juniors and seniors spoke
and the earth could have stood still
(he told me his heart did, for a minute):
a dad long-forgotten out of neglect and
rejection
and a son who name-embraced through
salvation,
they spoke of minutia, the things that fill the universe
like tears and laughter
birth and decay
you
and
i
twin name-bearers, how do they seem now?
like a weed overgrowing the beautiful things
or like the lone dandelion offering sunny hope?
they don't know yet
Showing posts with label forgiveness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label forgiveness. Show all posts
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A Girl Named Fragile, A Parable
this is my first bit of fiction. i'm afraid to share it, yet knowing it is imperfect, i feel emily's is where it belongs for a spell.
once there was a girl who lived in a Dark Wood, only she didn't know it was dark because she'd never seen the light. She came of age and chose to travel--she wanted to know what went beyond the trees. she came upon a forked path, and having never left her little yard, was forced to choose one way. she chose blindly, as one must always do in the Dark. little did she know that one path led further into the wood and the deep dark, and the one she chose led towards Beyond. as she walked and walked, little golden beams sometimes showed through the canopy of branches, and she felt a prickling sensation when she stepped into the little puddles of brightness. she was being introduced to Light, and she felt she loved him. by the time the last tree was behind her, and she walked openly in the well-lit Beyond, Fragile felt she'd known Light all along. in fact, she thought she'd seen glimpses of him even in her Dark Wood; had he not been in the fire where she cooked her meal and warmed herself? had he not been in the stars where she imagined her friends? yes, he'd been quiet and unnamed, but he'd been there. yes, she loved this golden Sun.
But one day, it felt too immense, too surreal--perhaps she was dreaming and it was still Dark. thus, she was introduced to Fear, and he wooed her for some time. Fear introduced her to his friend Anger, and he was so seductive, so beguiling. he made her feel safe and made her forget Fear's cold hands. she also forgot the warmth of the Light she'd loved once. Fragile and Anger journeyed for years together. he taught her the meaning of her name and how to abuse it. little by little, cracks were appearing all over, though Fragile wasn't aware of her changed appearance. what she did know was that she was getting weary, often having no strength for more than a day or two at a time on her journey. Anger became impatient with her, and so she became impatient with herself. the fissures were getting bigger, and now that Fragile saw them, she wondered what was wrong with her-why was she breaking? Anger didn't notice the cracks; in fact, he didn't notice Fragile at all anymore. Depression met them then, and she took Fragile's hands in hers, hugged her tight and whispered lies. "you were happier in the Dark, weren't you? the Light is making you ugly because if you were in the Dark you wouldn't even be able to see them. you deserve the pain you feel and inflict on others-wasn't it you who kept Anger all these years?" Depression's sister Loneliness visited often, and Anger kept his distance but followed still.
Fragile was more tired than ever, and the cracks began to hurt. she wished for Peace. she didn't know who he was, only that she'd dreamt of him long ago when dancing in the sunbeams in the forest. she wondered if Peace could ever find her. she went to sleep that night flanked by Anger, Depression, and Loneliness. She wished she'd never wake up; maybe that way she'd find Peace. In her sleep she dreamed a child named Hope cried. When Fragile asked why she was crying, she merely cried some more. waking up and confused by the dream, it took a moment for Fragile to realize someone was watching her. it was the child Hope. "you! i dreamed you were crying! why would such a beautiful child cry?" the child answered quietly, "i was waiting for you." Hope then introduced Fragile to her companion who came forward, Peace. Fragile looked around for Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, but to her surprise they were gone.
Fragile walked with Hope and Peace and asked what more they could possibly see in the Beyond. they arrived then at a castle ruins, and she was told it was the most precious thing in all the land. "but it's just an old broken castle," Fragile muttered, disappointed. "not, 'just.' it is also the house of the sun, and you are welcome." indeed, the castle was aglow, and from it shined the Light she'd once known so intimately. a tear trickled down her cheek as she whispered, "im sorry i forgot you on the way." upon entering the hall, the castle righted itself and transformed into its glory, and she was asked to bathe in the fountain of life. she did so, half-thinking her cracks would disappear, but when she emerged she was no different. Light took her hand and led her to his great mirror. "what do you see?" he asked. in it, she saw her travels with Fear, Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, and her short time with Peace and Hope, and she said, "i see Fragile." "no, my child, that is not who i see. look again. i see Treasure." she asked Light "why did i have to break, then?" "look again." this time when Fragile looked in the mirror she saw what Peace had seen and called Beauty and what Hope saw and called Worth waiting for. looking into the Sun's mirror, all she could see was the Light shining. she realized if she'd never been broken, she'd never have seen the Light inside her.
once there was a girl who lived in a Dark Wood, only she didn't know it was dark because she'd never seen the light. She came of age and chose to travel--she wanted to know what went beyond the trees. she came upon a forked path, and having never left her little yard, was forced to choose one way. she chose blindly, as one must always do in the Dark. little did she know that one path led further into the wood and the deep dark, and the one she chose led towards Beyond. as she walked and walked, little golden beams sometimes showed through the canopy of branches, and she felt a prickling sensation when she stepped into the little puddles of brightness. she was being introduced to Light, and she felt she loved him. by the time the last tree was behind her, and she walked openly in the well-lit Beyond, Fragile felt she'd known Light all along. in fact, she thought she'd seen glimpses of him even in her Dark Wood; had he not been in the fire where she cooked her meal and warmed herself? had he not been in the stars where she imagined her friends? yes, he'd been quiet and unnamed, but he'd been there. yes, she loved this golden Sun.
