers. Listen to a prayer request, and spout out the automated response "I'll be praying for you this week". How often does that happen? How often, after the benediction, do I go out into the world to spread the Love of Christ with a hurting world? Machines cannot do that. Just like my beloved "self-check out" lines at Wal-Mart, if there is an actual problem (and, with people problems and complications will always arise), if there is a question, or a need - - the only thing it can do is carry on it's intended function. It won't see the necesity in a tone of voice, or in someone's eyes. That's when you go to customer service I suppose... but there aren't customer service lines in real life. I suppose that's what many people think pastors and therapists are for. And, yeah, they are. But... if machines like me actually stopped and became real... would there be such a need?

Stronger

He's a lot stronger than me,
he's never taken off his wedding ring,
it's worn him now for birthdays past, these
days that keep on turning.

And he never broods or snaps, not once.
Though who could blame him if he did?
He doesn't bring up painful conversation,
to aide the pain that's surely hid.

And while we slice birthday cake,
my presents passed around.
I look at quiet Grandpa,
he smiles but doesn't make a sound.

I wonder how he misses her,
and I wonder what it's like,
to celebrate a birth, on the day he lost his wife.
And he's much stronger than I would be.
He forgoes his pain for me.

What it takes

It's a little late to be looking back, and it's foolish to try. Because nothing good ever came from spending your life obsessing over the "how comes" and "why's". It fell out like a novel, or sit-com, and life panned out in slow-mo. As sanity crawled, squirming from beneath the heavy thoughts going on below. What do I really know? Haven't I learned enough already? Should I have to endure these things, when there are souls to be saved and children to hold. Barriers to break down, and standards to up-hold. Damn my foolish pride, and any understanding I think I own. Yes, curse; curse the day I think I don't need God. Fall over on my face and seek Him, in His grace. This, and I will be whole.

Autumn

From my humble beginnings, You've always seen
The truth behind my exteriors, beyond my vibrant green
Since the day that I broke free, and dazled with the dew
There has been no one who knows me, no one knows me like You

Over time I grew to sizes, so small compared to You.
But small gives birth to small, and so what did i do?
I spread myself wide to stretch out and look below,
Still my beauty faded, it fades much faster than I know.

The seasons quickly change, from warm breeze
to cloudy storms. And through all these i weathered,
Despite my frailness You wouldn't let me be torn.
My smallness, it's joyous, as my stem rises up to You
It's what I was created for, it's everything that I do.

And now? It's my end, as I've finally come to stand,
Solely pointing ever upward, only looking to Your hand.
Somehow as my exterior has gone, to reveal who i am inside,
You have made me beautiful, and will carry me on Your winds, and i will be satisfied.

Morning

Early. Much too early. The sun hasn't even woke up yet.
Pull the covers up, over my head.
Cold. That's new. I don't have to go far to see my breath float on the air.
Still, I'll just pull the covers up over my head.
Who? Pulls the sun up from sleep to swap with the moon?
And who captures the cool air in winter, and tames it to His will?
Who grasps warm summer breeze and cages it till Spring?
Strange. How somethings are so common. Even miracles.
Light. Oh, the sun! Come cover me with warm, with light.
It's pulling up, over my head. I get out of bed.

"... so that from the rising of the sun to the place of its setting men may know there is none besides me. I am the LORD, and there is no other." Isaiah 45:6

Rubber resolve

I'm making my mind up today,
to not live so safe, so sound.
To cover up the past with now,
Running so reckless this way.
Running circles, running 'round.
Never thought about this till now.

I hate comfort, or so I say;
Yet, who is this that craves attention?
Who is this idol making machine?
Who manufactures faster than can be put away.
Casting what little remaining aprehension,
That could prick the concience that belongs to me.

Running so reckless this way.
Running circles, running 'round,
Rubber resolve ground down into the ground.
Rubber resolve all begins this way:
"I'm making up my mind today"

A long way still...

She sits alone at the window pane,

Too far along in travels begun.

Till sun sets low where it did rise,

And mist replaces this mornings rain.

Where sighs echo the day is done,

And circles enclose the tired eyes.

One cup of coffee,

Two sets of keys,

Three armloads of books,

Four seats that are empty,

Five minute memories,

And six awkward moments, six awkward looks.

And yet you've attained the 'Dream',

As much as we can gather,

For exchanging your soul for comfortability,

Trading community for a silent scream.

When it is joy that you would rather,

More so than 'firm' stability.

The dream is not yet realized,

As we pitter on the road.

Your load it never empties,

Nor the things that can be idolized.

Keep being and seing, we can only hope,

Our work is not in vain, these old eyes will see.

Wearing yourself.

I'm not one to carry emotion on my sleve, much less in plain view. However, interestingly I long to move away from the formal and casual into the personal and raw. We text in classes, and leave a message composed of numerical sequences that appear on a screen. I'll call just to hear a voice projected through a plastic box; I'll do anything just to hear some humanity, even talking into thin air. But I shut out the world. In place of two friends walking together; they're far apart. And while I'm as thankful as the next for mass communication. I've lost touch with communal communication. Where is the humanity in that? It's a scary thought to actually live like yourself -- at least it's harder to do this than to write a paragraph summarizing who I am. It's harder for me to tell you how I feel; harder than leaving a smiley face to indicate my emotion. I lose touch with community. Where's the humanity in that?

I'll take a picture from my window...
From the high heaven's soaring clouds,
Dripping wet with fresh Seattle rain;
To fresh potato feilds blooming radiant,
Red, white, mixed among green, spread
out among mountain range.
The voice of God speaking through the
Treacherous and beautiful mountain pass,
my own trembling voice to mix among the
Chorus of creation around me, we're not the
First to see how small we are, we won't be the last.
Your hand spread out accross a field of gold
Your voice a whisper accross the corn stalks.
Glorious sun rising high above our heads,
Sunsets reflecting Your gloy, conversation;
long and real, like taking a much needed walk.
Back among the clouds, waking from a dream,
Flying through memory, through familiarity,
Adventures, like stories; sadly have an end,
But You, O God, You have no beginning no end,
As you carry us into eternity.

