Fly Away

Half truth, half you

2012-02-11T23:28:00.002-05:00

There's nothing more to say,
Nothing new, just another day
You won't call,
No, and I won't answer.
Did we always know,
In the end we'd only hear
"I told you so's"
And how everything just seems
Like someone's sick joke?

No, I can't,
I can't un-do what's been done
I close my eyes,
You're the only one,
And I just wish sometimes you wouldn't stay away.

Are you happy?
Did it make you feel better,
To throw your punches,
While I was on my knees
So lay it all on me,
What does it matter anyway?

Say, goodybye,
Sing it softly speaking this lullaby,
You know we both sound best together.

Stranger staring back

2012-01-15T13:37:00.002-05:00

Watching everyone's faces for a trace of worry,
Looking over my shoulder to see everything is the same.
Hopefully wishing for a break from these routines.

No one says otherwise. Not a word seems misplaced.
No excuse for me to doubt,
This stranger staring back into my face.

But I do. I know your secret. I know.
You assume my position, and even my accents.
Still, you're a stranger living in my skin.

What do people do -- maybe my elders?
When they cannot recognize the mirror looking back,
When a stranger sleeps in their beds?

I'm searching for my shadow that's been misplaced.
Straining to see some clue to where I've gone.
I'm lost, oh why, when I'm where I've always been...

the beginning of the ends meet

2011-12-09T21:47:00.002-05:00

I'm hearing melodies in my head,
and I feel a rhythm pulsing in my bones --
A building anthem rising
Amid my heart that's torn apart.
My hands are slowly getting weaker,
I cannot seem to find,
The strength to pick up where we left off,
Strong legs to leave it far behind.

You hear the tyrant wind howling,
Tearing flesh down to the bone.
You see the whole world wakefully sleeping,
A key without a home.

I know I said I was resolved,
Three I's, no you's, no we.
I could make up my own mind to
Never need you, never dream.
And though we said we didn't want this
No, not this way at all.
I'd still do it all again, dear,
Just to know that I could fall.

We're all a sleeping forest.
Lines of grey around the light.
Yet in this dark December,
I wish it was you holding me tight.

For a mandolin and a banjo...

2011-11-03T00:46:00.002-04:00

Eddie Vedder and I are getting our acts together.
Well, he's singing about change and rising up, facing the world and shunning society's ways of doing things, and I - I am thinking that it sounds great AND like a lot of work.

Feel my pain

2011-10-19T16:37:00.002-04:00

If you could,
Just maybe translate something for me.
See, I don't know how I'm supposed to feel,
And I don't know how I can react.
Because I don't feel.
Some might think I have tapped into,
A Midas' touch if there ever were one.
But I would just like to:
Cry when I am sad
Dance in joy
Reflect the pain I feel,
In some way, when I am forgotten, judged,
snubbed, ignored and all else.
I would just like to feel it for my self.
It is so detached from me.
Can someone feel it for me?

On things undeserved and hope

2011-09-22T19:05:00.001-04:00

With all of the change
Still You have not forgotten
All things will be right

A lament, not a complaint.

2011-09-20T14:27:00.003-04:00

Cashmere smooth
The words spoke softly
Leaving no room for hope
And no hope of change
Quietly disquieted
Surfacing discontent
I look at calm waters
And think all life is good within

Loud dissonance
Churning of the very foundations
Crying out for answers
To the questions that we stand against
Loud and demanding
Attention commanding
Watching an ocean of fury
And seeing nothing good at all

What two waters should I choose?
You know what I will
I long for easy answers
And I'm afraid to drown

[Blank]

2011-09-08T22:37:00.002-04:00

This is for the times when trust seems like letting go of your foothold.
When repetition and frustrations become routine.
So we can look back, and we can see over broken roads;
And we can trust in a Strength stronger than determination.
A Fire brighter than the sun.
A Hope weaving in creation,
Beautiful stories yet untold.

Still, I sit here.
That same old damned feeling.
No Midas touch, and no gold, just withering.
And I am stretched out, a broken road
Waiting for The Strength stronger than my determination.
The Hope of all creation.
Please, whisper Your stories in my heart.

Iron Lung

2011-09-04T20:14:00.002-04:00

I would like to stay down a little longer,
To hold my sides and wonder what might be.
Imagining what if my lungs were as fragile,
As delicate as I?

Because as I kiss the floor, I dream
That life could pass over like a parade
And I could awake and watch the end.
Safe on the sides.

But they're cold, and they're strong.
They take in deep, harsh air -
So real that it's choking me.
Oh, life choking out of me.

"Your Love is strong"

2011-08-01T10:03:00.002-04:00

I like to imagine sometimes that I struggle alone. Even though they say that misery loves company, it would seem that it loves to feel unique. Maybe it loves to have others around to witness its existence, but it definitely likes to be alone it its issues. Because, if others knew what it was going through, surely they could not stand up without complaining; surely they would not be able to grapple with it better than us. Right?
And then, sometimes, I am mowed over by the realization that we're not alone. Perhaps no one goes through the same things at the same time, but I refuse to believe anymore that we are unique in our troubles.
I like to imagine that my questions are unique. That I struggle with a new issue no one has puzzled over before. That my answers will weigh heavily in the end, because they are the first of their kind. Some pioneers of a solitary field.
I guess I have a much bigger imagination than I give myself credit for.
I like to imagine myself so alienated, removed and distant from any rescue. To pretend that there are waters that Your Love cannot surmount, oh, God. To think that I can hide from it. Because, sometimes, Your love feels like breaking. Rending. Tearing, and not healing. And I'm silly, I know, that I would long to stay the same when so much surgery of the heart would heal me. So maybe, just keep working. And help me to be still.

Why do we travel at night?

2011-07-19T14:26:00.002-04:00

We're driving on these one lane highways through the rugged mountains and down in the deep ravines. Even though I brought the directions, it's hard to see most of the time while we drive in the evening. I turn the lights on bright, rev the engine, check the odometer and realize it's not been so long as I thought.

Why do we travel at night?
When every turn comes unexpected,
Through a landscape I cannot detect.

Every day is like a road trip. Miles from the beginning, but miles and miles to go. Sometimes I feel like I'm winning, and then I look out ahead and can't see so far as I'd hoped. I look in the rearview, pause to listen to a line in my favorite song, and think that I wouldn't have it any other way.

Through a landscape I cannot detect.

Caught in the rain

2011-05-15T01:32:00.002-04:00

I know this was all my idea...
Never have been one to watch the sky for change.
Though, I have wasted some sunny days,
anticipating rain.
And I have shunned some happinesses,
because of imagined pain.
So, when I left my house to stretch,
both life and limb, and step outside
to breath a while, I was certain,
positive even, that I wouldn't need my
rain coat.

I'm not sure, but I think I've seen this ending before...

2011-04-01T12:25:00.002-04:00

head down, feet forward.
eyes on the prize and the prize on the mind.
conservancy is the name of the game,
unless it's time we're wasting,
time we kill.
there will always be plenty of that.
so spend freely, little children,
spend and don't look back.

everything is fine, don't you pay no mind.
to the wreck that we leave behind,
it's not your fault and it's not mine

change is on the wings of the winds,
and the whole earth tosses and turns.
but how do you prepare for a life,
when the only life we've learned
is behind the next door?
when my only virtue seems to be hearalded
for always moving on, but not stopping
in the tracks of some Other Beauty

This time

2011-03-10T23:19:00.003-05:00

Struggle.
Life begins with a struggle.
And, I'm told, it ends with one, too.
I'm looking at my empty hand,
and I believe it is true.
I'm seeing words I've longed to hear,
echoed in just the right way.
Things that have gone so long undisturbed,
and so I thought that they were
under control somehow, some way.
Why you? Why now? Why this?
So many crashes, and not enough time between.
I'm trying to keep my head.
But it's spinning,
and all I want is what will bring me down.
I am my worst enemy.
And so, I struggle.
Life begins like this.
and, I'm told, it ends like this, too.