But one day, it felt too immense, too surreal--perhaps she was dreaming and it was still Dark. thus, she was introduced to Fear, and he wooed her for some time. Fear introduced her to his friend Anger, and he was so seductive, so beguiling. he made her feel safe and made her forget Fear's cold hands. she also forgot the warmth of the Light she'd loved once. Fragile and Anger journeyed for years together. he taught her the meaning of her name and how to abuse it. little by little, cracks were appearing all over, though Fragile wasn't aware of her changed appearance. what she did know was that she was getting weary, often having no strength for more than a day or two at a time on her journey. Anger became impatient with her, and so she became impatient with herself. the fissures were getting bigger, and now that Fragile saw them, she wondered what was wrong with her-why was she breaking? Anger didn't notice the cracks; in fact, he didn't notice Fragile at all anymore. Depression met them then, and she took Fragile's hands in hers, hugged her tight and whispered lies. "you were happier in the Dark, weren't you? the Light is making you ugly because if you were in the Dark you wouldn't even be able to see them. you deserve the pain you feel and inflict on others-wasn't it you who kept Anger all these years?" Depression's sister Loneliness visited often, and Anger kept his distance but followed still.
Fragile was more tired than ever, and the cracks began to hurt. she wished for Peace. she didn't know who he was, only that she'd dreamt of him long ago when dancing in the sunbeams in the forest. she wondered if Peace could ever find her. she went to sleep that night flanked by Anger, Depression, and Loneliness. She wished she'd never wake up; maybe that way she'd find Peace. In her sleep she dreamed a child named Hope cried. When Fragile asked why she was crying, she merely cried some more. waking up and confused by the dream, it took a moment for Fragile to realize someone was watching her. it was the child Hope. "you! i dreamed you were crying! why would such a beautiful child cry?" the child answered quietly, "i was waiting for you." Hope then introduced Fragile to her companion who came forward, Peace. Fragile looked around for Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, but to her surprise they were gone.
Fragile walked with Hope and Peace and asked what more they could possibly see in the Beyond. they arrived then at a castle ruins, and she was told it was the most precious thing in all the land. "but it's just an old broken castle," Fragile muttered, disappointed. "not, 'just.' it is also the house of the sun, and you are welcome." indeed, the castle was aglow, and from it shined the Light she'd once known so intimately. a tear trickled down her cheek as she whispered, "im sorry i forgot you on the way." upon entering the hall, the castle righted itself and transformed into its glory, and she was asked to bathe in the fountain of life. she did so, half-thinking her cracks would disappear, but when she emerged she was no different. Light took her hand and led her to his great mirror. "what do you see?" he asked. in it, she saw her travels with Fear, Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, and her short time with Peace and Hope, and she said, "i see Fragile." "no, my child, that is not who i see. look again. i see Treasure." she asked Light "why did i have to break, then?" "look again." this time when Fragile looked in the mirror she saw what Peace had seen and called Beauty and what Hope saw and called Worth waiting for. looking into the Sun's mirror, all she could see was the Light shining. she realized if she'd never been broken, she'd never have seen the Light inside her.
Monday, September 26, 2011
(hard)
hard.
i can't even begin to express here the storm of uncertainty in my heart. but i need to get it out somehow.
how do you share words that hurt, even when your aim is to protect? how do you write real when you can't forget last night's dreams (the bad kind)? how do you mama-give when you curl fetal?
hard.
i know i can't make sense to you. (ambiguous you) i wish you knew i loved you and hurt for you, but i hurt for me, too.
how can there be seasons of certainty and others of mere fragility? days when i'm strong for me and others where i ache for you?
silence lingers these days, and i know neither of us knows what to say. i'm sorry. i'm praying for us. even if you don't know it.
311. breathing out this prayer for all of us involved: when you can't trace His hand, trust His heart.
312. for broken hearts so he can heal
313. for bravery where he allows
314. for the wind that whispers his name and the rocks that cry out, and the faith it takes to believe
315. for grace, daily
316. for the little things that help deflect these cloudy thoughts:
317. such as this gorgeous fall-like weather
318. and owen now 4 months already
319. and homeschooling freedoms to play-learn
320. and little boy haircuts
321. and husband's strongest arms to rock wee babe and tender-wrap me
323. for chocolate chip cookies
324. and coffee shared with friends
325. "for God so loved the world"
linking with the gratitude community as a discipline to share humble thanks even in a hard season right now. thank you for sharing without sharing some of my heart's cries today.
i can't even begin to express here the storm of uncertainty in my heart. but i need to get it out somehow.
how do you share words that hurt, even when your aim is to protect? how do you write real when you can't forget last night's dreams (the bad kind)? how do you mama-give when you curl fetal?
hard.
i know i can't make sense to you. (ambiguous you) i wish you knew i loved you and hurt for you, but i hurt for me, too.
how can there be seasons of certainty and others of mere fragility? days when i'm strong for me and others where i ache for you?
silence lingers these days, and i know neither of us knows what to say. i'm sorry. i'm praying for us. even if you don't know it.