Just about eight or nine

It's like being eight again.
Waiting on these side-lines;
bright lights reflecting on my pale skin.
Feeling like I'll throw up maybe.
If He calls me in the game.
Just to hear Him call my name,
I'll run out anyway.
I run so funny, I'm clumsy and uneven.
I'm not as fast as everyone else,
and in the past I haven't proved the best.
The pinch effect doesn't work, I'm still here.
I stare up into the air, praying that God will
help me to do better this time.
Then the whistle blows, and the game begins;
and I'm distracted by the bright lights
young mothers smoking while they hold their children.
The different colors of people, the moths in the air;
till the game's reached my face,
and it's that same feeling.
What will I do?
When it's my turn to live, what will I do?
This is my time. What have I done? What will I do?

think... think

Self worth, and yet it feels a whole lot less than what I had imagined
thinking somthing in this sea could reach the upper chambers to my cabin,
breached walls, dark halls, cold floors, wet hearth;
this prison I'd built so stealthily has reached an apex in its birth.
Thought be their words I could build up my own strenth,
looking forward eagerly to reaffirming lengths;
but when I'm here, and they're there, and nothing but silence in between,
makes all this emptiness my kingdom - I'm no longer captive, I'm queen.
Really, I feel a need to be better than before.
Felt the weight of emptiness once,
don't want to feel it anymore.
Hands raw from the chaffing of the winds in my palms.
All my exertions have left me gasping, not calm.
All the while preaching: "Peace! Peace!" when there is none.
All the while hoping no-one else can see how easily I am undone.
Because I'm superman, we hold our masks up high.
Taught myself how to crawl on my hands, but on my knees I've never learned to fly.
They say there will be a better day when we won't wish to look.
When I won't compare me to you, where we won't have a 'checkbook'
it all sounds great to me, I'd gradually subscribe;
until I learn that somthing within me has to die.
The mentality that I hold and nourish close to my heart,
that makes me feel insecure and feeble but that I wouldn't dream of letting depart.
Because without it I see that nothing I do matters.
That I can't prove to God my worth, I can't climb spiritual 'social' ladders.
So what is love? What do you offer that will replace this thing in me?
How will formulaic religion begin to apply to cold-hard, reality?
But what is love? Please tell me what is love?
Did Jesus really love the prostitute? Did he eat with the sinners?
Would He eat with me if I asked him? Would He have patience with beginners?
If what I've sought is not real, and as the time ebbs like the sand;
will Jesus fill these holes in me? Will He take my hand?

All around me...

It's strange to think this day has been since before there was time;
that I was right where I was always going to be, no matter how many times I want to ask "why?".
You don't offer any answers, as to why things had to be this way,
I'm supposed to follow Your voice, even on days like today.
To be honest I didn't feel like waking up this morning,
I didn't want to pray.
It's become too routine, too secure, I doubted I could go on this way.
So it takes somthing like now, to make me see the truth;
that YOU, Oh God, are not here to make me comfortable and steady in this life, but take me into the next with You.
And if I have to cry, to learn to die; face embarassment and grief.
It's all enough to trust that Your the One who holds me past my own unbelief.
There were angels in that pavement, dancing and singing a song...
I didn't want to see it, because it meant I'd join along.
Singing about God's goodness despite where I am.
Being joyful in their harsh words, smiling at their "damns"
Singing about YOUR goodnes, all around me...

Epic

Tragic. Epic. Splendid. Break it. Bind it.
Slipping. Gripping. Falling. Tripping.
Rising. Crying. Calling. Trying.
Realizing. Seeing. Believing. Breathing.
Jesus. Hands. Nails. Cross. Pale.
Nothing. Everything. Completing. Fulfulling.
Breathing. Epic. Seeing. Tragic.
Believing...


Psalm 25:

1 O Lord, I give my life to you. 2 I trust in you, my God! Do not let me be disgraced, or let my enemies rejoice in my defeat. 3 No one who trusts in you will ever be disgraced, but disgrace comes to those who try to deceive others.
4 Show me the right path, O Lord; point out the road for me to follow. 5 Lead me by your truth and teach me, for you are the God who saves me. All day long I put my hope in you. 6 Remember, O Lord, your compassion and unfailing love, which you have shown from long ages past. 7 Do not remember the rebellious sins of my youth. Remember me in the light of your unfailing love, for you are merciful, O Lord.
8 The Lord is good and does what is right; he shows the proper path to those who go astray. 9 He leads the humble in doing right, teaching them his way. 10 The Lord leads with unfailing love and faithfulness all who keep his covenant and obey his demands.
11 For the honor of your name, O Lord, forgive my many, many sins. 12 Who are those who fear the Lord? He will show them the path they should choose. 13 They will live in prosperity, and their children will inherit the land. 14 The Lord is a friend to those who fear him. He teaches them his covenant. 15 My eyes are always on the Lord, for he rescues me from the traps of my enemies.
16 Turn to me and have mercy, for I am alone and in deep distress. 17 My problems go from bad to worse. Oh, save me from them all! 18 Feel my pain and see my trouble. Forgive all my sins. 19 See how many enemies I have and how viciously they hate me! 20 Protect me! Rescue my life from them! Do not let me be disgraced, for in you I take refuge. 21 May integrity and honesty protect me, for I put my hope in you.
22 O God, ransom Israel from all its troubles.

Welcome to summer

Someday, I'm gonna write somthing amazing... just not today.