I Guess That's It, Then.

I don't know where it goes sometimes. One moment you're laughing with your friends in the car, arm dangling out the window with the summer wind smacking against your skin and the stereo loud, then next thing you know you're waking up to a snowy morning. The falling leaves told me it was coming, but I didn't notice until all the trees were left bare. Change has a way of happening gradually and since it does, I hardly notice it even taking place. Once the old is gone and the new has wiggled its way into the mundane, I finally step back to realize it and then I ask myself where it went, all that time and did I spend it as I should have?

It's funny how so much can happen in just 365 days. All those emotions knitted together into one ugly sweater that fits just right. I'm glad to have it behind me now, but parts of it I know I'll always hold dear. There was pain and there was wonder, it was a beautiful kind of mess. There was growth and lots of it. Lessons were learned and made note of, so that they'd never have to repeat themselves again. There were plenty of tears, hitting rock bottom more than once and then there was victory in the practice of taking a single step at a time. I wouldn't have pictured myself here, but then again, I'm not quite sure what I would have pictured. Life has its ways of doing everything you didn't expect and sometimes its best that way.

The new year is right around the corner and to be honest I am terrified. I know that things will change and feelings will be taken away that can never be replaced. I know that life will throw its curve balls, catching me off guard and sending me tumbling down again. I know I'll make messes and let people down. I know that other people will let me down too. All I'm certain about is the uncertainty of it all and frankly that scares me, but it doesn't stop me either. There is a kind of excitement in one big slate of empty. There are moments out there waiting for me, ready to shape me into who I'm suppose to be. There is time waiting to be filled, not time waiting to be killed. 2013 is days away and I am plenty afraid, but the more I think on it, I know it is a healthy sort of fear.

I'm not going to make any great resolutions, tying myself to expectations that I might never reach. I think I'm just going to take it slow this year, putting one foot in front of the other and living in the moment. Time might never be on my side, so I'm not going to try and manipulate it any longer. I don't know how much time I have left, God only knows that, but I do know that I don't want to be selfish about it, hoarding it all to myself.

So I guess that's it then. So long, 2012. You've been interesting. I'm not sad to see you go, but I'll be taking pieces of you with me. As for you 2013...I'll see you in a couple of days.

Happy new year, friends! Thanks for stopping by and if you're reading this, please drop me a comment and let me know what's on your mind this new years. Resolutions? Reflections? Excitement? Fear? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

The Lights That Still Shine After Christmas

It's the day after Christmas and all the celebrations and traditions are behind us. We gathered up all our memories, recognized how much we are blessed and still rejoice because our Savior is with us. Lights are still wrapped along banisters and strung about the house, but even with all their colors, they could never keep out the kind of darkness that still remains for some.

Crinkled wrapping paper remains have been cleared away from the floor, but there is one gift that is yet to be unwrapped. It isn't just any gift though, it's the greatest gift of all time. It's the free gift of Christ's love and for some, it might never be opened.

The thing that saddens me most is how close the world came. It was right in front of their faces. They sang about Christ the Savior being born in Bethlehem and how He's come to save us from our sins. The words were coming out of their mouths, but their hearts didn't even begin to understand. They were looking, but they weren't really seeing. They were hearing, but they weren't even listening.

There's a broken world out there, people walk around as if they were whole, but the emptiness eats at them every day. They've walked in darkness all year long, but for 25 days in December they peeked at the light. They saw something, but they didn't know how to hold onto it. I know this because I was one of them once and let me tell you something...I saw something colorful, a love that ruled a believing life and I wanted that. I saw that joy and I knew I needed that. I turned from my sins because I was told that His arms would be wide open and they were. Another Christian showed me the light and little by little, God pulled me out of my blind cave. We've got to love like that, so that others will want to know why. We've got to walk in the light, because somewhere someone out there is hungry for change.

My sin has pulled me back for so long and even though I still cling to it sometimes, I know its time to shake it off, all that fear. If we are children of light then we'd better start acting like it, otherwise we have nothing offer to a hurting world. He is the light, we are His children and that makes us children of Light. We don't get taken down after Christmas to be stored away in the basement for next year, tempting as that is, its just not an option. A heart never has a break from beating and if it does then it becomes useless. The sun comes up every day and when it does we know its there. We have to live like that, otherwise we're as good as dark.