311. breathing out this prayer for all of us involved: when you can't trace His hand, trust His heart.
312. for broken hearts so he can heal
313. for bravery where he allows
314. for the wind that whispers his name and the rocks that cry out, and the faith it takes to believe
315. for grace, daily
316. for the little things that help deflect these cloudy thoughts:
317. such as this gorgeous fall-like weather
318. and owen now 4 months already
319. and homeschooling freedoms to play-learn
320. and little boy haircuts
321. and husband's strongest arms to rock wee babe and tender-wrap me
323. for chocolate chip cookies
324. and coffee shared with friends
325. "for God so loved the world"
linking with the gratitude community as a discipline to share humble thanks even in a hard season right now. thank you for sharing without sharing some of my heart's cries today.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The richness of belonging
he scared my 3rd grade self, and he pointed right at me, black fingers waving me over. he said nothing, just started walking, and my heart began thumping out of my ears. i racked brain to see what i'd done; we were standing outside the cafeteria waiting on ms. heitz to take us back to our classroom. "what did i do?" i repeated several times on the verge of tears when i realized we were headed to The Principal's Office, his domain. he must have seen the near-panic in my eyes, and finally knelt down, "you didn't do anything. you were the quietest one in line, and i needed a helper i could trust."
i still don't remember what the task was, but can remember the fear of his huge authority calling me out of line like it was yesterday.
where does this kind of fear come from?
why am i still afraid?
of the police (ok, ok, my tags are expired)
of the cool moms on the playground with hair coiffed and sons in plaid
of God?
i received a summons 3 months ago for an appearance in court, a suit for a debt i knew nothing about.
i felt all the same fear standing so exposed beneath the judge's gaze. husband said i did well, but heart thudded all the same.
i always see myself as rule's exceptions: that God loves others but not me, my sins are the ones unpardonable, that i'm the one grace won't quite cover.
i pray one day i feel the weight of grace from the judge who loves, who has not only summoned, but redeemed. i pray i live today, not in fear, but in the richness of belonging.
i still don't remember what the task was, but can remember the fear of his huge authority calling me out of line like it was yesterday.
where does this kind of fear come from?
why am i still afraid?
of the police (ok, ok, my tags are expired)
of the cool moms on the playground with hair coiffed and sons in plaid
of God?
i received a summons 3 months ago for an appearance in court, a suit for a debt i knew nothing about.
i felt all the same fear standing so exposed beneath the judge's gaze. husband said i did well, but heart thudded all the same.
i always see myself as rule's exceptions: that God loves others but not me, my sins are the ones unpardonable, that i'm the one grace won't quite cover.
i pray one day i feel the weight of grace from the judge who loves, who has not only summoned, but redeemed. i pray i live today, not in fear, but in the richness of belonging.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Storms
yesterday we had severe thunderstorms and tornado warnings and had a power outage. this is the blog post i wanted to have up yesterday for counting blessings.
also linking with suzannah today
lt;center>
more grizzly bear than mama bear these last few days (weeks?!) and i tire of grouching all day. there seem a million viable excuses, but i tire of them as well. am i angry? tired? is there a difference in the sight of little boys?
today we have severe storming; our power goes out so we do, too--let someone else prepare our food, fast, and we drive down streets with trees broken and houses splintered. all i could see were people coming home to such damage. my heart wanted to break for lives unknown to me, their stories in books i'll probably never read.
our own street untouched by the wind's rage, though two streets over trees lie on power lines keeping us in dark. not even an upset trash can--this the only evidence today is any different for trash would normally be picked up by now. and inside this house we call it "disaster zone" but no branches gape in my walls...we call those three boys "tornadoes," yet all in one piece and mostly oblivious....me with stormy heart now calmed to see real storm, real damage, wishing to be a peaceful mist in my own home.
grateful for: (283-290)
husband who loves through the grouchy woman invading me; 3 boys who grace me with smiles and gripping hugs; power out-quiet! and respite from tv's noise, also, the invitation to play, be creative in getting along; him home to help and not out driving weathered roads; money enough to buy lunch and getting a break from darkening living room; the One who calms the storm and allows it to rage to calm my internal storm.
prayers for:
those in our neighborhood facing financial and emotional hardship in the days to come; safety for city workers dealing with felled trees and power lines; grace for those continuing without power.
also linking with suzannah today
lt;center>
more grizzly bear than mama bear these last few days (weeks?!) and i tire of grouching all day. there seem a million viable excuses, but i tire of them as well. am i angry? tired? is there a difference in the sight of little boys?
today we have severe storming; our power goes out so we do, too--let someone else prepare our food, fast, and we drive down streets with trees broken and houses splintered. all i could see were people coming home to such damage. my heart wanted to break for lives unknown to me, their stories in books i'll probably never read.
