nothing like the written/spoken word

Here is a poem I wrote today:
sitting here with a cup of tea
atop of a tired afternoon
distraught with all the crazy
that will pass before the moon

today was, of course, supposed to be
set apart and beauty-filled
but i think the way i spent it
more hell than heaven thrilled

i’m glad i can be honest
and share what’s on my heart
i’m glad you can know sometimes
my mornings have rough starts

even though I may surprise you
with my messes and mistakes,
i hope you will be patient, still
and with questions never hesitate

i think i am starting to see
that blooming girl inside
i think i might have glimpsed
all those things you try to hide

i’m okay with taking it slow
and with learning bit by bit,
but I don’t just throw my love around
so can you please take care of it?

And here is a video …

http://www.youtube.com/v/IFURxgaLxEE&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b

I love it. We’re doing 24/7 prayer this week and THIS is what it’s all about – using Scripture to bring God the glory for who He is!

we are supposed to

we are supposed to want to revel,
to dine fine and delight
to escape a workdays wrestle
under a clear, starlit night

we are supposed to want to get
fast and furiously away
from the stresses and the messes
of dull, dreary everydays

we are supposed to fight and finagle
every second of the five-day week
then rush away to Saturday, where
of things work-related, we do not speak

we are supposed to just “get through it,”
and endure our vocation
in hopes that one day we just might
end up with one long vacation

we are supposed to savor moments free
away from desk and planner
to find diversions completely apart
from lists on the task manager

we are supposed to fit in this box
where everyone relates-
we complain and groan and sit and moan
about our jobs that we hate

what if we supposed instead
that work could be enjoyed-
that through our daily toils await
unspeakable gifts from being employed

suppose we each were fashioned
for work and not a long vacation
how then would we feel at the close
of one five-day-long summation?

suppose we are wasting our energy
with a fight quite misdirected
running from all the daily joys

has our souls severely affected

my desk is a brick wall

Hair wadded on the top of my head means business. It means there is no messing around with swoopy stragglers, determined to blur my vision. It means my just-clean, still wet hair is tightly bound with a wonderful elastic band higher than most cheerleaders dare to perk their tresses.

And this is me tonight, after a most random day. You’ve heard the cliché “writer’s block,” where the words stop forming at the tip of your tongue and the typewriter has been silent too long to be a hesitation or a dramatic pause or an intentional ‘brain break.’

I’m not talking about writing (unfortunately, I have no reason to make a legitimate “writer’s block” plea). I’m talking about work.

For the past week I’ve been waiting.
waiting for a telephone call about school closures
waiting for a demonstration to finish
waiting for stoplights that only blink yellow
waiting for the curfew to be lifted
waiting for internet to load news about my city
waiting in lines at the crammed grocery store
waiting for things to bake

The waiting was not peaceful. Rather, I should say finding peace amidst the wait has been a fight. I tried on lots of different responses to see if they would fit the (very) many moments:
Some moments I was antsy (truly fidgeting) and anxious.
Other moments I could appear resigned and even indifferent – kind of a, “whatever will be, will be” attitude.
Sometimes I would stretch my little creative fingers and try to make paintbrushes express the palette pushing at my brain.
A good amount of moments I’ve spent reading – classics and philosophy and studies.
Moments slipped away in regret for moments wasted.
Moments were thrown at wishes for moments to come.

So many moments and all that flustered, not-peaceful waiting were wound very tightly around a hope that someday we would return to school and find a routine hidden underneath the newness of a third “first day of school.”

That day was today. The routine? Still looking.
I went from chapel to office to office to chapel to my desk… and quickly left to find others to meet with and de-brief with and compare notes with.

My mind is such a stubborn creature. I couldn’t make it bend to the appropriate response to the moments of this day, which was of course, “Be productive!”

No matter how many times I tried to shove my thoughts into an unseemly straight pattern, I found myself sitting at my desk (the smallest amount of moments) busting the seems of the pattern because nothing was fitting. My desk is a brick wall.