"He redeemed my soul from going down to the pit, and I will live to enjoy the light." ~Job 33:28

Restless

Clean this heart and make sense of it. Peel away the filth from my grasp, even though I still cling to it with these hands, I don't want it. What I want is to be rid of it.

As for the thoughts that come on me like a plague in the night, robbing me of rest at reasonable hours; let them be understood. I do not ask that You take them from me completely, for that leaves behind a certain sense of failure, puzzles that were left half-finished and then thrown back into the box.

So make sense, if You will, of these musings, because I have finally come to the end of myself. I won't pretend that my need for You is little, neither will I aim at understanding just how great my need for You really is. The arrow would never reach the mark, for the human mind is so small and I am convinced that my mind must be smaller than most's, for if it were a decent enough size, I doubt that it would threaten, as it does so often, to burst.

Just Because My Eyes Are Closed Doesn't Mean Its Dark

Rivers don't always come in water, sometimes they make appearances in the form of light. We're like little boats, floating along golden rapids. This could be beautiful, if we didn't so often keep our eyes clamped shut from seeing it. It's like we know its there, the light, but choose to hide from it. Perhaps it is the fear of being without darkness, those small tastes of shadows, the little doses that we seem to be able to justify if rationed into small proportions.

The fact is, sin is sin and darkness can never be light. I know its hard to swallow, that concept, perhaps though it isn't so much the fact itself that leaves us feeling so uneasy, but the feeling that we don't want to let go of. Its like we don't want to be separated from it, because somehow we tell ourselves we can never be complete if left without it. We all seem to land right there in the middle, lukewarm waters, half light, half dark, or so we think. There really is no middle ground. Light is light and dark is dark, so why are we so easily confused between the two?

Do you know that feeling of alarm? Perhaps you've felt it in the middle of the night, when someone flipped on the light switch when you weren't expecting it. Its not that you despised the light itself, but that you were more comfortable in the darkness. It hurts a little at first, stings the eyes and often exposes some bed head that you didn't want anyone else to see. It just takes a little getting use to, that's all. We think we're better off in the dark, but once we come out of it, awaken our senses, we see how much better it is to be living in the light.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a half lit room, like I'm pulling up that dimmer switch with all my finger muscles, but it isn't moving an inch and frankly I don't want it to. Its like I'm telling God its glued there, that I don't have any control, but I know in my head somewhere, in the back of my mind, that I'm the one holding it in place.

It's a beautiful privilege to be paddling along this river of light. The waters are liquid gold, shimmering and always pleasant. I love it here. I just wish I wouldn't cover my eyes so often, muddying the waters by indulging in the occasional shadow.

The Only Thing Good In Me

     

"You think you're better than me, because you're some 'Christian'?" 

If anyone asking that question could see within me, walk the halls of my heart, I'm almost certain they'd understand the answer. I'd like to tell them they haven't seen failure until they've met me. I'd like to show them they haven't seen broken, until they've known me. The fact is, me being a Christian only makes me aware of how much worse of a sinner I am than you. There is nothing good in me.

It's heartbreaking and laughable all at once, to think that anyone in their right mind could ask that of me.  Me, of all people. Paul thought he was the chief of sinners, but when I look inside myself, see all the times I've sinned against Jesus, my best friend, I think the title should belong to me.

Grace is the reason I sing. It's the only thing that keeps me smiling. Joy comes, not because I am good, but because God is good and He has spread my sins as far as the east is from the west.

I am sinful and depraved, broken and scarred. God extended His grace to me, not because I was lovable, but because He is love. I am not good. Jesus is the only thing good in me.

"For as it is written: 'None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one.'"

 ~Romans 3:10-12

A Slightly Bah Humbug Take On Thanksgiving

"And when I give thanks for the seemingly microscopic,

   I make a place for God to grow within me."

~Ann Voskamp

To be painfully honest, my enthusiasm for the holiday is lessening. The idea of setting aside an entire day to gorge ourselves into food comas is slightly disgusting, if you really take it into consideration. We eat because we're hungry and then we eat even though we're not. I know what you're thinking, It's thanksgiving. Lighten up. So with that being said, I'll drop the negativity and press on to more pleasant things.