our own street untouched by the wind's rage, though two streets over trees lie on power lines keeping us in dark. not even an upset trash can--this the only evidence today is any different for trash would normally be picked up by now. and inside this house we call it "disaster zone" but no branches gape in my walls...we call those three boys "tornadoes," yet all in one piece and mostly oblivious....me with stormy heart now calmed to see real storm, real damage, wishing to be a peaceful mist in my own home.
grateful for: (283-290)
husband who loves through the grouchy woman invading me; 3 boys who grace me with smiles and gripping hugs; power out-quiet! and respite from tv's noise, also, the invitation to play, be creative in getting along; him home to help and not out driving weathered roads; money enough to buy lunch and getting a break from darkening living room; the One who calms the storm and allows it to rage to calm my internal storm.
prayers for:
those in our neighborhood facing financial and emotional hardship in the days to come; safety for city workers dealing with felled trees and power lines; grace for those continuing without power.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Buried in the dust
22 Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”
25 The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
26 it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD.
27 It is good for a man to bear the yoke
while he is young.
28 Let him sit alone in silence,
for the LORD has laid it on him.
29 Let him bury his face in the dust—
there may yet be hope.
30 Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him,
and let him be filled with disgrace.
31 For no one is cast off
by the Lord forever.
32 Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.
33 For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to anyone.
this passage in lamentations 3 used to be my "life verse," as it gave me hope i needed to continue reaching out to God when i was hurt and distraught. i thought i'd moved on, found other verses to sustain me, but as i read through an old journal entry and re-read these verses, i realized they are still "mine." i was so full of despair then, and again recently, but i don't think i understood til now the glory in the dust.
yes, i'd lie prone in the dark, tear-stained and heart-heavy.
yes, i'd reach for the heavens and feel nothing but ceiling.
yes, i'd run over and over in my mind what could have been.
but i never knew there would yet be hope. i hoped there would be. but hoping felt empty in a silent bedchamber. little did i know that from dust i was breathed, and from dust would i return some day, and dust, if i could just find Him and bury my face in his dirt, would redeem the hope inside.
i think i am like poor eustace crying as aslan tears his dragon-flesh, replacing gold with grace. i am mud, all washed with Tears and unraveled into pure linen, for there has always been Hope, so great is His unfailing love.
rejoice with me, my beautiful, broken friends. i stand today with fresh eyes and so grateful to be able to look back and see His hand, to see that He stirred in me through dark hours and that indeed, compassion is renewed every single day.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Like oranges in winter
the impossibilities of citrine juices running sticky and sweet catch me off guard. i tear orange skin with my fingernails and zest fills my nostrils. biting into acid brightness, i feel as if i'm eating the sun from inside out. these tiny things, every day things, seem a personal miracle to me. it's a given for our mega marts and box stores to carry these warm weather fruits in rows and bags all full, made possible by modern shipment and genetic engineering perhaps. but every year i wait for the perfect orange, heavy in hand and as sweet as it is tart. like grace. heavy, impossible, divinely sweet, contradiction to this human mind. like oranges in winter.
(photo found here)
(photo found here)
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Worship in thanks
Healer heal me
Savior save me
Maker change me
Lover love me
Cuz I'm so tired of living for
The kind of love
That only lasts for a while
The pain, the shame
Tear me up inside
Chorus:
So I fall on my knees
To get back on my feet again
And I cry out for You
Would You please speak to me
Savior save me
Maker change me
Lover love me
Cuz I'm so tired of living for
The kind of love
That only lasts for a while
The pain, the shame
Tear me up inside
Chorus:
So I fall on my knees
To get back on my feet again
And I cry out for You
Would You please speak to me
these are the lyrics of the ten shekel shirt song healer. they have been my prayer for so long.
i have written here that my spirit has been unrestful, that my heart has been hurting. He has answered prayer in the most "not my will" kind of ways, and i have met with my Healer. unexpected places and the giving in of wills are balm to this hard heart... He knows, He always knows, doesn't He?
in a babe-new attitude of joy creeping in, with thankfulness wanting to gush no matter the week's coincidence, i continue to count his gifts, freely given, and thank Him for eyes to see the miracle in the ordinary. today, i worship soft on knees: eyes seeing, fingers flying in this space.
201. for sin that brings me to knees
202. and the forgiveness that unbinds
203. and the fear-turned-resolution to ask for the hardest thing i've ever had to do
204. and the answer, there, in chocolate skin and crinkly santa eyes, white lab coat, doctor saying, "yes, i know. i've been there. we can help you. please, misty, don't forget to run to Him, and i will pray for you."
205. for eyes that couldn't see anything through tears at his words, and then eyes that felt they could see everything thereafter:
206. the love of husband--soul-matched--hurt so much for me, how helpless he felt, the relief weighing heavy in his tears seeing me new again.
207. the love of three little boys, that only comes from little boys, the shared knowing--mama.
208. for ordinary blessings so long overlooked.... magazines with croquembouche towering tall on cover like golden dreams (and recipe! salted caramel and ricotta cream, oh my!)