All this was satisfactorily frustrating (I would be concerned if this behavior wasn’t curious) and I came home tired (which I thought was completely unmerited). I won’t bore you with the play-by-play, but I want to share a few moments where God seemed to open the sky and say “here is the beauty.”

I was able to chat with my mom (trust me, I never though ‘chat with my mom’ would ever sound normal) tonight and she reminded me, in her wonderful motherly way,

“BUT God is still on His throne and He is God all by Himself. Give some thought to throwing out your ideas and plans and joining Him in where He is working right now.”

And I say, “Okay, mom. I will try that.”

Listening to: Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors
Drinking: Green Tea with coconut, ginger, and vanilla

papa

a poem for my dad
i might have been confused
about your love at first
all the whiskers, the wrestling –
the working, raw hands were the worst

those dreadful early mornings
when my ‘turn’ came around
I heard your voice in the stair
and then slowly tumbled down

I climbed upon your lap
no matter what my age
and we sat there together
and together there we prayed

then out to the milking barn,
too tired to complain,
I’d sit on a bucket and you’d ask,
“who’s your best friend these days?”

I was a normal, growing girl
all moody and self-involved
and so I want to say I’m sorry
for not seeing your resolve

your persistence to know me
and your love I shrugged off
your interest and encouragement
when others called it a lost cause

thanks for giving pointers
on free throw shots and running form
thank you for attending
every time I would perform

I am sure that I passed over
and looked the other way
when you chose to sacrifice
so my joy could be displayed

I remember those nike shoes
you gave me once for Christmas
I don’t know how you got them, but
the miami dolphins colors – delicious

every season with it came
a new thing for us to conquer
unruly bulls, flaming buildings, and

flooding basements almost put us asunder
any moment I’ve resented you
for punishments or curfews or tempers
is swept away with one small truth
that your love was at the center

in the several years since
I have lived outside your “roof”
I grow ever more thankful
for your tough love and your reproof

not all dads are like you
though many are very fine
I believe that there are very few
who can imitate Christ’s love, divine

we are growing now, both me and you
we are struggling steady onward
I just want to say thank you again
for pressing farther in and upward

I never called you papa
though I always wished I could
but I’m alright to call you dad
because our love is understood

dear diary

dear diary,

i am reading this new book. it’s flashy and trendy and has exactly the right amount of author honesty stamped on its clean white pages. the beautiful stories of someone else’s life has got me hooked like a helpless fish and grasping to make her struggles and dreams somehow part of my own.

on the pages of a book even the tragedy of loss seems strangely romantic. yesterday i picked it up again and flipped through several chapters. i can’t help but see her life as dreamy and extravagant, though the typeface admits her daily struggles with life’s everyday-ness.

i don’t fit there. i’m almost positive there will never be a time when my ‘everyday’ includes spontaneous trips to europe or annual vacations to private islands or elegant dinner parties or frequent flyer miles to visit old friends. i mean, i guess i can’t be totally sure.

but, i’m okay with that. why do i feel like, as i’m reading, that this has to be my story too? that what this author pens as her dreams and tales and desires… somehow has to reflect the bud wrestling to burst forth from the little tree inside of me?

it doesn’t, right?

my ‘everyday’ discoveries of joy and my less elegant, far simpler dreams of what my life will become … those are legit too, right?

i believe yes. i believe that if five years from now i’m still making art on canvas that no one understands (we’ll just call it abstract 😉 and still wishing for solitary places to write from my imagined deep, philosophical gut with the hopes of one day writing something that is significant and still acting 17 though I will be pushing 30 and still floundering about without a “normal” job and financial plan and still wishing that I could be part of something outrageously bigger than myself (though not completely sure what that might be) and still just doing the day-in-day-out randomness that seems to be the puzzle pieces of my life…

if i’m still that person, i guess that’s okay.

and i guess, diary, what i want to say is that i’m learning that loving people is hearing them ask this same question and then hearing different answers. even the author, i’m sure, as she was writing, was daily proving her legitimacy – of dreams and joys and struggles and pains.