Thanksgiving is the practice of giving thanks. It's the bold letters marked on calendars to tell the world its time. Time to acknowledge the fact that there is a loving God who showers His blessings on the undeserving, that's us. Most people scarcely find the time to utter a short prayer of thanks before an ordinary meal, but on this day they make an exception. It is a common practice for everyone to go around the table, taking turns to state things they are most thankful for. The things you usually hear are simple. The everyday things. The things they know they take for granted. If you watch this practice take place, really look into the eyes of the ones speaking, breathing out gratitude, you'll notice something: it makes them glad.

What a thought, actually setting aside a moment to recognize blessing. Do you see what it does to people? It makes them happy. Excitement weaves its way into their faces, leaving contented smiles and eyes that see as if they were fully awake. It's a remarkable discovery. They found the treasure, the answer they've been craving for so very long. And then they leave it there, all that gold, that everlasting joy. Once the sound of their alarms rip through the silence, they slap it down, catching a short glance at the early hour it reads. They rush to the stores, pushing through crowds and screaming at strangers. Riots explode over fools gold; smart phones that will crack if met by accident and expensive shoes and clothes that will soon be out of style.

I'm not denying my own selfishness, the amount of times I grumble over circumstance or whine about how much better my life would look if I just had that, or if this one thing just wasn't there anymore. I preach to myself when I say, we are selfish. We are basically sleeping, half awake to what we should really be seeing.

Thanksgiving day can be ugly or beautiful, genuine or hypocritical. It can be a day of practicing what we practice every day, drinking in the wonder of God's grace and praising Him for His unfathomable goodness. Or it can be a day set aside for the single purpose of greed, indulging in fleeting pleasures that won't last, saying thank you when we don't really mean it.

If we resolve to give thanks every day, for all things, in every circumstance, then our hearts will always be full. We will see with eyes wide open and feel with hearts that aren't numb. The answer is thanksgiving, giving back to God with genuine gratitude, all day, every day, no matter what it costs us.

So happy thanksgiving, today, tomorrow and the next and every day after that. Feel free to share you're thanksgiving experiences in the comments below. I'd love to hear about the memories you made. As Bah Humbug as this post might sound, I really do love this day, this time of giving thanks alongside the people that put the color into our lives. What are you thankful for?

The Logic Of A Wish

Wishes are the dreams that we hope for, all the while knowing it isn't likely for them to come to pass. They are the desires cast upon countless shooting stars, the coins tossed, with eyes clenched shut, into fountains. Wishes are the secrets whispered into dandelion dust and carried into the wind.
The coins splash into still waters and it sounds like progress. The seeds float out of sight and we think they're going somewhere. The stars make a hurried appearance and something stirs inside ourselves, a voice that tells us all things are possible.

I think that we all want something to hold onto, hope when change seems unlikely, but maybe wishes aren't the answer in and of themselves. Maybe we need to take the same faith we give a shooting star and invest that belief into the One who made the stars. He says that all things are possible and all that's left for us to do is ask, believe.

I've never closed my eyes and wished for something great to happen after blowing out candles on a birthday cake. That's just never seemed realistic, no matter what my age. Maybe it was because I wanted to hold onto my pride, not lowering myself to the childhood friend sitting next to me, the one who told me santa clause really did exist, after I informed her otherwise. I suppose there's nothing wrong with being realistic, seeing things as they are, just as long as it doesn't interfere with faith in the things that really matter.

Faith isn't easy, at least not for me. The thought of praying to someone I can't see, but believe in, is hard. The Bible says to have faith like a child, but I wasn't all that trustful as a kid either.

I blow dandelion dust because I like to watch the wind carry it off, not because I think all of my wildest dreams will finally come true. I've scarcely tossed pennies into fountains, but when I did, it was because I liked the way the sun beat down on them and made them glitter like diamonds in an opened jewelry box. As for shooting stars, well, let's face it, seeing them is a rare experience. Who has time for wishes anyway, when taking in that kind of excitement?

Maybe wishes are the things that we long for, the desires that seem to us impossible and maybe faith is the bridge that makes them attainable.