Row row row

2010-11-29T09:33:00.002-05:00

Bird's wings outgrow me,
in these old things,
I left your treasures
out in the backyard.
Just as you told me
in the warm breeze
of the summer that's
only gone by.

Even though winter's so cold
and no hands to hold,
we'll hold on so tight
to the thought,
of what we're both waiting for.

Frost on the panes,
curling the leaves in its grasp
your frost bitten breath
holding me tight where I'm at
It doesn't seem fair
do you think?
The time we spend just to wait
but I'll keep on waiting...

Happiness Was Made for You

2010-10-31T23:12:00.003-04:00

I recall when I said it was clear,
that you never answered me, my dear
'cause it's all very good and well for you,
it's true, life is better with two.

so I hear, so I hear
is that you knocking dear?
or is my heart playing tricks again?

Oh, it's true,
how the world spins just for two
nothing else comes close,
to the red just like the rose,
he gave to you.
not for me, happiness was made for you

forever, friends, is not so long, it seems,
when it comes to forces this strong and mean
but I just thought that this time I knew
that this was one I couldn't lose

love I hear, love is here
I know my heart is breaking here
but my heart won't play tricks anymore

Because sometimes, I'm still about 7 years old...

2010-10-18T00:43:00.003-04:00

"Words are too limited" -Sherman Alexie

Truth.
I think about it.
I remember getting into fights when I was little, and feeling dumb.
Dumb because I couldn't conjure up enough words to spar back and forth adequately.
I couldn't keep up the pace, you know? Trying to display whatever grievance or displeasure into a steady stream of congruent unpleasantness that would "win" whatever silly fight I had picked. Maybe, just maybe, I was afraid to actually give it a whirl. To try and find out that I was really good at it, only to discover that in being good at it I hurt everyone irreparably. Maybe because I learned early on that words hurt more than any bruise. Cut deeper than any scrape. And stung longer than anything I'd ever felt.
"Use your words", "You've gotta come up with something better than that", "Is that all?" -- NO, it most certainly is not. And no, I can't come up with something better, if I could, I would. And every time I use my words, things get lost in translation.
We, I, say things all day long. All the live-long-day. But do we actually say the things we mean? The things going on inside? Do we EVER really say them? Can we?
It's like...the things that go on inside our insides, are these complex sculptures, like those weird bulbous artistic kind of sculptures that nobody really knows what it is, except the person who made it. And so, we take words, like taking a needle to a balloon, and we exchange this complex 3-D thing, for a 2-D (arguably, anyway) flat, spelled-out word.
Does that do it justice?
Words, really, aren't enough.

Effervescence

2010-10-05T13:16:00.002-04:00

i see the moon hiding stars in the sky;
lighting the way, through ubiquitous night.
also with you, though try as i might,
you're outshining all, as you're lighting my eyes.

clouds rolling on,
the season comes home.
watching tonight,
when i'm all alone.

the tide's rolling in and the cove's full again,
everything is right now, deep peace from within.
so outside you, i'm depleted and thin
and i wait for the day when i'm with you again.

Holding together

2010-09-28T13:34:00.002-04:00

someone please, someone tell me
what do you do with these,
these things which won't let go.
these thoughts i can't just throw,
throw away.
the face i cannot forget,
and how i'd like to let,
let it stay this way.

but i cannot think, for the thoughts
that fill my head
i cannot dream
without this interrupting
and the strange thing is,
that's okay.

this is just temporary,
this is just how it has to be
i'll just hold together,
these small pieces till i'm back,
back where i'm supposed to be
you i cannot forget
and how id like to let it stay,
let it stay this way

just letting go
holding what's together
losing track, track of time
feels like i'm just losing my mind
but i see so clearly
and how i'd like to let it stay...
stay this way

Fall

2010-09-09T16:46:00.002-04:00

we're watching leaves dancing
hearing the winds singing
tasting the season's hintings
and holding out hope for change
for change that is steady coming
gently, softly seeping
and i'm just here watching
holding out my hand, like before
anxious expectation
joyful resignation
breathless inspiration
just like before, last year
the only change, differring
from past events spurring
in the canvas spreading
i know i don't hold out in emptiness
softly comforting
purely re-aligning
simply awe inspiring
it's You.
as we watch the fall

i. hug. fence.

2010-08-29T14:46:00.002-04:00

this clarity, it comes at a great price.
and somedays i'm willing to pay. others, i curse.
cursing my own longing for semblance of balance.
my darkest lenses see better than the roses,
they see me and others for what is true.
but they are brutal, and then i cannot take them off.
and then i remember all the things i hid away,
all the things which kept me up at night.
all the sights and sounds which echoed
inside my heart. i remember the scars along the arms,
the words of defeat. the hopeless resignations.
angry words and accusations. and i remember the safety.
that suffocating safety in the darkness.
where i was untouched, by any and all.
and it almost seems inviting. almost lures me in.
until the pictures come back. how i was willing
willing to fight my way out. willing to die.
wanting to. anything to escape and to feel.
so i'm hopping the fence. not towing it.
and i'm letting go. trusting God. and walking Home.
it's a long walk. and it feels like i'm walking in circles,
but you're always here.

Let's defy the odds

2010-08-20T09:32:00.002-04:00

one thing is always true,
that which i most forget.
the way that i bring my own pain-
when i turn my face from You.
gravity, wasted. depleted by time.
the world spins on watching,
waiting and grasping,
echoing that of my mind.
so let's defy the odds.
let's jump ship and go.
i'll empty my pocket of rocks,
if you'll lift this vertigo.
my hand, a needle and thread,
wait to be set free.
to build upon what You have said,
to do Your work for me.
and amid my city of wreckage
beneath the brush and debris,
i'm seeing a city of pillars
that cannot be shaken by me.
so let's defy the odds.
i'm seeing a city of pillars,
that cannot be shaken by me.

because with you, everything and nothing makes sense

2010-06-23T21:18:00.002-04:00

i graduated. well, sort of.
i'm 21 with my "whole life in front of me" and yet, i think i've seen it all.
that's the problem. i think that i've seen it all. i'm sure i haven't.
perhaps a pause in the hum of every day life would do me good. perhaps a good kick in the pants would, too. what is it of my generation, of which i am very much a part, that seems to believe that we should, nay deserve fulfillment in every aspect of our lives? i think about how i got here. i am not the product of a rich heritage of fairy-tale love stories, but rather of every day life moving on in spite of set-backs, up-sets, and start-ups. so, when i wake up early every morning to go to work, am i expecting to be "in love" with what i do always? if i go to college, will it be all that i wanted? Really, "What of this makes us who we are?" (S. Groves)
i graduated. sort of...

cold, not forgotten

2010-04-14T10:27:00.002-04:00

it's cold outside.
i shiver inside, i hold a cup tightly.
finger tips turn white.

your words still hang on.
they're catching, snagging at my soul.
like the wood my feet tread upon.

whispering ghosts, and shapes.
your memory i cannot forget, the way we were.
the way i longed for your face.

photographs recall, journals spill over.
when we knew, i knew; i wanted you.
it feels like it has been years of forever.

it's cold outside.
i shiver inside, holding on to what warmth i have.
because i've forgotten.
i've forgotten how to love my first Love.