loving people, maybe, is knowing that what i’ve got to say may not resonate with you. and what you’re telling me may not make any sort of sense at all. but hearing each word – a little gift bundled in a (sometimes) messy package – open up to reveal a teeny bit more about who we are.

i think when i was in high school i had this quote on my wall: “to understand any living thing you must creep inside and feel the beating of its heart.” according to my google search, W. Macneille Dixon said some version of this so he gets the credit.

the wonderfully crazy thing about creeping inside anyone and feeling the heartbeat, is that this kind of deepest love always, always, always reveals who made us.

now that is significant.

the postmodern missionary

I wrote this poem for my newsletter that came out and thought you might appreciate reading it. It’s been awhile since I posted poetry, but this is something that I’ve been thinking about as I read the news and sit in conversation with my contemporaries. I suppose you see how I feel about the mess I found. Don’t be mistaken, I’ll include myself in these tendencies as well.

amidst trends and fashions
we set out to reach “the lost”
though even that word itself
is starting to sound odd

what is lost anyway?
we are not quite sure
but we are certain we can
lead others to be secure

with less than compassion
and little thought of the best
we ‘make do’ with half-hearted
and we settle for less

a model contrived
of our own skilled volition
jaws determinedly set
to accomplish this mission

little notice we give
to saints of the past
who have weathered the storms
we are sure not to last

of such relevant struggles
old hearts know not one thing
each day is brand new
with new messages to bring

we will persevere, though
in our own way
don’t you dare say different
or we’ll lead you, too, astray

step aside now, concern,
don’t mottle our path
wisdom comes too slow
time to wait has now passed

tradition, stay clear,
we need not your sturdy presence
you will only hinder
our mission and strong cadence

listen here, Lord,
please don’t show your face
we’re content to chase our passions
and Your presence might be a disgrace

Please leave your comments and let me know what you think… is it too harsh? Am I imagining things? What is to be done? All questions and no answers. That’s where YOU come in! 🙂

Excerpts

Here are a few articles that have appeared in the guidance newsletter (The JOURNEY) I started. It’s slowly picking up steam at the same time that the circulation is severely decreasing. Our printing quality is greatly lacking, but I think they are still getting read (or at least that’s what I tell myself)!


LOVE IS A MOVEMENT

When was the last time you were moved? I’m not talking physical movement. When did you last feel drawn into action out of love?

You may have just read the questions above and replied, “Never.” But, dream with me for a moment that it is possible to be moved to act out of love.

Some of us just returned from the Bagope retreat and we’re fired up about the lights we have shining within us. We had a weekend jam-packed with laughter, friendship, and (of course) emotions.

We were confronted in different ways with the things God is asking us to give to Him, to release, or to confess. We lit our “candles” with the light of Christ and vowed to be changed forever.
But, as we return and the emotions fade, those commitments we made in earnest now seem close to impossible in this darkness. At the campfire, one student shared her frustrations with wasting time – wasting the present.

There will never be a time where doing what is right is easy or comfortable. Even so, God commands our love to be one that is expressed through our actions. What is your love moving you to do? Forgive a friend? Speak to your father? Start giving your time to a cause outside yourself? As a child of God, our faith is expressed through love. God gives us everything we need to go and do (and He commands it in His word – James 1:27). So what is your love for God moving you to DO?

When did you last care for something or somebody without caring if they returned the favor? This kind of love is contagious, leaving in its wake eternal change. Please, don’t take my word for it. Search God’s heart to find how He is calling your love to be movement.

CABIN FEVER

The sun is shining bright on the mountain, the summer clothes are back in major style… and school is far from thrilling.
As a student in elementary school, I remember the familiar phrase that would freckle my teachers’ conversation right around spring time, “cabin fever.”

No, I did not go to school in a log cabin, although I don’t think that would be a terrible thing. My teachers were referring to the incurable restlessness that overtook the classroom right around March.

As we all struggled to stay in straight lines for lunch, Miss Ludwig would say, “I think you’ve all got a case of cabin fever!”