"If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you." ~John 15:7

I Write Things

Freedom is something we all ache for, because ultimately we are all being weighed down or bound by something. Relief is the exhale when we have breathed in the solution, found the key. Keys come in all different shapes and sizes. Some of us have what you might call a collection of keys and out of my personal collection is a pen, a pen and a notebook of blank pages that are reserved for all of my ramblings.

When I write the world makes better sense and I don't understand why.

There have often been days or sleepless nights due to a kind of pain that can hardly be described and when I can't form the words into a verbal prayer, my tears translate into letters, scribbles of my insides and it becomes easier to breathe.

I write and I don't stop until it gets better, because it always gets better, at least for a time.

To me there is a simple sort of pleasure in a notebook full of ink. Those are my words, my feelings, fictional worlds I have created, my insides communicated. I don't know why I do it or if it matters, but I won't stop until I find out.

I write because I never want to forget what its like to feel. I write because it is the easiest way to let it out, to make sense of all of life's perplexities and heartaches, to capture moments into words that will never fade away. I write because the right words never skip off of my tongue and they always land where I think they should on a page. I write because it makes me feel alive. I write because God uses those words to set me free, to open my eyes day after day to all the solutions He maps out for me. He gave me this pen, this key, so that I might understand Him better, so that I might stay awake to hear Him speak, to see Him at work all around me.

I drain ink out of pens and it makes me feel free. What about you?

Remember When

Remember when we took off our shoes and walked the rocky shore in the cool Autumn air? Waves left cold salty kisses on the warm sand and we left footprints that washed away within seconds. You all charged the sea with you're clothes on, letting the frigid waves break you're fall. I stood back and smiled, talking with the rest and marveling at you're insanity.

Remember when we sat on the rocky dunes listening to the sea, as the evening sun leaked onto our skin? Thick ocean air blew, rippling our clothes gently.

Remember when we told the ocean goodnight and piled into the car? Most of you were all wet, you're teeth chattering and bodies shaking as you laughed telling yourselves it was worth it. We passed you the rice cakes and peanut butter and you made little sandwiches with them, crunching the sticky snack, while exchanging laughs and conversations that made us laugh.

Remember when we bounced for hours on that big trampoline and the little kids re-taught us games we use to play at their age? We laughed and jumped and then laughed and jumped some more, smiling at the simplicity of it all. Then we joined everyone else at the fire, talking and listening as the embers slowly put us to sleep. We wondered how something so powerful, so potentially dangerous, could have such a gentle hold on us. The stars were out, so we tilted our heads back and watched them glitter in the cool night air. Everything wasn't as it should be, in fact our troubles were piling up, but we let ourselves forget that day, soaking in every moment.
One day you'll ask me or I'll ask you if we remember when and we'll smile at the memory, looking back at how far we've come.

Carvings and Scars

You carved You're name on my heart and though the process of engraving hurt, I am forever indebted to You for this stain, this mark of love.

For years I was searching, the darkness was closing in on me. I heard You're voice in the distance, but thought I could find the way all on my own, but You stepped in and knocked me off my feet, with a push so fierce, but gentle all at once.

And now what's left of me, but a sinner decreasing gradually? I want there to be less of me, strange isn't it? I never longed for it before, but now it is my deepest desire.
Sometimes I still wander, away from You're touch, but I only think I've gone somewhere without You, for You are in me, You're mark tells me I belong in You're arms.
I run my fingers across the scar and feel You're love. You wrote it there, You're name. I can't see it with these eyes, or feel it with these hands, but the carving is there and somehow it always brings me back to You're embrace. Because You have stained me with You're love, I am forever changed and still, by You're grace unfathomable, I am changing.

I Have Time For This

Clocks move fast and I know I should be moving even faster. I'm already late, but something stops me. I don't have time for this! I tell myself, while starting for the stairs. I can't move though, I'm frozen. It's like I know that I don't even have a choice. Learn to appreciate a beautiful moment without you're camera! I preach to myself, but it doesn't work.

The shutter clicks once, then again, three times, maybe seven. Voices shout to me from lower floors, reminding me that I have to be somewhere. Okay, that's enough. I decide.

I race down the hallway, retracing my steps back to my room. I return the camera to its safe place in the bag and then slam the door behind me.