jump

2010-04-06T17:24:00.002-04:00

from where i'm standing i cannot see far ahead
there are miles of uncertainty rolling out like the plains of the West
my fears as the size of thunderstorm clouds
roll out across the unknown territories ahead
holding back never did me any good
in the end we all lose

i'm holding my hands out expecting to be led
waiting for the Unseen Hands
when they lead, will i follow?
a dichotomy of grown up fears and childlike problems
convalescing from hiding under the covers too long
waiting for the morning

the dead is ressurecting
death has wrought new and better life
my God, His Son has shown me a new way to live
i'm watching the clouds, waiting for the storm
feeling the wind change on my face
it's time to jump

Nothing says something

2009-12-25T01:16:00.003-05:00

a thousand times when words have been needed, they've been unspoken.

when action was urgent, it was inaction.

where love was starving, it was left hungry another day.

is that to say, nothing says nothing?

no. nothing says something.

nothing says "i am afraid", "i don't want to", "i worry", "i am not the

one...", "someone else would be better...".

inaction, means action.

the action of not acting.

in the silence, in the still, in the winter death of inaction,

choices are made, acted upon, lived out.

silence is not silent forever.

and maybe it screams out more than we know.

it is my prayer for sinners like me,

who say they want change, who say they want to love others

and show Jesus' love alive in their lives

for the whole world to see. it is my prayer,

for you who try and keep failing, who get up to be knocked down.

who gasp for air amid the smog of your own struggles,

trust God. trust Jesus' blood to carry you not only from

condemnation but through tribulation. trust, and live.

trust, and act. for inaction speaks volumes.

i forget that i am on display for the world to see...

Good morning, sun.

2009-12-16T00:20:00.003-05:00

there are some things, like genetics, which i am glad pass on to the next generation.
things like enjoying a cup of coffee in the mornings.
if i did not have fond memories of watching my mom drink coffee every morning, i don't think i would much care for it, myself.
strangely, because it reminds me of being small, i like it.
i love sunny days, because i remember flying kites - those cheap 50 cent ones that'd break after about an hour - and running with my sister.
if my dad didn't so enjoy driving and talking, i should think that i wouldn't enjoy it very much at all - but, because i remember those things, all the times that i spent with people i love... i love those things now.
when you get older, people still ask you the same questions they've been asking you all your life: "what do you want to be when you grow up?" but the twist is that this time, you need a realistic answer. Doctors, lawyers, astronauts, and superhero-people, are all fine and good, but now it's time to be serious.
but, i don't want to forget what it means to dream.
i don't want to lost sight of enjoying the simple beauties of this life God has created; only to chase after a vocation because i am supposed to.
the twist is, i don't want to sit on my butt, either.
i want to live to the glory of The Only God, who made me.
and i want to remember what it is to dream, to run in the sunshine, to enjoy people's company and not just be there, but to BE there - not somewhere else in thought and desire.
hello new year, i am ready to be small.

Routine

2009-11-29T00:30:00.002-05:00

it's kind of humorous to me (kind of)
how terrifying routines are to me.
the way i fight outside of reason
to keep from being placed inside of a box of obligation.
only to find that i'd done it to myself long ago.

it's interesting to wake up to the same thoughts
every day. the same worries, the same dreams.
but they never progress, they never change.
i move along all day long, and never go anywhere.
and i blame everything else but me.

it's sobering to see the rapidity of life.
how fast it comes, and how quickly it's slipping away.
how it is actually possibly to sleep away your life.
to live in a dream world of safe routine,
only to wake up a life-time later to the end.

i don't want my recycled moments of safety.
the familiar, easy, tried.
i don't want to make it through to the end
and not have cried, fought, worked for what i love.
i don't want to wake up in the arms of GOD and feel that i hadn't done enough.

How long my GOD?

2009-11-21T00:57:00.002-05:00

if the mountains were crumbling all around,
and the hill sides were melting like wax.
but only that those without were well,
then i know i would be fine.
GOD, smite me.
take me.
may life hurl it's insults upon me.
for i know there is not a pain in this world,
that is not my own fault.
but, O my God, spare; do not allow,
do not allow sin to smother those around me,
and me to only stand by and watch.
i cannot watch, O God.
come quickly, and with You,
bring healing.
come quickly, and shed Your light.
hurry swiftly to these smoldering lands,
and save Your remnant.
only, God, may i live to fight for You,
and may i die also fighting for You.

What is Enough?

2009-10-22T23:15:00.003-04:00

The weight of uncertainty, the pull of productivity.
The things that spin out of the control of your hands.
The things we cannot change. The things we wish we could.
No one wakes up and hopes things to go this way.
Everything's so critical, so busy, you feel lost.
Maybe no one asks you how you're doing.
But maybe you wouldn't tell them anyway.
And it's a release you say you need.
I wish I could protect you, and bring back parts of your life.
To retract things you never should have had do see or feel.
I wish sin didn't wound so deep.
And that deeper wounds weren't used to compensate.
I just want for you to believe the Truth.
To hear the Gospel, as it was always for you.
To see the wounds that took your place.
Only Jesus' pain and suffering bring change, bring peace.
God, we're so broken.
Jesus, we're fractured into a thousand pieces.
Abba, when will the pain stop?
When will the sun rise again?

Honesty

2009-10-08T16:02:00.002-04:00

maybe i'm just cynical, but let's not kid ourselves.
you think you hurt now?
just wait, it can get worse.
you thought that was the worse case scenario?
just wait, you'll see worse.
they "never saw it coming"
that is, until it came.
present things are difficult,
until they are in the past.
this whole life seems to be a giant pyramid
reaching an apex in living against the odds of the
impossible, improbable and insufferable.
and those that are very well near done,
somehow have the ability to smile.
and so it must be, that while this life is on an incline of pain,
suffering, sin and sorrow;
there must be something greater hereafter.
a something that far outweighs,
and even negates the pain of the present.
taking the pain and wiping it away with good.
so let's be honest,
this isn't as good as it gets.

a-changing

2009-09-05T20:21:00.002-04:00

life moves on
in its steady whirlwind,
keeping the past just close enough to remember -
- with echoes of eternity leading ahead.
we use numbers, schedules and fashion to tell time.
HE who sits on the Throne has chosen a different way.
His fingers paint colors resplendent with vivacity.
vitality traces every outline.
we turn a page.
He turns a season.
we grow a year older,
He works miracles which grow a man more than time.
the climax of our seasons is the absence of life.
resurrected by the miracle of Spring.
the return of the sun.
the beginning of all things new.
it's merciful, is it not,
that each year begins with brand new life.
that the old, dead things are left in another time.
it is only memories which are not so merciful.
time is still turning.
slowly, surely, fully -- it comes,
singing, dancing, shouting;
crying, mourning, sighing.
another page is a-turning,
what change do you see?

these are the questions

2009-08-17T18:09:00.002-04:00

who are you?
who am i?
i look into the mirror but not long enough to catch a glimpse of who lives behind the eyes. and i figure, if i don't see it, no one else will either. if i keep busy, if i do things, if i'm productive no one but God will see the decline in things that matter more. i remember waiting up all night, frightened -- i didn't pray. it sounded like the rosary. the same words strung together by memory, uttered with insincere lips with a desire of equal out-put for in-put. my vending machine mentality, that if i put something in, some minuscule effort, God owes me. i'm glad He doesn't give equal out-put for what i've "put in".
another year is coming into focus. and more and more i am left wondering who i am. i am not defined by my grades, a degree, a vocation. not by my talents, failures, opportunities or social status. i am only a vapor, but i live like i'm set in stone. that is, there is so little time to truly live, and i spend so much of it being a selfish ass. so the question stands: who am i?

Therapy.

