and I'm sorry

scratches start shallow

I've never been much good at lying,
and I'm sorry

sometimes, I think it would be good if I was.

I'm just too wrapped in shades of yesterday
it's dad in me

gray through and through
and my lips laugh easily
and eyes bleed sorrow

and I'm sorry

to hurt you like this

as the cuts grow deep
like the aging rings of a tree
wrinkles gathered around sighs

I'm glad tears don't dye skin
because we both couldn't bear to look at the other's stained
cheeks, chins

but I wish kisses would leave seeds

our faces would burst with growth
green, ravishing, remembering the rosy days
green like your eyes, Rosie Grace

adhesive

when you pick up the pieces
and they don't fit back together

here it is, the one thing duct tape
can't fix

still, you try everything.

glue smears your hands into impossible holders of hope
and stains your wrists like coffee on the face of a carpet

you are not acting on experience or logic
but
braving
unknown waters

this braving
makes you feel foolish, and

you are

pasting, taping, wasting what does
not fit
what does
not
fix

but your foolish refusal to let things be
your stubborn bravery
and buoyant denial

and glued wrists and powdered shards

these are the marks of mahatma and

you'll touch your dreams one day

Here I am, encapsulated by the cocoon of the night. It is safe, here. It is honest, here. Even as I escape from all that I cannot face, there is a reluctant, relieving emission of truth in the cool air that drifts through the nearby window.

Here is my haven, when I stop hiding.

Here I am, broken and bleeding. And yet, too, here I am, more resilient than I thought possible. And this unexpected strength,

it doesn't come from me.

I know that.

There is a quiet hand holding me up. I sense the gentle kiss of healing, a healing that I did not believe in yesterday, a healing that I do not deserve. Still, I am given it. A gift. And in these quiet whispers, there is a powerful undercurrent of fierce love.

Love that comes through the arms that hold me when I feel ready to break. In the apologies of loved ones. In the broken looks. It even comes from the damaged words.

And this love, I find it in the open sky. The breeze that makes me feel beautiful. The lapping waves on the iridescent lake, as I sit against a tree and cry at dusk.

It comes to find me even when I run away. As my Bible sits dusty. As my heart wanders further than ever before. As I roll my eyes. As I embrace depression, apathy, and hopelessness. Giving into irritability, cruelty, and bitterness.

As the darkness comes the swallow me,
love comes rising up.

Love from Someone I haven't seen yet. Sent from someone who knows me far better than I know him. He's the one who never gives up on me, even as I give up on myself. This is the one I wish to be captivated by.

Jesus. Are you there?

I don't want to be here if I can't be with you.

here is some salt for your wounds

When you don't know how to go on, but have to. When you get by, but just barely. When you can't remember what bliss feels like. When the sun seems to taunt you with its unadulterated light. When life is hazed with darkness or days dazed by depression. When every flower has a thorn.
 

Don't give up.
 

I want to to tell you that hope still exists. I am telling you the truth; look at my eyes.
You may think that I am telling you this because I know hope, right now, that I have no right to say this to you when I cannot know or experience what you have. And you would be right to feel this way.
 

But I am telling you anyways.
 

Because I believe in fighting for hope.
 

I am fighting for it right now, myself. It is a battle that needs to be fought, because I need hope to live. And I say this with deep pain in my heart. Moments that will never be forgotten and never understood by others. I believe abundance still exists. So does peace. And I have found that nothing brings unity to a community like tragedy. Joy is never realized, never complete-- no, I would say joy is not true without pain. Not in this world at least. And gratitude can miraculously coexist with anger, grief, and loss.
 

I believe in paradox. I believe in hope. I believe in unadulterated light, even when it hurts to see it shining so brightly, salt on wounds. Still I believe.
 

And I want you to, too. Please. How it hurts to see you this way. Pain written all over your days. Sadness in your eyes, a sadness that wasn't there before. But I will not wish the pain away from you, though I fiercely want to kiss your scratches like a mother and guard your life like a father. But you carry more than scratches now; these wounds will scar. No amount of kisses can heal them; no guarding can protect you. I watch with helplessness, acutely aware of my forced paralysis. With this ache, I pray that you will make it.
 

That you will find hope once again.