The Artist is constantly at work, splashing His creations all over everywhere, but most of the time the audience is looking in the wrong direction. It isn't that beauty has vanished, just that we are blinded to it...no, distracted from it. The sounds of ticking clocks seems to overpower the gentle whispers of His presence and sadly, we scarce think twice about it.

Were always late for something, or fighting to get there on time. Priorities build in our minds, cluttering our thoughts with the trivial things. The Artist is more than aware of this and His response is far too gracious for my mind to even grasp. His brush tickles the canvas, splashing colors and shapes everywhere. It's almost as if He were telling us to just slow down, stop and remember that He is the purpose in all of this.

Busy or not, we need to stay focused. Our main pursuit is Christ, our one desire should be to know and love Him with all of our hearts. He is a jealous God. He wants our all and we should want to give it to Him. Sure, we might have places to be or people to see, but in doing those things, let's stay awake, fully awake to the gentle whispers and reminders that He sets before us. Think about it...what if you were to cook up a feast, a massive feast. There you are, staring at the table, waiting for the ones you love to come in and enjoy it. They rush through the room, notice it briefly and then say, "I don't have time for this!" They don't even taste a bite of it, they just race through the door and leave you standing there. They don't even say thank you. 

How often do we stop to acknowledge God's creations and thank Him for the privilege of enjoying them? Have our senses become so dull to the wonder around us, that we think the fleeting treasures of this world are of greeter import? Next time you see the Artist's handiwork, stop. Say thank you. Don't just rush out the door. Tell yourself, "I have time for this." Even if you can only spare a few moments, spare it. Sharpen you're senses. Stay awake. It will change everything. It will be worth it.

"You shall not bow down to them or serve them, 

for I the LORD your God am a jealous God" ~Exodus 20:5

Faith Like A Mustard Seed

"Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art.

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art."

The air is crisp and clean, I wrap my sweater a little closer and close my eyes. A smile dances its way across my cheeks and I can't help it. The birds sing endlessly, the trees ruffle softly and I feel You're nearness. It's been too long. Unbelief has been my constant companion, feeding bits of poison into my subconscious and nagging at my conscience. This heart, restless and running, gasping for breath, finally slowed down, and in those moments of quiet, the choice came. Would I entertain distraction, or fight for a moment in You're presence?
Closed toed shoes grip the wooden floor and rock the swing, slowly, back and forth. Summer has officially become a memory and thus the transition into Autumn begins. Out in the open air, it seems easier to open my heart to You. My head is cleared of manmade distractions and I breathe in You're wonders, drink in the sights and smells of tranquil surroundings.
I can't write anything decent and so I pen simplicity, preaching truths to myself, until they sink in. Ink oozes onto the page, straight from my heart, as I start to feel awake again. You put a song in my head and for some reason I search for the lyrics. In the stillness of solitude I sing them out, these marvelous words that match the happy musings on my heart. I understand it then, that it isn't about me. It isn't my world, it's Yours.
Faith comes like a waterfall when I point my eyes and heart in the right direction. Thoughts of how You created this world, man out of dust, breathed it all into existence with the sound of You're voice...these thoughts continue to wake me up. Belief builds, unbelief dies. Doubts shatter at the remembrance of You're greatness and I am filled with a joy unspeakable, one that does not depend on circumstance.

"O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder

Consider all the works thy hands have made

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder

Thy power throughout the universe displayed."

"When through the woods, and forest glades I wander

And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees

When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur 

And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze."

"And when I think, that God His Son not sparing

Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in

That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing

He bled and died to take away my sin."

True satisfaction comes only from the saturation of mind and heart, in the person of Christ. The reality that I am here for You're purposes and not my own cannot be emphasized enough. You are the reason for all of this. You are the reason. You are the reason! How often do I get caught up in my own selfishness and then cast the blame on You for being distant? And You forgive me? Again and again, you pull me near? 

What if all of my dreams have died and continue to die? It doesn't matter. What if people let me down, over and over again? It doesn't matter. What if circumstance is ugly? It doesn't matter! You are the reason for all of this and no matter what I tell myself, it's not about me.

My faith is small, yes. It's about as impressive as a mustard seed, but I'm planting that thing in the dirt and I believe and see that it is and will continue to grow into something stronger, strong enough to tell mountains what to do and they will listen.