2009-08-07T01:12:00.002-04:00

crash. burn. [repeat]
afraid. run. [repeat]
trust. hurt. [repeat]
hope. dashed. [repeat]
despair. pain. [repeat]

i don't want to repeat.
to run this cycle.
breaking away has no clear route.
freedom has no boundaries to start from.
must leave behind, push away all this.
start from the end.
push towards the beginning.
i'm tired of hoping in things that dissappoint.
tired of seeing glimpses of Jerusalem,
dashed when the fog clears.
weary of seeing what i have strained so long to see,
only to find i have made myself believe them to be.
i want to run.
i want to cry.
i want to hide-away and never come out.
i want to run to You.
i want You to hide me.
please make sense of all this broken-ness.

2009-07-22T22:25:00.002-04:00

i can't think anymore.
i try, it doesn't work.
things come, they come to pass.
morning changes to day, to afternoon, to night.
then morning again.
there's no break from reality.
there's no breaking from me.
how can i leave, with things as they are?
i cannot go, cannot go far from here.
time makes things harder.
i forget what i wanted.
because i cannot see it anymore.
i dream in black and white.
if i dream at all.
i must rely on memories of dreams.
and hold onto pictures i've seen in the sky.
to songs i cannot quite remember.
and faces that grow more blurred with time.
i swim in an ocean of memories.
remember the awe...

star gazing

2009-07-08T22:17:00.002-04:00

i sit beneath the sky.

under wind, under light, under gravity.

i spy light out of the darkness.

over seas, over city, over space.

i trace a pattern in the sky.

like my grandmother. like my neighbor. like a stranger.

i whisper into the emptyness.

cricekts whisper. breeze answers. the orchestra of night.

i'm smaller than all, beneath this gaze.

smaller than a child. smaller than an ant. smaller than all.

i'm looking for You.

tracing. whispering. sitting. looking.

if You can whisper, please whisper.

if You can trace, please trace a message.

if You can sit with me, please sit.

if You look and see me amidst this world.

please show me.

please show. please teach. please open my eyes.

How should we then live?

2009-06-22T00:11:00.002-04:00

In light.

Of God's Grace.

Grace which is so out of line.

With everything we're taught.

How should we.

Who have been forgiven much.

Then, live?

Not living to attain.

What we're already given.

Not living to pay back.

What's already ours.

But, living.

Living knowing we're only alive.

Because Jesus died.

And God loves immensely.

So.

How?

Yeah.

2009-03-26T23:52:00.002-04:00

the way 'round the world is a lot closer,
not like the things that get under your skin.
a whole lot of open space
lying flat on the ground, without a fear.
there are different people, too
there's a world outside your window.
i guess i just got too caught up
playing shadow puppets on the wall,
too busy looking at reflections--
never seeing the real thing.
who knew rain puddles could sing?
or that wheat fields dance wildly, freely.
that color could be so intense,
so full and rich that it could captivate.
here, the same sun. same moon.
different world.

Rehab

2009-02-26T22:11:00.002-05:00

no matter how much space he doesn't occupy,
it makes no sense. everytime a corner turns
in the house, his voice should come from the
other room. but it doesn't. get used to it.
it just doesn't.
pictures, viewings, friends, family, flowers.
so many flowers, so many friends.
i trailed the casket in hopes of it sinking in.
to know that this is reality, this is now normal.
and it doesn't help. it didn't.
when the family is all talking, it feels wrong,
that he's not there. it doesn't add up.
so strange how one person can fill so much space,
and leave such big holes. such big holes.

Sail and Gails

2009-02-23T22:47:00.002-05:00

amid the rustle of the frost-burned grass,
underside the rubber soles of polished shoes-
in a place where few smiles survive,

she will wear the black dress, and she will
smile, she will sing. Proclaim to the sleepy
knoll, Jesus has taken away the sting.

the black sails that trail behind,
the box of all that remains,
walk slowly, traipsing on graves,
hover, whisper, tear drop across the place.

But she will smile.
In that long, black dress.
She will laugh, and smile --
She will sing.
"You can't hold him, you can't hold me"...
"Death, where is your sting?"

long goodbyes

2009-02-19T09:34:00.002-05:00

the trouble with knowing someone is the underlying fear,
of knowing you will have to say goodbye someday.
the trouble with loving someone is that one day they will be gone,
and there will only be the memory of the who and why.
and the problem of saying goodbye is that not matter how many times,
you tell your head it's not forever you cannot imagine anything else.

the trouble of suffering,
is that you cannot stop it.
the crux of pain,
is that no words, no thoughts can alleviate.

long goodbyes...
if you make it through today,
into tonight.
not sure if it's goodbye,
not sure until the last.

which way from here

2009-02-12T13:14:00.002-05:00

i should be reading,
the narrative of the life of FD.
i'd rather that i was singing,
and strumming, and moving to the beat.
the wind's blowing outside,
so loud and whistling through the cracks.
the sun is out and bright today,
shedding light in the winter,
waking the world up again.

and it's calm.
stillness, smoothness sun-light day.

who'd have thought?
i never wanted more than to be left alone.
the only one in the family who wanted for no company,
but a dog and a cabin in the mountains for home.
no wanderlust ever grew no desire to move.
but the wind picked up, lifted up,
and blew me, flew me, moved me around the globe.
now i'm not so sure i ever landed.
now i'm not so sure where home is.

and it's calm.
for a moment; stillness, smoothness sun-light day.

and the wind's blowing again,
where does it go from here?

Starting with nothing, ending with everything

2009-02-06T23:09:00.002-05:00

There's a "new math" a-brewing, as Andree Seu would quip.
A math which does not measure in earthly standards.
Love which does not devour and consume,
For only the Pure Love of God can both
devour and consume us in His love,
And, all the while, make us more ourselves,
More Alive than we ever were.
That idea, i confess, is not my own,
C.S.Lewis had it long before i was a
Twinkle in my father's eye.
But it still stands.
Love, the healing kind...
This new math, what does that mean?
Does it mean i give because i get?
No.
It means in losing, i will win.
In forfeiting every love and idol claim of my heart,
There will be wholeness.
St. Francis of Assisi had a pretty good
Idea of what this new math looked like:
"May I not seek to be consoled, but to console--
not so much to be loved, as to love--
not to be understood, but to understand..."
You see, you start with nothing,
But you end with everything.

From the Ground Up

2009-01-29T00:59:00.004-05:00

the old walls which withstood a thousand winters,
could not stand to wheather another year.
those same old thorns which pained the sides,
just couldn't hide inside anymore.
in a place where nothing could grow,
where brick and mortar lie like iron on the leaves;
as the walls which withstood a thousand tear drops,
that never could drop -- stood. it simply stood.

and with the rain it brought cold,
the night swells darkness around that multiplies.
but the wall just stood to stand in the way,
never protecting never keeping a promise it laid.
a thousand more winters and it would be,
forever the same -- always the same.
where blackness consumes and concrete seeps,
below flesh, below viens into a heart which lost all feeling.

and, Oh! how You tear me.
tear me down, brick by brick,
every inch of mortar.
how You tear me,
from the ground up.
You shake my foundation,
open my eyes, and --
i am undone. i am raw.
i cannot hide.
Oh! how You tear me...
from the ground up.

[insert title here]

2009-01-23T23:44:00.000-05:00

i wanted to sit down and write a poem,
about love, and hope and beauty.
so that's what i set my mind to.
but every word that came out,
it seems, was only full of bite and pain.
no rhymes, no meter, could bend to.
i thought about green mountains,
blue rivers that run accross deserts.
about the time i stuck french-fries up my nose.
remembered orphan's hugs and smiles.
still, no poem, no good, came out.
i tried to remember better days;
when i didn't worry so much about myself.
to a time when i didn't bother,
or stoop, to fit some sort of picture,
that society had made.
and i almost tricked myself to believe,
that too -- that i was once 'okay'.
until i ran headlong into a wall.
the wall of my own density,
the weight defying gravity,
filled with selfish intensity,
marked by human depravity.
and i didn't want to write any more,
not one more stupid poem.
about how good things'd gone today,
or about ways i'd made a change and difference.
i wanted to crawl under a rock,
to hide like a little kid.
but then i realized, that this-
predicament i find myself in,
this -- means that i already did.