209. and oatmeal made at home with butter, cinnamon, and sugar, just the way they like it
210. and dinosaur jammies with footies worn thin, pitter patter
211. and laughing RAWRS as boys fight-play, not knowing this is how they learn their place in this world
212. for maternal health and quick heartbeat--excited all over again to meet this newest ____ (he insists it's fourth boy, i wonder at pink possibilities)
213. for new bed this week to cradle growing belly and aching back
214. for pantry, full of expectations and bounty, already we give thanks before that big meal and family gathered
215. for him, so willing to travel when he'd rather stay. for steady work even when it's hard
216. and praise! for job for friend's husband... God is so good!
217. for seeing and getting to love on golden retriever rescues at the store yesterday, memories of growing up and the gentle old "tiger lily" who no one thought would be great with kids, and her surprising everyone. my children loved her best of all, her fur hardly flax anymore.
218. for the return of words and desire to write, my friend on this journey
219. and words from youngest, little parrot mimicking everything we say, so funny, so challenging!
220. for heart's fissures healing... for grace that binds me whole.
Thank you, Lord.
(joining w/ ann but i can't seem to get her button to work now. i'll try again later)
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Pause and privilege
(a repost from the archives. thanks to those who've written to me and prayed for me; i have lots to share when next we get a free moment!)
i pause, "consider all the world thy hands have made."
i, just dust, can star-gaze and sea-wonder,
revel in my own ordinary and know that
i was made for this--
beyond this--
of this.
moments to breathe in, savor, hold in, exhale.
i, muddy soul, love-struck and faith-child,
swallow daily pride and try to remember
i was made for Him:
his pleasure,
his worship.
giving thanks in all things, i drink full moments of
stop-don't move-remember this scene
remember in stones and banners
how He paved the way,
i, ragamuffin beggar
wearing white linen Privilege.
grace to you today.
i pause, "consider all the world thy hands have made."
i, just dust, can star-gaze and sea-wonder,
revel in my own ordinary and know that
i was made for this--
beyond this--
of this.
moments to breathe in, savor, hold in, exhale.
i, muddy soul, love-struck and faith-child,
swallow daily pride and try to remember
i was made for Him:
his pleasure,
his worship.
giving thanks in all things, i drink full moments of
stop-don't move-remember this scene
remember in stones and banners
how He paved the way,
i, ragamuffin beggar
wearing white linen Privilege.
grace to you today.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Prodigal's place
we were talking about unfairness, and she tells me she chafes against the story of the prodigal son, that he gets all the attention while elder brother suffers.
i myself always related to that older brother, viewed her as a prodigal of sorts.
our stories start at the same places, but like true mirrors, we react oppositely. funny how it works that way, now, when we're bound tighter in our spiritual sisterhood than we ever were in flesh and blood growing up.
yes, that unruly son got his way, and felt the father's embrace. i cry tears at the grace of it all, and i want to stay humble to this understanding that she and i, we're different. there are many reasons to point fingers at a God who chooses, but all i see is the grace of being chosen. it's what i cling to in faithless times and weary seasons and hopeless winters. the grace goes down like whiskey, all choking and spreading warmth.
there is a place at the table for both of them, and both of us.
i wonder how i can share the awe of that with her, the unbelievable truth that his scarred hands will serve broken bread and wine, that he will hold out freshest white robes and slay the purest Lamb for us to eat?
i myself always related to that older brother, viewed her as a prodigal of sorts.
our stories start at the same places, but like true mirrors, we react oppositely. funny how it works that way, now, when we're bound tighter in our spiritual sisterhood than we ever were in flesh and blood growing up.
yes, that unruly son got his way, and felt the father's embrace. i cry tears at the grace of it all, and i want to stay humble to this understanding that she and i, we're different. there are many reasons to point fingers at a God who chooses, but all i see is the grace of being chosen. it's what i cling to in faithless times and weary seasons and hopeless winters. the grace goes down like whiskey, all choking and spreading warmth.
there is a place at the table for both of them, and both of us.
i wonder how i can share the awe of that with her, the unbelievable truth that his scarred hands will serve broken bread and wine, that he will hold out freshest white robes and slay the purest Lamb for us to eat?
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Some hope, restored
i think a broken hallelujah is the only kind there is:
the one of splintered hearts
shy good-byes, and journeys
starting with a single step,
slouching towards bethlehem, as she says.
but it's true.
we can slouch. that's all,
and wait at broken earth, under cross's shadow
and
whisper, "today i am broken.
tomorrow, will you break me
again?"
lips dry and cracked under desert sun
throat or soul more parched than last
and
all that's left is a poet without words
a singer without melody
a craftsman without his tools
all, breaking hallelujah in bread
and wine
and self
i wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago, but after the hopelessness i felt yesterday, it felt very appropriate to link up to emily's imperfect prose. i'm imperfect indeed, but that's where His beauty fills and makes whole.
the one of splintered hearts
shy good-byes, and journeys
starting with a single step,
slouching towards bethlehem, as she says.
but it's true.
we can slouch. that's all,
and wait at broken earth, under cross's shadow
and
whisper, "today i am broken.
tomorrow, will you break me
again?"