 He replied, "Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you. " ~Matthew 17:20

You Want My Brokenness

You said that it was finished, that it was completely done, but somehow it still visits me...that haunting memory of who I once was, the leftovers of a corrupted soul, evidence still sneaking its way into a redeemed life.

I can't escape it. The sights are too vivid, the wicked whispers make too much sense and I listen. Why do I listen? I clench my eyes shut, attempting to drown the thoughts that swim so skillfully, but their talents are no match for my weakness. The light casts its shine on all of my mistakes, the realities that surround me. I thirst for tomorrow, an empty slate, eyes awakening to a fresh start, and You give it to me. Why do you give it to me? 

You touch that fiery substance in the sky and carry it slowly out of sight, leaking coats of flaming orange, washing away the sins that stand before me and covering all the regrets with a blanket of darkness. Soft whispers of goodnight resound in my ears, mind, and heart as I close my eyes.

I sneak a glance ahead and smile. The strong shades of orange have been mixed with hot reds, burning the fears and failures to ash. You look at me and I am amazed that You are able to look past me. You look past me and see what You have made me. I want to look away, to hide myself, my sinful self, from Your perfect image, but Your eyes hold on to mine. You don't let go. I've let You down again, but that's not what You see. I am broken, but You love my brokenness. You have paid for it all and so I draw near to You, shaking and still so ashamed. You hold me and remind me, not who I was, but who You are and then it all becomes clear to me. I am forgiven. I let go of those nightmares, those memories of who I was and I fall. I fall into Your loving arms once more, knowing that You are forever. You won't leave me, though You have every right to. You love with a love that never lets go and You always will.

I am unstable in all my ways, a walking heartache, but You tell me that it is finished, that what You complete is completely done, and You cannot lie, and so I believe.

Click here and listen to these truths

Perspective

I wait for you. The little hands on that clock have been rolling on and on for hours and it seems endless.  Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever show yourself, and usually you don't. Often your presence graces me in morning air, but all too often you are late, you wait until dusk to arrive. Oh, but I never do complain. In all honesty, I'm just relieved that you decided to show yourself at all.

Your name is perspective and you have a funny sense of humor. We get on well at times, but you're existence is so unstable, making our relationship...well...somewhat of a challenge. I don't care too much for you when you're gone.  In fact, I despise you. Why don't you pick up on these simple hints, the looks we exchange when you stumble through that door, giving me that sly smile, in hopes that I will look over your inconsiderate behavior? Do you know how long I've waited here? Why could you not appear sooner? Are you so busy with the cares of others, melting their stress away and sprinkling inspiration on their days?

I feel the emptiness closing in, that sense of purpose wandering, slipping through the grip of my fingertips. I'd hold on to you, but it all seems so...so helpless.

I laugh, ever so slightly. Is that you, perspective? I know it isn't you, for you've made yourself a stranger. I've lost count of all the seconds that I've spent waiting for you. I know that you've been gone, all the day, someplace else, everywhere else, except here. Something drops, a weight from inside me. No, surely it wasn't you. It was my choice to do something about it, not yours. Those hours I spent waiting for you to arrive, it was my choice to leave, to end the dripping complaints, to get on with my life.

I feel the cool night air, whispering through the window and pull my sweater closer to me. I seem to notice every little pleasure this night has to offer, the frustrations of the day seem a little less important than they did earlier. I come up the stairs, walking that creaky and familiar route. The world is so still up here. Crickets have performed that very tune night after night, all summer long and I think they have finally perfected it.

Perspective? Do you arrive when you choose, or was it my actions that brought you here? I've always put it on you, all that responsibility, when in reality you are just a word. You are just a word that I can use to describe what I am doing, what I've been waiting for...this sense of trust, purpose. This peace in knowing that it will all be okay. This peek inside the studio where the Artist paints the big picture.

I think I feel it sinking in. I know I've said this before, but something's different this time. Something's changed. Don't look at me like that, as if I'm the one walking in so late. Haven't I been waiting for you all this time? Or perhaps it was me who kept you waiting. Yes, I remember. We've talked this over before, haven't we? You aren't someone I know, you're something I do. You're that choice, that discipline of thoughts and actions. Our relationship is unstable, yes, but only because I treat you as if you were some sort of inspiration, dropping in unexpectedly.