What of this makes us who we are?

2009-01-20T14:18:00.000-05:00

"Some times it's hard to tell what to keep and what to kill, what of this makes us who we are?" - Sarah Groves

Some times it's a heck of a lot easier to write poetry than to write honestly without artistic shroud to cover up those things which are inexplicably hidden from the sight of others by careful rhyme and word choice. And some times, it's just easier to say nothing at all. After all, silence is golden, right? Not really.
I've done my fair share of saying nothing. Either saying nothing, quite literally, or saying nothing even when I speak. Making nothing more than a steady stream of noise to fill a void.

But what do I keep, if you will, of the past? What is good, what is right, what should I hang on to? And what needs to die?

I'm just wondering. What of this makes me who I am?

Un-finished

2008-12-10T23:52:00.000-05:00

i am unfinished in the Hands of a Working GOD.
there are mountains before and mountains behind, things will always change.
God is Himself unchanging.
i have not the strength to carry on nor the will to do so,
but through CHRIST, i can do all things.
i am weary of religion, and weary of carrying the weight of a world laden with hurt and bondage.
weary of hearing empty words spoken from empty mouths, with eyes so full of despair.
mourning the cry of the poor, the hungry, the forgotten in a world which has deaf ears.
we all see the need, and yet we all think of ourselves first.
i condemn no one, only what i fight in myself.
there lies within a longing to fight for a change to help others, but when you cannot even combat yourself on your own strength, what arrogance to think i can take on a world of people just like me.
God can change the world.
God can change my heart.
i trust to God the future, as i am yet just as unfinished as it.
we are unfinished works in the Hands of a Working God.
HE has never left anything unfinished, and all that He makes is good.

Farewell

2008-11-16T23:21:00.000-05:00

Here's to travels and crazies.
Who knows what the future holds?
After all, "The wonder of it all--
is where I'll be next year" as Monday Morning
would say. You really couldn't come up
with these kind of adventures on you own.
I'm glad God has a much better imagination
than I.
Change is in the air, even as seasons
change. And not everything will be as it
has been. But there is Hope in the future
and there is Faith in the promises of
God. And there is Love. And, so really
nothing will change so much.
I leave now to do laundry... and to
practice the art of bowing in a respective
manner...

Cherenobyl's Children

2008-11-13T16:13:00.000-05:00

Perhaps no one quite knew the magnitude of operations being carried on inside of a Communist era nuclear reactor facility. No one ever thought that one foolish slip-up, one careless action could ever create such destruction. And perhaps no one ever thought that one selfish ambition could shake the world. But that is where we are, is it not?
There have been entire communities, a generation, the product of the nuclear catastrophe. Fallout transcending years. And disfiguration and distortment which have followed generations. These carry the scars of the past with them into their future. If only Eve knew such repercussions. We surely do.
And it is in this sin stenched earth where Eve's progeny suffer the fallout of the disaster that was never intended to reach so far. It is in the disaster where Hope has been extended. And a whole generation from beginning to end, of disfigured saints and deformed pilgrims walk towards the cross of Jesus Christ. Knowing this -- we limp now, but we will walk. We cry now, but we shall laugh. We are scorned by our imperfections, but someday we will be perfect. Maranatha!

"Lest We Forget"

2008-10-27T00:35:00.000-04:00

Time stands like stones in the ground.
Marble marks the rest in life.
Time stands eternal still,
The lull in infinite transition.
Trees loom high above earthen tombs.
Earth covers over earth.
Sound hangs in whispered tune,
As clear-cut letter deciphers man's condition.
Time hangs still, lest we forget,
For no man.

- October 26, 2008

--------------------------------------------------

So, amidst traversing (and partially trespassing) through a field of cow-pies and boggy hitch-hiker seedy things sticking to my person, part of the adventures of this Sabbath involved a trip to a Civil War cemetery. i don't much like cemeteries, or my birthday for that matter, for certain reasons pertaining to death... but every so often, it is good to see outside of the bustle of humanity the outcome of life. For all the hustling and worrying very little attention is paid to the fact that we're all (unless Jesus comes back soon) going to be under a plot of land somewhere. Morbid, perhaps, but no less true. But to be serious, seeing all of the grave stones and a vast majority of them marked "Unknown" it got me thinking. These were men with hopes and aspirations, dreams and visions just like all men; but all they have to show for it on earth right now is a stone with narry even their name on it. Then the words etched in stone above said: "Lest We Forget" -- indeed, lest we forget that we are mortal. That we take nothing into this world with us and will take nothing out; that only what is done for God will last. Time seemed to stand still in that little plot of land, but that is only an illusion; because, really, time is an illusion -- temprality and time itself are generic knock-offs of the origional: eternity. And there is an eternity ahead. Lest we forget, we live now but a moment, but we shall live forever... who and what are you living for?

Vous n'allez pas secouer mon monde.

2008-10-25T00:21:00.000-04:00

What happens when you ask God to do things? Tonight is a prime example: miracles happen, the unthinkable happens, the improbable has no footing, truth makes an appearance and tired grips are reaffirmed.

Gravity

2008-10-17T11:49:00.000-04:00

It's raining outside.
The trees are undecided about which color to turn their leaves.
"The World Spins Madly On" is playing in the background.
And i know that's true.
Maybe there were days, in years past, when life felt less weighty.
Though, i can't remember a time like that. That's the beauty of age, i guess --
forgetfulness.
There's this gravity, this weight to everything i do.
Nothing is simply simple. Everything counts, everything matters.
Whether or not my actions are actually weighty, remains to be seen;
but i cannot live, i feel, in an ambiguous state of being.
i cannot say "i love you" to simply hear my words and hope that
they are enough to convince myself and others. There's this issue of gravity
that brings me down, that keeps my reigned in reminding me of what matters.
Softly, intrudingly bringing my head out of the clouds, back to the ground.
That's where life happens, anyway.
It's not possible to love without living. Though it may be possible to live without
ever really loving. And that's terrifying. Gravity, pull me down. And i'll wait
for this fog to clear.

one. thing.

2008-10-13T23:34:00.001-04:00

"I have one regret: I regret words."
(Prof. C.C. Chapel series)

"I'm hungry"

2008-10-05T23:13:00.000-04:00

in the Bible, there's a part where Jesus is talking about the end, and all people would be gathered and God would look to the people at His right and say "When I was hungry, you fed me. When I was naked, you clothed me. When I was sick and alone, you took care of me and stayed with me." (paraphrased) and they asked Him: "Lord, when did we do these things?" The answer? "What you have done unto the least of these, you have done unto me." The reverse of this is also true: What you haven't done unto the least of these, you haven't done for Jesus.
my heart is hurting, you see. i see this picture in my mind of a woman sitting alone on a park bench. i feel despair in her gaze and posture. i hear her words like a knife in my heart: "Can you help me? ...I'm hungry." in Calcutta we were told to ignore street beggars when they asked for money, because "it would do more harm than good"... if that's exactly true or not, i'm not sure. but i wasn't in Calcutta, and no one was there to make that decision for me. this was walking in Philly, on a gorgeous, crisp fall day; and there was no ignoring those words. they echo in my head even now.
thinking back on the situation... she lied. she didn't want food. we tried to give food. i lied too. i said i had no money. she said she just needed to get home. i asked how she would get home... she said she was homeless. and as soon as the change in my and another's pocket left our hands, our presence was no more acknowledged by this woman. it was like we were no longer there.
more than anything, i'd like to 'feel' good about this situation. i'd like to look back and say i did everything i could have possibly done, that i hadn't lied about money, that i was going about this purely to love someone and not to assauge my concience. what do i know anyway? more than anything i'd like to see the woman on the bench smiling, filled with more than food, happy with more than money. Jesus... today i heard you speaking... and i tried to help... but my assesment on what help is, in reality, is maybe not always the way i see help... i saw Jesus today and i cannot forget HIM.