lips dry and cracked under desert sun
throat or soul more parched than last
and
all that's left is a poet without words
a singer without melody
a craftsman without his tools
all, breaking hallelujah in bread
and wine
and self
i wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago, but after the hopelessness i felt yesterday, it felt very appropriate to link up to emily's imperfect prose. i'm imperfect indeed, but that's where His beauty fills and makes whole.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Giving back the leaves
we talked of aloneness, of our tendency to hide simply because sin exists. it ruptures us, and we hide...hide behind self-sewn leaves and fear, and our God whispers, "where are you?" he knows, but he asks us to admit we're hiding. asks us to deal with our sin. asks us to give back the leaves we hide beneath.
so today, Lord,
i dance naked and crazy like david,
i hold my hands to my breasts
not in scrutiny
but in humility,
and tears flow freely
dancing down as well
and i ask you to lead me
with silver holiness;
we dance, God-Spirit and i,
and he whispers,
"my love, i know you.
know Me. "
so today, Lord,
i dance naked and crazy like david,
i hold my hands to my breasts
not in scrutiny
but in humility,
and tears flow freely
dancing down as well
and i ask you to lead me
with silver holiness;
we dance, God-Spirit and i,
and he whispers,
"my love, i know you.
know Me. "
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The silent thief
(to one of the victims of our silence, l.b.)
i'm not sure who
insisted silence was gold
but i'm pretty sure
he was wrong.
there's too much to
SAY
and stories to live
and so silence has
been a thief for
US
took those words
"i love you"
and contorted them
into fear
and nothing
and looked a lot
more black than sheen
but we are finding
-she and i-
that listening is
silver
and worth its weight
in gold
i'm not sure who
insisted silence was gold
but i'm pretty sure
he was wrong.
there's too much to
SAY
and stories to live
and so silence has
been a thief for
US
took those words
"i love you"
and contorted them
into fear
and nothing
and looked a lot
more black than sheen
but we are finding
-she and i-
that listening is
silver
and worth its weight
in gold
visit emily, my favorite thursday haunt, for her imperfect prose and join the rest of us as we write grace, imperfectly perfect.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Extravagant
i didn't know i was worth that to you
didn't know you'd lavish me and ravish me
and leave me wanting more
didn't know you were all i had
or all i ever wanted
and i clumsily ate leftovers
of another kind.
not knowing you were there
the whole time
i didn't understand
i was made for you
and that you loved me
with your life
by giving your life to me
and i lived my life for me
and ate those stale remnants
those vestiges of selfishness
and you were waiting
extravagantly
for me
arms wide open
a feast just for me
because it was all
part of the price
no one course deserved
i couldn't possibly save enough
do enough
or work hard enough
to earn your love
you grace me with it daily
didn't know you'd lavish me and ravish me
and leave me wanting more
didn't know you were all i had
or all i ever wanted
and i clumsily ate leftovers
of another kind.
not knowing you were there
the whole time
i didn't understand
i was made for you
and that you loved me
with your life
by giving your life to me
and i lived my life for me
and ate those stale remnants
those vestiges of selfishness
and you were waiting
extravagantly
for me
arms wide open
a feast just for me
because it was all
part of the price
no one course deserved
i couldn't possibly save enough
do enough
or work hard enough
to earn your love
you grace me with it daily
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Love without condition
i've often said i want jesus with skin on
a chance to talk to him in the flesh
a chance to hold his brown wrinkled hand in mine
i'm pretty sure she'd like that too
even if she doesn't call it jesus;
she would like to be looked in the eyes
and talked with, not at or, worse, not at all
her skintight shirt her only shield to the night, and hate.
i think he would know if jesus-skin offered him a real meal
not a value meal, not a dollar in change
but true change, life change
and priceless love, cigarette burning ash
and eyes that see past cardboard "laziness."
who am i to want him here
but not to be him here?
how can i not feed his sheep
when that's all he's ever asked?
to love as he loved
surely that's an impossible task
how can i? won't i get hurt? won't it cost too much?
his hands are browned and worn, and
he grips that little hand all white and chubby, and
there is a light in both their eyes,
like lightning,
the kind that burns the soul,
and i think that's the first step
to walking jesus feet-
to love without condition
ann asked how we can be jesus's hands, reaching out to the hurting in the world, and this is a poem i wrote as an initial reply. join her for walk with him wednesday?
a chance to talk to him in the flesh
a chance to hold his brown wrinkled hand in mine
i'm pretty sure she'd like that too
even if she doesn't call it jesus;
she would like to be looked in the eyes
and talked with, not at or, worse, not at all
her skintight shirt her only shield to the night, and hate.
i think he would know if jesus-skin offered him a real meal
not a value meal, not a dollar in change
but true change, life change
and priceless love, cigarette burning ash
and eyes that see past cardboard "laziness."
who am i to want him here
but not to be him here?
how can i not feed his sheep
when that's all he's ever asked?
to love as he loved
surely that's an impossible task
how can i? won't i get hurt? won't it cost too much?
his hands are browned and worn, and
he grips that little hand all white and chubby, and
there is a light in both their eyes,
like lightning,
the kind that burns the soul,
and i think that's the first step
to walking jesus feet-
to love without condition
ann asked how we can be jesus's hands, reaching out to the hurting in the world, and this is a poem i wrote as an initial reply. join her for walk with him wednesday?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Throwing away the pinch pots
i worked at a montessori school that year, my first post-college job, my first to feel like a grown up, despite being surrounded by little children. maybe because of it.
i assisted jodi, who taught me a lot that year, mostly about being true to yourself and how to listen with your soul. children and broken hearts need this the most, and i was both that year.