Forgive me for treating you as if you were pixie dust, a handful of magic. You are a choice. Realistic. Logical. You are there, always, unless I push you into the shadows. So come on out of there. No, you don't need to inch out slowly, I won't bite. Ah, there you are. Now I can see you, almost entirely. It's good to have you here, keeping my mind and heart awake. Ha, I was about to request that you prolong your visit, but I suppose I should be telling myself to guarantee the hospitality.

Afraid Of Fear

Some words we just don't talk about and if we do venture to discuss them it isn't in a questioning sort of manner. There is an invisible line that just can't be crossed...or can it? That line was drawn by prisoners of fear and once a single soul was held captive, the numbers only increased and the more we heard of it, the more we were convinced, fooled into bondage by the least productive myth of all time.
To be afraid is to be trapped inside a cell with key in hand. You are your own prisoner. This condition is self-inflicted, because you chose to consume the lies that satan fed you.
I know fear. It visits me often and only because it knows that I am a returning customer, weak and susceptible to its techniques. Whether its anxiety attacks that assault the physical, or distrusts of the mind that aren't even available for public discussion. I know fear and fear knows me, but there is a way for us to be strangers.
I've thought about fear in a way that questions its existence, examines the source to find that there is no source. I think on the worst thing that could possibly happen and find that I'd rather endure that one thing I am afraid of than the shaking of hands and shortness of breaths, the thoughts that eat away at my soul. I've come to the all too obvious conclusion that fear isn't necessary, its not productive. The number of verses concerning this subject is astonishing. The answer is within those leather-bound pages of scripture, and it is the only medication that will ever work. When you take a pill you might need food or water to wash it down and keep it there, but when it comes to this medicine, the words of Christ, trust is the only necessary companion for the treatment to take effect.
I am afraid of fear, but a little less than I was yesterday. It hasn't completely disappeared and not because the medication of truth is defective, but because my sinful tendency to distrust the sovereignty of God prevents it from going away completely. I try not to think about fear, but when it does revisit me I feed myself truth and I practice trust. Sometimes though, I am afraid to even think about it. I was afraid of even writing this post, pathetic as that might sound, because it would remind me, but the possibility of others with the very same "condition" led me to share these things. I know that you're out there, but I don't know if you're reading this. I pray that you are, because I want to remind you that fear is ridiculous. It doesn't accomplish anything. Think about it. Really think about it. Can't you see it? We have nothing to fear, but fear itself and God has already conquered fear, freed us of it and He tells us repeatedly, over and over again, because He knows how scared we are and He wants us to trust Him, to take refuge in Him, to live the full life, to love as if we knew nothing of hurt and run without the fear of falling.

        "The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?" ~Psalm 118:6

I Have A Voice

 

 They say its the quiet ones you have to watch out for and as you read on you might see there can be some truth to that, but is there really such a thing as...quiet people? The one who does not talk usually observes and with the process of observation comes a world of pondering. Musings that race, skip and even drag out in a slow or dramatic fashion. Noise, soft, but mostly noise; and by noise that does not interpret strictly to something such as banging cymbals into each other senselessly. Sometimes that noise can be music, a song that leaves its mark on every moment, a soundtrack or narration to a world that is aching to be described.

My mind is often a place of organized chaos. Dreams are in that category right over there, memories to the left, and ideas...well, they seem to scatter themselves somewhere in-between, or wherever they choose. That's the thing about inspiration...it has a mind of its own.
In a group conversation, my thoughts are active in participation, but scarcely is the memo passed down to my tongue to get it out. It isn't as though I feel cheated, that I have my own rights and I should say my peace. No, it is a choice, a subconscious decision to listen and learn, smile or even cry. Though, I must admit, there are times when a thought wants to blurt itself out, but is not given proper opportunity. Those are the times that every inch of my mind comes together and cries out a statement that is never heard: "I have a voice. Let me out, please." It is such a faint cry that I barely even hear it and what would the world do with it anyway? Is it even worth verbalizing? Sometimes, perhaps, but for those thoughts forgotten, I might never know.