Shuffle

2008-09-23T22:44:00.000-04:00

Honey-lemon lozenges, Sprite can, tissues, a faded burgundy canvas bound books reading "God was in Christ", deadlines, worlds to be discovered. A vast sea of memories which must swell the heart of many in the past, show up on small Kodachrome slides hilighted by the small slide viewer in my grandpa's apartment. Generations past, and yet they are so close. Smiles, and yet worlds apart. And to think of what I would have done with this evening if I had not been sick...
Shuffle, shuffle. Movement is not always advancement, and in the end, standing before the Throne of God looking at Christ for the first time, I shall not be (I don't think) finding great comfort in the fact that I "did" things. No, instead it would seem that taking time to smell flowers when they bloom, to hold hands that need to be held, to bear burdens that need to be born, to love those around regardless of deadlines, to see the royalty in the homeless man and the courage of the battered woman. To love the abused, confused, used... those things will not qualify or sanctify in themselves, but they will be time to spend with Jesus. And, after all, it makes for good preparation when we will be with Him forever, to spend time with Him now, does it not? So, tonight, let me stop the "shuffle" and take a deep (albeit, congested) breath and thank God...

Say hello to life

2008-09-12T00:28:00.000-04:00

A mess of splattered communication.
Mulling over future generations,
Screwed over by the current situations.
This is what we wake up to.

Misty mornings find them mourning.
Walking down the tracks scorning,
Decisions made without warning.
Good afternoon, dear. Say hello to life.

The board walk's slick as rain,
Frozen sticking to window panes,
Miles behind, time brings pain back again.
Driving away, away from life.

Everyone's talking, no one's listening,
Hearts sighing, heavy. Eyes glistening,
With tears, come, come trickling.
Good morning, just take this away.

Hang it out to dry,
Let it alone, just let it die,
Don't hang over like sun-setting skies.
Beautifully out of reach, always out of reach.

Pain's comming to Christmas every other year,
Leaving hearts to writhe, eyes to drown in their own tears.
Is there redemption, redemption amidst fear?
Say hello to life.

You didn't ask me if i wanted to love.
Now i've no choice. Here i am.
And now my heart's being torn away.
Say hello to life.

Sandcastles

2008-09-07T21:13:00.000-04:00

"All the chisels i have dulled carving idols of stone. They have crumbled like sand 'neath the waves. i have restlessly built all my dreams in the sand, just to watch them all wash away." - Jennifer Knapp

No matter how many times we built that castle -- it always sloshed and melted away beneath the torrent of water. And everytime we made a stronger structure, and reinforced caverns, it all fell just the same. Till i just sat down and salt water flowed from me and not the sea, painfully atune to the futility of our endeavor. Building on what cannot stand. Standing on what will fall. Falling with each gentle wave. These skeletons of idols littering the beach, these tomb stones marking human "acheivment" and endeavor are stale reminders of fuitile temporality of joy in "things" and not in God. So with each sweeping wave, crashing down upon the idols in my heart, may You build up, O Rock of Ages, a mountian in my heart. One not made by my hands. A Rock cut not with human hands.

"What Next?"

2008-08-25T10:48:00.000-04:00

As my good friend Jenna would say "what next?". So i reiterate along with the chorus of witnesses around me a question that everyone in the world is asking. What's next? We're here, somthing's finished and we're not sure what's to happen now. Where do we go from here? What should we do now? How do we go about living when our routine has been kicked swiftly in it's metaphorical behind out the back door?

Honestly, i have no clue. i wake up to ask God the same questions... "what next?" i've seen Him work miracles with the "fleece" i've laid before Him. i've seen Him provide in the desert places. So how is it that now i find myself asking what He's going to do when He's only ever provided the best? Perhaps, it's because i'm afraid. i have my ideas of how life "should" look. There are plans i'd like to see fulfilled, and to behonest God does not always fulfill my plans.

Lay aside my plans, God? H'okay. Show me how.

So... what next?

Though No one Knows

2008-08-21T01:20:00.000-04:00

We turn the lights like turning keys,
Exiting a room. Closing a door.
She smiles on the street, like a window;
No one else knows the things that go on below.
He says he's fine, texture aside,
No one else knows the pain behind his eyes.

It's like a game of hide-n-seek,
That we play, you and me.
We're like two peanuts in our shells,
Full of so much that we never show, never tell.
We don't even remember who first told us to cover up,
Gardens and Falls away, leaves and skins holding up.

Take my hand, mine's in His, i am me and He knows this.
Turn the lights out when you leave,
Don't forget to leave the keys.
Leave the doors widely open,
Hold your heart, though it's broken,
Up to One who knows

"...that age-old practice of man."

2008-08-19T02:03:00.000-04:00

The bad guys of the New Testament are interesting characters. Herin are no thugs in ski masks marauding through the streets pillaging and plundering. No cheating money-lenders, no seductive whores... only religious leaders. The "teachers of the law". The former, are all part of the New Testament, that is, minus the ski masks I don't believe they had those. The Kingdom of God was ushered in to a people completely undeserving of grace. The only problem was, there were some who believed they were some how less unworthy than others.

If you want to see Jesus ticked off at anyone, check out His interactions with the Pharisees. Jesus had choice words to these people. But why? Why would those so close to God be so distanced from God incarnate? Who was their god, then? Perhaps, though, it is best not to speculate but to think, in "real time" as it has been dubbed. Do I derive my joy out of serving God or the feeling of accomplishment I enjoy when I see myself serving God? Do I obey out of love to God, or out of the exhilaration of accolades that follow my "self-sacrifice"? Should I like to be seen as pious and respected on the streets by my fellow Christians because of my exterior faith? If so, then it is clear what god I would be serving and what god the Pharisees served. That is the insatiable appetite of the god of self.

Let the pillars be torn down, and the plank taken out. The old wine skins disposed of and the new wine poured into new wine skins. Here there can be no room for the decaying stench of the worship of self, that age old practice of man. Let broken-ness be the aim. Never stop to think "how humble and broken I am becoming!" for then all is lost once more. [This is the summary of a chapter in C.S.Lewis's "The Screwtape Letters" on the subject of Pride] How much is lost, truly, when we come into the House of the LORD to worship and we cannot see beyond our selves? God, my God! May it never be! Break me! Let my cry be uttered with the tax collecter in Luke: "God, have mercy on me... a sinner!" refusing even to look up, but mourning my own pitious state and glorifying in the glory of God's love.

Even when His voice echoes through the fog...

2008-08-14T22:18:00.000-04:00

Ach! My wanderlusting bones cannot begin to believe it is already that time of year. When frazled mothers lead their children who've been hypnotized all summer under the flashing lights of television and video games and occupied by sports and games -- now trying to remember how to be civil in public while picking up folders and pencils. That time, has come again. Those words which send chills up my spine: "Back to school".

Chills aside. It's really not that bad. And I'm only half serious when I say "chills". But, it's that time. Time to sit in a classroom and pretend to be learning. Time to put aside community for the sake of a degree. Time for the faithful college student to return to his or her underground existance, lit soley by the light of a computer screen and the occasional sunrise that we see when papers are due... THAT time.

We're one day closer to the future and what we'll "become". One day closer to a future that we envision, as if we can envision the end. As if the "end" were attainable on earth. Every end I've met is only another beginning entering into the next moment of life in this journey. And even when an end leaves me flabbergasted (no?) and perplexed, God's voice still echoes through the fog. He has been faithful. He is faithful. He will continue to be faithful.