~~~~~
she was a potter, and taught a little slab work for art projects and end-of-year gifts. i knew instantly that i was made to love or appreciate pots, maybe make them one day, too.
many years later, i still have ever only attempted three bowls on the wheel, and i crumpled my first tiny pinch pots back into the pile for making slip. i shrugged off my disappointment and simmered in my own quiet perfectionism, vowing to buy the beautiful works of others.
i assisted jodi, who taught me a lot that year, mostly about being true to yourself and how to listen with your soul. children and broken hearts need this the most, and i was both that year.
~~~~~
she was a potter, and taught a little slab work for art projects and end-of-year gifts. i knew instantly that i was made to love or appreciate pots, maybe make them one day, too.
many years later, i still have ever only attempted three bowls on the wheel, and i crumpled my first tiny pinch pots back into the pile for making slip. i shrugged off my disappointment and simmered in my own quiet perfectionism, vowing to buy the beautiful works of others.
i still struggle with perfectionism.
i like to quote the verse that says He will complete the good work started, but i often fail to live by it.
i see my oldest son, so sure and sensitive both; i see in him a demand for excellence, of himself and of his younger brothers.
i see my tiny middle man, so sunny and spirited, crumpling under two year old inabilities.
it is my turn to stop throwing away the pinch pots.
~~~~~
you hear the sermons reminding us we're all clay. the reverend asks, "now, if you're going to be clay in His hands anyway, wouldn't you rather be soft and pliable? wouldn't you rather be moldable than be stiff and unbendable, forcing him to break you?" it's a clever question, and one that gives pause. but the truth is, bisqued and glazed with our own hard hearts, or supple under the assumption we're so good, we are still in need of the Potter's grace.
~~~~~
grace-based parenting is the hardest thing i've ever done. i'm not so good at giving grace to myself but i want my boys to be excellent at it. i'm not so good at keeping unwarranted anger down, but i want my boys to feel loved and secure.
on a day of stormy tempers and breaking molars and sibling rivalry, i feel the need for grace in-dwelling. so today i sing the best chorus from one of the best songs*, and we dance.
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - I am on my knees
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - broken on my knees
writing on the spiritual practices of parenting this week with ann and *singing the song worlds apart by jars of clay.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Goodness, like a fetter
i am not the only one who's ever hidden under
the sin of fig leaves, hiding when i could be Known.
today i struggle with self-sufficiency and my way is best. if it were up to me, i'd run away and hide instead of allowing the shadow of a Friend fall low and lovely, asking, "where are you?"
i am not the only one to tread endless desert waves
pining for the shackles of egypt.
hardness is easier than forgiveness, and it's too easy to choose a thousand days over the one.
it was easier, before, when there was quiet. we didn't say a single word for five years, and as hard as that was, this talking is hurting my heart in an awful kind of way.
i, too, have chosen to run away from ninevah
for fear He might be right, dole Grace.
i went, but with heavy heart. heart is heavy, still.
i have also struggled with doing what i hate
and hating what i do, the inner fight.
i have felt the rage bubbling up again, it seemed i'd made such strides. i am tired of spewing my anger and fear and disappointment all over again, one step forward, five back.
..... so today i'm feeling fettered, bound to the one who loves me most, and i who would wander because it gets so hard. there are lies being told from brother to sister and from mother to another, and i think i will get lost in all the webs. i want to quit. i'm so tired. sexual abuse is awful, but there have been so many years since then, and i'm actually numb to so much of that, but THIS, the aftermath of youngest sister getting healing for the first time, and the family that is slowly tearing away bit by bit. i don't know what i'm doing anymore.
the sin of fig leaves, hiding when i could be Known.
today i struggle with self-sufficiency and my way is best. if it were up to me, i'd run away and hide instead of allowing the shadow of a Friend fall low and lovely, asking, "where are you?"
i am not the only one to tread endless desert waves
pining for the shackles of egypt.
hardness is easier than forgiveness, and it's too easy to choose a thousand days over the one.
it was easier, before, when there was quiet. we didn't say a single word for five years, and as hard as that was, this talking is hurting my heart in an awful kind of way.
i, too, have chosen to run away from ninevah
for fear He might be right, dole Grace.
i went, but with heavy heart. heart is heavy, still.
i have also struggled with doing what i hate
and hating what i do, the inner fight.
i have felt the rage bubbling up again, it seemed i'd made such strides. i am tired of spewing my anger and fear and disappointment all over again, one step forward, five back.