I seem to have an invisible bank of dimes, built up for every remark that sounds something like this, "You're quiet aren't you?" No, I'd like to respond, but I usually just shrug my shoulders and try to answer that question for myself. Me, quiet? That's hilarious. I have something to say about most things, a response to almost everything, whether it is sure or indecisive. Someone asked me the other day what in the world I was thinking and I laughed. Is it that obvious? Most people can't see it, but there are few who can see past the silence, hear for themselves muffled conversations dripping down from the mind of another. Those are the ones who experience it themselves...this constant madness and silent wonder, a world unseen, an ear-splitting silence that sounds nothing like silence. There might very well be quiet people out there, but I doubt I could ever be categorized amongst them. Could you?

"Be wary of the author. She may put you in a book and kill you." ~Amanda Flynn 

Don't Forget // Keep Your Eyes Open

Most days I've been content to just listen as drops would pound or drip on my window pane, but I knew it was not one of those days. Somewhere between mild rainstorm and intense downpour I knew it was time. I pulled that big old door open and breathed in the clean air. Wind ruffled trees, causing leaves and branches to fall prematurely.

I stood under the dry roof, feeling the wild mist on my skin and reached out my hand. The water was cold and strong, it came down hard, but yet it was delicate, so peaceful. It was like standing at the edge of a pool, dipping toes in the water, contemplating. I'll get wet...what will the nieghbors think?

I wasn't particuarly...how can I say this...happy. It just wasn't one of those, "I feel like singing in the rain," sort of days. Troubles were building up, weighing me down. I prayed for something, anything! Even a quiet whisper would do, if I could just know that there was hope. I just want to feel okay again.

One foot in front of the other. Just jump. That was all it took. I raced myself to the other side of the house and then back again, standing beneath the heavy drippings of the roof. It was like a cold shower that shocked my skin, but I didn't want to complain about it. I laughed. I don't know why, I just did. My clothes were soaked and it...it felt good.

I think I must have forgotten what it felt like. It was like waking up, as if I had been half asleep through the days, looking, but not really seeing, not really feeling, processing.

I don't have anything great or inspirational to pass on to you, but there is something that I need you to hear. You haven't lived until you've let the raindrops stain your skin. Don't forget what that feels like. If you pray for an answer, don't wait too long to listen for it. Sometimes hope comes in little doses. Sometimes joy isn't something you wait for, it's something you work for. Keep your eyes open and stay awake, fully awake.

City Life // I Can't Breathe // But You're Still Beautiful

It's the clapping of flip flops on cement sidewalks, the soundtrack of sirens and impatient car horns. It's the number of passerbys that I can't even count, the long lines and building anticipation. It's the clicking of the shutter, again and again, all of this must be captured...I want to capture it, but I can't. It's the faint cry of homeless individuals and the sight of troubled souls. It's the tourists and the locals, the confident and the lost. It's the little feet trying to keep up and catching rides on shoulders. It's the important conversations that try to take place, but are all too soon interrupted by something trivial.

It's the lurking pigeons mooching off of outdoor diners, making a living off of the kids and carefree persons that find enjoyment in their existence. It's that small window of opportunity, when the light turns and you, the rushed pedestrian, have a chance to finally cross, with less likelihood of being pancaked by that yellow cab.

It's the jokes exchanged between bites, the laughter you just can't seem to get enough of. It's the reflection of clouds in dirty puddles...a painted picture out of filth...ugly made beautiful. It's those tall buildings that remind you you're so small, those massive clocks screaming mixed messages for different lives..."You're late," or "Take your time." It's those sketchy characters that intrigue you and make you nervous, it's those ordinary souls that leave you just as curious...what's their story? It's that sound of the small boats on calm waves...clap, clap, clap. It's the edge of the city with a bay inbetween, then city on the other side. Noise, peace, noise again.

What is it about this place that leaves me with such a bittersweet aftertaste? I love it, but I want to leave it. It's beautiful and yet its madness. I want to stay, but I can't wait to be free.
I could never fit in here...sure, I can pretend, for a day or so, but it's not where I belong. The city, for me at least, is one of those places that I love to visit, but I could never live there, not forever, and I'm thankful that I don't.

 

 

What do you love or hate about cities?