This "end", perhaps not just of summer, but of familiarity, of clarity and comfortability - has an end. And this "end" is really only a beginning. It's foggy outside tonight, and my upcoming class scheduel is equally foggy... but it's okay, really. His voice speaks through the fog...

The Quiet Afters...

2008-07-13T00:16:00.000-04:00

There's something magical about weddings.
It's almost like Christmas morning. So much time is spent anticipating, preparing, planning; mass collisions of different spheres of friends and family mixing together for one day. Comraderie and songs flow freely amongst the newest of friends. Just for a moment in time, perhaps, we catch a tiny hint at Heaven. The Wedding Feast.
Not surprisingly, on this earth even the most joyful celebration comes to an end. The Bride and Groom waltz off into the sunset on the new path they've struck up together, and the guests leave happy, but heavy hearted. Celebration is over; the music stops playing. We go back to lives full of joy and pain, laughter and crying, life and death.
Like Christmas morning, the celebration -- the joy, it's culminated. There's an end to the celebration; and the old and the new friends go back into their circle of familiarity, feeling so caught up in the joy of the past and the seemingly un-endureable future of waiting another amount of days till the next celebration.
But -- if Jesus compared Heaven to a Wedding Feast, and He will be there. What joy will there be when we won't leave heavy-hearted, because the celebration will never end?

Softly coming, gently changing

2008-07-06T00:12:00.000-04:00

Mornings run like clock-work these days. The sun comes up too early and shines through the shade-less windows near the couch where I sleep. The puppy races down and jumps on me, licking my face excitedly wanting to be fed. Mom makes coffee, the familiar grinder whirring away reverbrating in my ears. Morning news, conversation and general chaos ensues. And then I get up.
I always thought I loved routines. Routines aren't always good. People make mistakes routinely, pain routinely follows hurt... and on and on. I wake up to routines, good and bad. We all do, really. I look in the mirror too long, criticizing. Pray. Lose my temper. Read a book to a sibling. Routinely.
The very thought of a break from the tempo of life as I know it is terrifying. This beat follows where I am, it keeps me like I am. That's just the point, I suppose. In order for there to be a new song, a next movement, there needs to be change. It's coming. Softly. Gently. Changing.

Definitely Not Befitting

2008-06-28T16:53:00.000-04:00

Red is not your color.
You wear it like your father.
Hold it in place,
Up in your face.

Black does not match,
Brooding and attached,
To that distand look you wear.
Can you really think no one cares?

Gripping your sides,
Bracing in the tide,
Of the ocean of wrath you sail.
You try and you fail. Always fail.

Prisoners of mind,
Everything looks just fine.
Red and torn, your defenses are worn,
Why do you even say you try anymore?

Turning -- turning over,
Rolling, moving over,
Handing it all over.
Releasing and dying.
Giving up and crying.
That's natural. That's befitting.

So Long Me

2008-06-23T00:13:00.000-04:00

Poems... Poetry. Words that I speak to hear.
Pictures, photographs. Stills that I pose to see.
Maybe you knew me, maybe you know.
Maybe you heard, maybe you see;
But, all I can say is so long me.
It's all so easy, you see.
There's so much more to reality;
There's alot to be said for self-less community.
Maybe you knew, maybe you know.
Did you hear? Did you see?
All I have to say is so long me.

and so it goes...

2008-05-02T10:34:00.000-04:00

it was interesting. i had no intentions of staying up until 4 am watching movies; but somehow that's exactly what happened. what is stranger still, all of the movies centered around one thing: love. without concious effort i proceeded to watch "Pay it forward", "The Notebook" and "Moulin Rouge". now, two of these movies i'm not a big fan of and would probably not reccomend them or watch them again; but it was just strange how three completely different movies could center on the same thing and come to the same conclusion: life is junk, so love. it could be said more eloquently, i know. but each film showed the nitty gritty and filthy side of life; messy human beings who struggle with their own fatal flaws. each film resolved that those things will not change, the problems of life (which, though the movies do not say this, seem to allow for a sin nature in man), but the way to make life bareable - to change the world, is to love people.

in the "Moulin Rouge" a quote that perplexed me was "the greatest thing you can learn is to love and to be loved in return" -- sounds rather "Beauty and the Beast"-esqu, no? it was strange that something should come out of a film rooted in sensual lust that seemed so close to truth that you could feel it. each film, though, resolved that the fleeting moments of pleasure on earth; the love you experienced, were all that a person could look forward to. the embraces, the loving words, the companionship, the sex -- all of that, to Hollywood, is love. it's a warm feeling which transcends all of life. but if that were all that it should take to keep people together for a happily ever after, why is the world so ravaged by broken hearts and divorce? if the feelings were enough to last a liftime, then why don't they?

Questions to ponder...

LIVE

2008-04-19T11:30:00.000-04:00

Green is sprouting, comming up, everywhere the eye can see.
Skies are blue, clouds shifting shape in an endless sea.
Kites flying high above drifting, flying, sailing above.
Bubbles float; they dance accross the wind in droves.
Laughter echoes... Smiles are spreading...
Music drifts, as life dances before time.
Father, for all these things, Thank you.
But even if grey replaces green;
Rain to take over sun.
If the only flight is of our strength;
And hearts are too heavy to float.
When tears flow, drowning out laughter;
Then music, too, becomes a lament.
Father, for this too, Thank you.

Fools tapping away...

2008-04-01T22:36:00.000-04:00

April Fools, and here I am. Tip-tapping away at the keyboard, catching up with the work to attain that "finished" feeling that will always elude, it's always just out of reach.
Dear God. Here I am. Tapping away pencils in the moonlight, I hope you recognize me. I've grown much more accustomed to feeling nothing at all. In my efforts to fit in.
The clock's tick-ticking away. I'm still tip-tapping today.
My theology's not popular conversation. My best friend's offensive. It'd be sooner accepted to spit in anothers face than mention the name of Jesus. Dear God, I hope you still recognize me.
April fools. Who's the fool?

Farewell

2008-03-25T23:17:00.000-04:00

I'm not quite sure where it happened, or how it did; but I changed so much somewhere along the way. Castles in the fog and muddy knees in the silt, faces in rocks and trees all so distracting. All judging; making, becoming, forming this view of me. And I don't like who I am to them, because I'm not sure. Is that me?
But it's okay, I'll still write broken love songs, with torn sheets and broke strings, I won't sing I'll scream but I'll say I am okay. What is okay? Are we okay?
And I don't chase rainbows anymore, because somehow that's not done. I don't wonder at wonderment, because growth means tollerance. I don't feel with feeling the whole world that is stealing all of me into who I don't want, I don't need. If I could just run away and think.
Does grace reside at the bottom of a bottle or the ashes in the tray? In the subtle distractions from the throbbing pain that comes from living in a world that's gone mad, its gone mad. Maybe I'm naive. I can't say. Tell that to the end of my knife clean of the blood I almost let; this life I almost let.
Does this still mean, that Jesus saves me? When I am least worthy of love? Oh, a pure love. I long, I pine. Let this whole world fade away, I'll stare into your eyes. Jesus.

