Wherever I Go

Hello 2am.

You aren't always the kindest to me.

Then again, I am rather foolish to stay up this late. I always regret it. Especially when morning comes, and with it, the bone tiredness. The exhaustion that aches even in my eyes. It coils around my brain like a snake, suffocating.

I feel certain I've said this before: what is it about the night? It turns the world upside down, thrusts it into a new and foreign perspective. My true fears, feelings, and faces bubble up to the surface. Masks are gone, and so are distractions. I'm here, alone and in my bed.

The sky is darkened, sometimes the moon is out, and it's always here in my room that I am bared before the Lord. Not to say this is a magical place-- nothing like that. It's just that I am safe here. I let go of the other things, drop my burdens upon the cold, concrete floor.

And God takes them from me.

That is something I will never stop wondering over.

Why do I worry? Look at the birds, the lilies. I am of such little faith, for the proof sits before my eyes and still I do not trust God wholly. There is much work to be done in me.

Do you know something? I don't want to just find God in the quiet of my room or in the fullness of a worship concert. I want to have this baring everywhere. No matter the time, no matter the place. However I feel, wherever I go, and whoever I am with. I want intimacy and conversation with Jesus that doesn't depend on circumstance. That doesn't depend on me.

Because how I know that that isn't true communion with the Lord.

A true encounter with God is so bound up in his grace and presence that the world holds no sway. Self holds no sway. Meeting with God is still deeply, unavoidably personal, it is. . .

But God is not dependent on man, and his power and will aren't controlled by circumstance or by me, the grain of sand in the ocean of desert.

That is a blessing. I want to learn to talk to God in a real way in other places, however I'm feeling. In a way that is constant. Not perfect, but constant. Dependent on nothing else but his real presence and infinite grace.

The Ache for You

Certain days are just melancholy.

The air outside is bitterly cold. The rain's drizzling down. The clouds are a gray painted smooth.

I slept in this morning. Made a steaming cup of coffee. Read some chapters in a book. Sat on the couch. Took pictures in the yard until my nose was pink and my fingers hurt.

Days like these help me understand what's going on in my soul. They help me burrow down and think.

And I am listening to music, stuck in this dreary mood. But there's a rightness to the wrongness. An understanding to come in the midst of the gray. In all of the sublime, the magical misery of these days - I acutely feel that there's something missing.

Someone's missing.

And do you know who that is?

It's the Bridegroom.
Jesus, the beautiful one.

And when things feel off and I can't get my mind on track, it's okay. Because this world isn't my home.  Emotions evaporate. This body is not mine forever.

My sin curse is broken and He'll dress me in garments of beauty. This is not the end.

Someday, all will be made right.

Forever Discovering

Sometimes I feel as if I'm in an everlasting cycle.

This stumbling through life, first. Finding out how unsatisfied I am.

Calling out, then. Desperate.

Discovering God's mercies. Finding truth. Receiving his love. Collapsing into his arms.

Next I'm asking him to not forget this change he's given me.

Then I'm back to trying on my own. Living on my own, forgetting.

And there is always this discovery, realizing, learning
again
that this world's not enough. I am weak. I'm not able. That I mess up. This world's a crooked place. I can't stand the way it is.

Rediscovering
that when I try and make it work,
I won't ever run.

And when I'm always trying to fix myself. . .
it's only God that can save this Desperate one.

Always a sinful forgetting followed by a simple discovering.

I don't think I'll ever stop learning this need of him, this love of his, this astounding grace held out. . .
for as long as I live.

This is one lesson I'll never have down. It's something to be discovered time and time again, until the day he makes me holy.

Salsa Thoughts.

I make salsa with my mom every fall.

When the weather gets windy and cold, when the warmth of the stove will feel good in the kitchen.

It's the afternoon,
and I'm home alone.
Just me and the dog and the cat and music and tomatoes.
Lots of tomatoes.

It's wonderful, though.

Washing, chopping,
slicing, blending,
pouring, stirring.

Just standing over the counter,
cutting open those tomatoes.
Most of them have bad spots.
Big ones, spreading like poison over them.
Some are small, but once I start to slice them away, I see how deep they go.
Sometimes the smallest blemish needs me to cut away more than half the tomato. Because the inside is so infested.

I cut them out.

Then they're like new.

That's what God does.
The pain of his cutting out those rotting, bursting darknesses in us
is worth the transformation in the end.

It's worth it.

So I stand, thinking
thinking so much that I can't even articulate
and hearing good music.

I've missed listening to Misty Edwards.
She is so honest.
She just speaks her heart to God.
It's good to hear that music, those words so saturated in the truth.
It's good to feel the truth seeping into me.

So I stand and chop, think, pray,
as the salsa begins to be made.

Humble Me

Do you ever just feel incredibly lowered and humbled by looking at the talent around you?

I'm going to try and simply admire and enjoy it all,
without also demeaning myself.
It's tricky. Because that's what I do automatically. It's my default.

And honestly, it's because I am so thoroughly selfish. I don't just compliment someone. I also have to mention something about myself, degrade myself, loop it back to me.
Me.
Me.
Me.
That's where my heart lies.
"Hey, give me attention!"
That's what it says all day long.
How sick and twisted. . .
trying to put on the appearance of lowering myself. But really, not.

It's probably better to just be plain, honest, and frank about my pride. To hide it. . . yuck.
I've seen so much of my pride lately.
I want humility.

I want to be humble.

And that is one trait, I am especially aware, that I can not make myself have. Somehow, that seems so obvious. I'll never be able to "try to be humble" without immediately becoming not so.

It's something only he can do.


-But back to talents.
First, I have such talented friends.
It's crazy.

I sit in art class, everyone's paintings propped up.
And they're all so different. And I love that. They are each positively beautiful. The different lines, thoughts, styles. The simple, the complex. The twists and turns. They all see differently and you see it on the page.

And seeing them perform,

and speak up front in class, bare their hearts, tell their stories, the pain in their eyes as they relive their darkest moments. They're each themselves. I suppose I'm going off topic, but can I just say,
I love my class.
I'm so thankful for them. 

To go to the art museum, thick strokes and thin, artists showing the world what they see,
to read books so complex, every word puncturing and wielded, imprinting on my mind,
to see my drama teacher perform a monologue,
goose bumps running up my spine as she talks of Mozart and utter joy and raises her head and shouts, "Hallelujah!" The joy of the Lord. To be lifted out of the pit.

My heart overflows as my mind races thinking of it all. . . I don't want to write anymore. Just think.

Dusk

It's evening.
Do you hear the birds?
The breeze is wafting through the windows.
I'm tired.
Warm too.
My fingernails have dirt under them,
and my heart has peace tucked inside,
for the first time in a little while.

Contented.

(source)

It's raining outside.

I just went to the Lagoon Theater, in Uptown,

with my mom, 

to Jane Eyre, the movie.

It was lovely.

And we took the bus, and then walked,

laughing,

with rain running down our faces.

There are still droplets on my nose and forehead and hair. 

I'm eating homemade bread, too.

I like how where I am feels right now.

The clouds outside, 

the wetness, grayness,

but warmness too.

I like sitting here, inside and warm,
and with the tea kettle whistling.
Here, and,

home.

 (source)