A stranger might sense the same type of fervor if he/she should happen to visit the halls of Pinares. We can almost taste summer’s freedom, illuminating the end of this four quarter tunnel called school.

Now that I’m on the other side of the education process, I’m wondering if the summer was worth all the fidgeting. The apostle Paul spoke of forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead. He didn’t say anything about forgetting about the present. Don’t let the glazed-over look fool you – we are not created to do anything halfway. Just think if God had used that mentality when He went about forming creation!

Every single task worth doing is worth doing well, as my mother used to say. This very day (not tomorrow or the next) we are given is a gift. What good is it to waste the day (or the school year) thinking only about when it will end?

Somehow, there’s a way we can shake this cabin fever and finish well. I am sure of this, because I know we were created to do things excellently. There is always a way.

for mother

Click on the image to see better quality.

I wanted my mom to see it first, but this is my little way of saying thanks. I know, some of you think it is corny (namely, my siblings!!). But, mom and I have a special corny language and we understand each other there. Some people send balloons or flowers or cards or thoughtful gifts. I guess I like to send rhymes.

Love you, mom!

a poem for Sunday and thoughts on inspiration

I wrote this awhile back and just found it again. This morning, the sermon was on the honor of mothers and their beautiful place in God’s plan for creation. It made me think about all the times my mother could have pointed to her own wisdom, but instead she directed me to God and His perfect way for me. I am so very, very thankful for the example of unconditional love I saw (and see!) in my mom. Her own faith journey has been an inspiration and encouragement to me in so many ways. I wrote this poem at a different time, but reading it over I think it speaks a lot to the way my mom never hesitated to point me toward the comfort I would find in the arms of my Savior…. and knowing that was the best she could give.

when darkness comes
when darkness comes
and the lights are dim;
when comfort fades
and your hope seems grim

when you’ve searched your heart
and found only fear;
when you’ve searched your soul
and can’t seem to hear

some still small voice
keeps saying “slow down;
seek first, my child,
before your heart tumbles ‘round”

when you get weak
and decisions overwhelm;
when you pretend to be okay
but nothing seems to help

when every problem tires
and your spirit is put to the test;
when impatience sets in
and you are weary with regrets

some still small voice
keeps saying “come near;
seek first, my child,
you know I am here.”

What does this day move you to ponder? About moms or creation or blessings? Lately, I’ve been struggling to find inspiration… its hiding underneath schedules and busyness and I don’t like it one bit. Every time I go hunting for it, I am looking so hard I don’t see what screams in front of my face. Inspiration used to come easy. You know, I think inspiration is really just giving God opportunity. So, I’m making space today to give God the opportunity to speak.

What are your thoughts?

I don’t have thoughts tonight.

Well, I do, but I can not put them together. I’m going to post this very raw poem and see what happens, but what I really want is to know YOUR thoughts today. What is heavy on your minds?

What is most exciting or scary for you right now? I know that sounds creepy, but no one will answer anyway, so I have to try!

This poem came after I gave the girls Bible study today on forgiveness. We are doing a Campus Crusade study on the essentials of growth and forgiveness came the second week, after assurance. I really think the girls responded well, especially to this video we showed.

VENIA
http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=10686082,t=1,mt=video,searchID=,primarycolor=,secondarycolor=

After the video, we put on some Brooke Fraser and just let the girls write. If they needed to reconcile with God, forgive someone, or accept forgiveness, this was the time to sort it out. So, all that to say, this is my poem from that little reflection.

all my dirty laundry
out for all to see
inside turned out
busted, left with nothing

written on rags
my works torn to shreds
every vain effort
to cover up negligence

a tantamount failure
desperate as the air
escaping up into clouds
demanding a trial fair

unspeakable grace
for no reason, appears
forgiveness, a rush of
life and clouds clear

diseased and unworthy
covered, tucked tightly
a beautiful warmth
held in the grip of the Almighty

I’m reminded today of my desperate need for a Savior. Knowing of the sacrifice He made for one such as me, gratitude should echo from this desperate need.. and love flow like the best wine from this undeserved redemption.