..... so today i'm feeling fettered, bound to the one who loves me most, and i who would wander because it gets so hard. there are lies being told from brother to sister and from mother to another, and i think i will get lost in all the webs. i want to quit. i'm so tired. sexual abuse is awful, but there have been so many years since then, and i'm actually numb to so much of that, but THIS, the aftermath of youngest sister getting healing for the first time, and the family that is slowly tearing away bit by bit. i don't know what i'm doing anymore.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
A time as this
i talked to my mama yesterday and i wanted to cry and scream and let violent out after.
she has cut off youngest sister, the one who's held on the longest for all the wrong reasons, but who was always there hurting and dying inside, holding onto her mama because she was afraid if she let go, she'd slip off the edge. and now that mother says she can't handle youngest, that she sees Another Woman, and i want to scream and let go and run to hold sister.
i talk to surrogate-mama, meg, and she tries to soothe and pray comfort into my heart, but i don't know if i can listen.
she reminds me of the story of esther, how since we know the rest of the story, the ending, when the king storms from the room, it makes sense. but it didn't make sense to esther; was he running because she admitted Jewess, or running because of evil planned? and, too, we see the power of a mighty God when mordecai whispers, "for such a time as this," but all esther could have felt was fear, uncertain footing in a palace not hers, the weight of a people crushing her soul.
i wear my sister's weight heavy, but what if for a time like this one my own relationship with my mom is patching while sister's breaks away, for life? for her time to heal, for emotional space to be raw and real?
God knows the rest of the story; i often can't see past teh very words of yesterdays to allow todays and tomorrows to look any different. yet i am not author, and it is not my vision alone. i can't often sift sense out of this mess, and yet this is one piece of the whole tapestry, the one where the ending is the same as it has ever been.
today i'm writing with Ann and others, choosing to walk with Him, for i know no other way.
***
there is also change in our family's lives on the horizon. many decisions need to be made, and there is not a lot of time. help us pray for clarity and peace?
she has cut off youngest sister, the one who's held on the longest for all the wrong reasons, but who was always there hurting and dying inside, holding onto her mama because she was afraid if she let go, she'd slip off the edge. and now that mother says she can't handle youngest, that she sees Another Woman, and i want to scream and let go and run to hold sister.
i talk to surrogate-mama, meg, and she tries to soothe and pray comfort into my heart, but i don't know if i can listen.
she reminds me of the story of esther, how since we know the rest of the story, the ending, when the king storms from the room, it makes sense. but it didn't make sense to esther; was he running because she admitted Jewess, or running because of evil planned? and, too, we see the power of a mighty God when mordecai whispers, "for such a time as this," but all esther could have felt was fear, uncertain footing in a palace not hers, the weight of a people crushing her soul.
i wear my sister's weight heavy, but what if for a time like this one my own relationship with my mom is patching while sister's breaks away, for life? for her time to heal, for emotional space to be raw and real?
God knows the rest of the story; i often can't see past teh very words of yesterdays to allow todays and tomorrows to look any different. yet i am not author, and it is not my vision alone. i can't often sift sense out of this mess, and yet this is one piece of the whole tapestry, the one where the ending is the same as it has ever been.
today i'm writing with Ann and others, choosing to walk with Him, for i know no other way.
***
there is also change in our family's lives on the horizon. many decisions need to be made, and there is not a lot of time. help us pray for clarity and peace?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
m&ms
i heard the plinking and dinging
and wondered, but didn't go
heard shuffling and rustling
thought i should check it out
and found
that
little monkey
all blue eyes and
yellow hair
sitting on counter
he found the bag of
secret candy
he cried seeing me spy him
once
i would have been angry
and snapped
and crunched little boy fear
into pinking skin
today
i said, "shhhh.
would you like some candy in a little bowl?
why don't you get down from here
and let's clean up
this little mess,
here, now, don't cry."
and i smiled
over tussled hair,
arms wrapped tight around
little boy
and i know that
i'm loved just like this.
linking up with suzannah today. join us?
and wondered, but didn't go
heard shuffling and rustling
thought i should check it out
and found
that
little monkey
all blue eyes and
yellow hair
sitting on counter
he found the bag of
secret candy
he cried seeing me spy him
once
i would have been angry
and snapped
and crunched little boy fear
into pinking skin
today
i said, "shhhh.
would you like some candy in a little bowl?
why don't you get down from here
and let's clean up
this little mess,
here, now, don't cry."
and i smiled
over tussled hair,
arms wrapped tight around
little boy
and i know that
i'm loved just like this.
linking up with suzannah today. join us?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
red
i scrub furiously, all this energy to come out in some way, best if productively. cleaning highchair grime from three years and counting, lifting stovetop eyes to erase rust/grease/dirt rings, washing walls and dishes, all the while praying and singing one refrain.
my washrag is red and unraveling a bit, and towards the end my hands are wrinkled and red. all this red to clean, and i think that's all it's ever taken--red running stripes to clean soul dirt.
work it out
figure it out
scrub harder on stains
use more effort
be better
these thoughts carry guilt and fight the stain that Red Love leaves. would i surrender self, stop working so very hard to just be, allow Red to cover and leave me blameless white?
my washrag is red and unraveling a bit, and towards the end my hands are wrinkled and red. all this red to clean, and i think that's all it's ever taken--red running stripes to clean soul dirt.
work it out
figure it out
scrub harder on stains
use more effort
be better
these thoughts carry guilt and fight the stain that Red Love leaves. would i surrender self, stop working so very hard to just be, allow Red to cover and leave me blameless white?
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