Take a moment to live like you mean it

2008-03-18T23:27:00.000-04:00

A little dry-erase board clumsily attatched to my door reads: "LIVE like there's no tomorrow". Wrist bands in my jewelry box say: LIVE, LOVE, WWJD?; and so on. Books on my shelves speak about revolutions of love, and walking in God's steps, and being reveled with our true faces in the waking light of the mercy of God. Sermon notes litter my car floor along with gum wrapers and styrofoam coffee cups.
A little paper sits upon our family desktop. Piles of papers left unatended, and pencils strewn across the horizon. Car keys sit in my pocket, finances weigh in heavy on my mind. Music practice in an evening or two. Group projects need to be finished. Email need to be sent. People need to be called. Rooms need to be cleaned. Financed need to be managed. Panic needs room to grow.
All the while there are fake smiles, always fake. Sometimes I wonder if people are real at all. All the while behind exteriors there's nothing left, victim's of petty theft. Spending an entire life hoarding what is the very factor destroying authenticity. I wonder where all those hidden smiles, those hidden thoughts go? Does anyone know? I'd like to go. Just living to get by, makes me just want to cry. Living intentionally hurts, though. Where have all the real people gone? I'd like to go.

I'll never understand

2008-03-12T14:46:00.001-04:00

Some things never seem to make sense.
Like why we must kill to bring about peace...
How we have to tear down
So that we can build up.
Or fight to bring about forgiveness...
How maturity means experiencing,
And not reacting.
Things like death, that make us value life,
And pain that reminds us of comfort.
How our tears bring about healing,
That our anger could never bring about.
How a gentle and humble Savior,
Brought life to all by dying on a cross.

No -- it's your turn to be philosophical and deep, I just want to be me.

2008-03-05T22:42:00.000-05:00

I'm sure this doesn't happen to others. But... I don't know, maybe it does? Getting bogged down in the little things; caught up in who you're not, forgetting who you are. It's becoming tiring, this trying to say something new so that an ear might listen. Playing a new song everytime around, forgetting the song I was given. And, it's okay to be "deep" and to "say all the right things" but when it comes down to reality, who's really going to care if I, by myself, said all the right words? Do I dare to hope for God's Words to be spoken through me? Would it be possible to dream for peace knowing that, while I may never land an Oscar, God can surely use a life like mine? You be deep... tonight, I just need to seek...

Life. Love. Live

2008-02-22T12:06:00.000-05:00

I pulled in at 4:30 late, as always.
Who can say, really why I'm here?
But some force drew me to this doorstep,
Some heart pulled me in.
A smile and a cigarette usher me in the door,
Sounds of talk and laughter shatter worry and fear.
Rolling up sleaves, preparing a meal;
Laughing and speaking, slowly and real.
Lines formed around, first women and children,
Men waited patiently in the back of the row.
"Would you like some...", "Oh, si!"
She smiles with her tray in hand,
"That's my son over there". He's beautiful.
Tray after tray, serving up salad;
Smile after smile caught up in a cafeteria ballad.
After all is said and done, we sit among the rich;
Who speak and live and know, more than simple education.
But lives far more free than I know.
Maybe in this life, they've been cheated.
Can't hold a steady job, and their brilliance;
The world won't see...
But in Heaven, I expect to see seated -
Next to Jesus, the world's homeless, dejected and poor.

There is a Lover -- His name is Jesus

2008-01-25T00:25:00.000-05:00

Hope

2008-01-19T22:37:00.000-05:00

Call me crazy. I just don't want it anymore. The superficial highs of life; the moola, popularity, prince charming... I've tasted something better. Only, now it's confused with a thousand cries of my own selfish sin. I listen with my ear to the doorway hoping for the faintest sounds of change, of life in a wasteland of grasping the wind. Addictions run rampant, infecting generation to generation. Pain flows like water. Anger replaces tears. Violence takes the place of love. I'm not better than this.
But, I've tasted something better.
Something that goes beyond the reach of my ability. Hope, I'm sure, is not going to be found in you or in me -- Hope is going to be found in Faith, which is going to be found in Grace. Grace will reside with Love -- and God is Love. Not Valentine's hearts. AGAPE. God's Love -- the only real Love. Jesus knew what real Love meant. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote : "Let us develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness".
Can we pray for that? That and more -- we can know that God will answer our prayers, so that we may finally pray as Jesus did "Not what I will, but what YOU will."
I'm hoping for the greatest transformation... God shape my heart... open the doors wide enough for Your will.

2008-01-10T22:52:00.000-05:00

In dreams that cannot remember, in awakening before the sun;
A still soft voice hovers over the quiet dark horizon.
The prayer. To see through the eyes of the LORD,
the people of everyday.
An answer, hangs like breath in the air.
A gentle reminder, that today is a new day.
Pure chaos -- grueling conversation;
marked distincly by empty resignation.
Every word will not go un-heard,
every sound gathers 'round, to the cry for life.
Lord, is this right?
How does one see through the eyes of God?
To be sure, no one can. But to try, and fail,
and know that one voice is enough to shatter
flesh so frail.

Let my praise be real...

2008-01-04T22:57:00.000-05:00

"Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe" ~Hebrews 12:28

I am not Catholic. Though, I have recited the Apostles' Creed: "I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy *catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen". I know very little about the doctrines of Catholicism (I know very little about most things). I know that statues creep me out, Holy water is a bit too mysterious for me to understand, and Transubstantiation has divided many people over the centuries. I also know, that amidst crise of "Ave Maria!", of quotes from the Pope, and of general confusion on my part as to what I should and should not say in the service of a Catholic church... there is very much left to think about. A golden lampstand hanging above the head of the priest with a flame burning suspended by the Cross (symbolizing, if I am correct, the presence of God with us: Emmanuel), stained glass windows lined the walls some drawing pictures of the life of Jesus, others the lives of Saints. But more than anything... I'll take away the picture of an old man knealing before the cross and bowing his head asking God's forgiveness. Let it be real. Lord Jesus, let my prayers not be liturgical jargon spit back unto You, costing me nothing save a scant breath (but, if they be liturgical and in complete harmony with Scripture) let me pray and seek and ask and recite with the passion of a heart set ablaze with the intensity of grace in the face of deserved judgement! Ave Christus! What can I say? Father, let me not judge the hearts of others... but clean my heart! Let my praise, amidst my pining flesh, be real.

"pining in the trenches of a retching world"

2008-01-01T22:32:00.000-05:00

Today feels so much like yesterday and the day before; but time would have it that there is a marked distinction between the days. Today is the beginning of a new year.
"A new year!" I think "now I shall be able to move past those old struggles of last year." Resolutions and clean calendars don't make for much existential change in my heart, or extensive change whatsoever. Yet the thought of newness resonates within my soul. The very idea of renewal, of redemption, of a NEW day... my soul lies pining in the trenches of this retching world, languishing until the day of redemption. Even after the Apple drops, the excitement of a presumed new day is over, as it has become all to familiar in word and thought and deed.
A year ago as I walked along Calcutta streets, past beggars and businessmen, temples and shrines, death and life; I couldn't rid myself of the child-like exuberance of a new place. The smells and sounds and sights were all so different that I thought, surely, I was new... but to no avail. I still hated change, was still frustrated by overbearing people, thought selfishly before helping others. It was not a new year in the sense that I was longing for.
Here is what my heart pines for, the disasters of my soul (the landslides of emotions, the destruction of joy in a tumultuous tidal wave in my mind... natural disasters) the earth shares these same pains. As Paul said in Romans:

"For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express."
[Romans 8:20-26]

A New Name

2007-12-23T23:21:00.000-05:00

"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.

2007-12-19T20:37:00.000-05:00

"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.

2007-12-18T01:14:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-09T18:28:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-05T12:56:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-16T00:07:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-05T17:49:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-02T09:52:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-04T23:56:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-09-25T11:52:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-09-14T22:18:00.000-04:00

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?

2007-09-01T09:51:00.000-04:00

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

2007-07-31T23:24:00.000-04:00

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

2007-07-22T23:37:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-07-18T23:07:00.000-04:00

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

2007-06-21T20:24:00.000-04:00

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

2007-06-13T22:40:00.000-04:00

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