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.

A Summer's Eve

I've never quite been a summer girl, but there is something about this time of year that gets my heart going.

How I adore my yard when it is in full bloom. Though I wish I could say some of its splendor is my doing, it is all my mom's handiwork. Still, I do contain a bursting feeling of pride and possessiveness over it as I walk amidst its glory. There is the huge rosebush that sweeps over our back porch and captures it like a disease come springtime. Then, as summer comes, a thick crop of rosebuds begins to light it up with color like candles over a dark room. I love the pleasure that runs through me when I step outside and smell the brilliance of the roses in the afternoon.

There are thousands of flowers. Rhubarb with leaves bigger than trees. Our backyard maple, front yard oak and red bud and mountain ash. Swarms of bees feasting on the flowers, butterflies that come to visit, and worms burrowing in the dark, healthy dirt. My mom's herb garden grows daintily. When the raspberries start to come, bucket after bucket are filled after each picking.

I bike, too. There's nothing quite like riding free, wind rushing through my hair and over my neck. It's almost what I would imagine riding a horse bareback would be like. Feeling close to the wild earth.

What I love more than anything, though, is when dusk comes. I slip outside and stand on the porch. I just stand and soak it all in. The sky, the air in my lungs, the tree silhouettes, and the crickets. I stand and feel the wind on my face. The sky swallows me in its vastness. . . and that is the time when my worries wash away.

If anything makes me feel beautiful, it is the dusk and the wind.
I feel the presence of God nearing, and I am changed.

Tonight, I went outside and flattened down on the ground and watched some ants. I felt a familiar childlike wonder creep into my gaze. It has been so long since I've done something like that: just lied down to look at the details. I'm finding that, these days, I have to intentionally choose to simply savor moments.

Well, here's to the future,
where I hope I will once again be able to find beauty in the little things. I'm going to relearn to look for the small things, like veins in the flowers. It's time to breathe deeply, slow down, and open my eyes wide again.

My dog, Jasmine, enjoying the world.

Trudging

The darkness dances before my eyes,
and here I am,
exhausted by my fallen ways.

I'm tired. I'm tired of me. And of the fight to lose my old ways. Because it never seems to work. Will I ever win? Maybe I would feel hope if I just experienced a victory every once in a while. I'm stuck in the mud, the trenches, and no matter how many times I wash myself, I can't seem to get myself clean. The dirt is a part of me, ground into my palms and cheeks and tongue, and I can't escape it.

Yet, as I fall down into this deep misery, I see a faint glimmer again. And I remember the truth: that I can never wash myself clean.

It's the blood of the Lamb that makes me new.

And becoming holy is not measured by victories.

But oh how it feels like it. I'm struggling to fight hard. I want to be different. I am so disappointed by my failure.

I guess the only thing to do is stand up, lift my head, and begin the slow journey through the thick mud. It's slow going, but it is worth it. For it's the only way to the end. 

Quieter Hours

Here I am, yet again.

It's getting later and my wake up time looms early. But it's always just now that the itch to pen something down hits me. It comes exactly when it's inconvenient or just a little bit of a difficult choice to make.

But I like to choose it anyway.

For in the quieter hours of the night, the world is gentler. And thoughts can rise up when the din has faded into the background. I like the peace, the sleepiness of the house, the glow of my lamp behind me. I like that my mind is freed in my solitude.

And I suppose this post is absolutely nothing inspired. It's just the nonsense that I love to experience.
Just contentment at this time of night, this summer night.

Warm in my bed, cool in my home. And I am ready for Inspiration to strike. I'll just have to wait and see if he decides to visit me.