 

exposure

there are creatures that I admire
for their blatant way of searching for light

their grotesque bodies and protruding eyes

rough wings batting ferociously
a search for the source, the beckoning
glow that calls their names

though it will expose their ugliness

they run to it

it will expose their ugliness

and therefore their wild, shameless beauty 

unparalleled 

if only humans could be so blatantly

aggressive in their search 

severe in body and beautiful in purpose 

needless to say

I like moths

sunset days

yeah, I taste the lingering stupidity of
my words
they sit in the air
as if perched on a tree branch, never coming
down again

embarrassment over
nonsense

it's nothing, really
but it's something, too

something heavy

tangled heart
bruised loneliness
mixed feelings
ardent hope

this don't feel good

nothing to comfort me as I let the weight settle on
my chest
this overindulgence in shame and it's
pinning me to the floor and I can't
I can't get up

(just ignore this
something heavy)

you can pretend to not be ashamed

but can't they all see through me? there it sits
on my chest
perched and lingering
swinging its legs as it settles onto the familiar
supportive branch

"get off," I say
but it's as much a part of me as my lungs

my lungs which
gave breath to my stupid words hanging in the air and which
feed me every day

it's silly that I feel exposed when I walk around
when really
no one is even looking at me

hey, I don't need more attention
I provide it abundantly for myself already
(just to say, this is no pity cry)

I think I'll
get up and walk anyways
even if it's heavy

burdens are a part of these sunset days

learnings (a reflection)

This year has undoubtedly been one of the best of my life thus far. (And by this year, I mean my freshman year at college.) Though it has been far from easy, I have never been so humbled, challenged, and loved. Every day has been a learning experience, and I find that to be extraordinary. The risk and novelty have been intensely rewarding. How beautiful and wild it all has been. Lots of mundane, lots of embarrassment, and lots of growth.

The word "growth" has never held so much weight before. It is a cliché, overused word... but it falls onto my tongue so heavy and deep as I see the nearness it holds to my life. Roots and branches are woven throughout the spaces of my life. This time has had so much pruning, breaking, reaching, bending, living, breathing. Things are messy. I am messy. Like a tree with untamable branches. Imperfect, knotted, but standing. Haven't fallen yet, even though there are days when I might be close. There's always hope for life as long as there are still roots in the right places.

Since I'm talking about growth, I'll share a few things I've learned this year.

• To say I love you to my family more.
• How to fly alone.
• Grocery shopping is fun.
• Living with people is both difficult and magnificent.
• New friends are good.
• You can feel alone in a sea of people.
• I'm easily distracted. Not just in academics or social situations, but spiritually speaking as well.
• Letters and care packages can save you.
• Solitary walks are good for the soul.
• Exercise is really, really, really important.
• So is food. Ain't no cooking like Mama's.
• It is a luxury to be alone.
• Surprises wait around every corner.
• Seattleites don't know the meaning of cold...
• My dorm is the best. (Even if it smells funny.)
• Church can be a beautiful thing.
• The forest is beautiful.
• So is the ocean.
• And so are the mountains. Seriously. There is nothing like them.
• Public transportation rocks.
• Wherever you go, you'll always be far from someone you love.
• Every good place has its faults, and even in bad situations it is possible to find some good.
• Just because God seems silent doesn't mean he's not talking.
• Pajama pants are the best kind of pants.
• How to be more independent. And yet also how to depend on others. To trust them. To accept gifts, love, help, and sacrifice. It's so humbling. (That's community for you.)
• Relationships take time. Always.
• Communication is vital.
• Prepare. But expect the unexpected.
• Moving to a different climate is fascinating.
• Hugs can be heavenly. And necessary for survival.
• Life transitions are hard, but so good for you.
• As a child of God, I do hear his voice. I shouldn't doubt that.
• Family is vastly important to me.
• You don't always have to be experienced; just be willing.
• Hard work pays off.
• Just because something is painful doesn't mean it's worthless.

Some days, life seizes you by the shoulders, and it beats you. Even if it's just in the small ways. You're left black and blue. Beaten. But the truth is that the bruises and burdens are nothing in the face of mercy. When the music plays and pierces your soul with its beauty, you begin to believe that you will be able to smile again soon. You are held up by so many brothers and sisters. And you are held by hands stronger than theirs, too. So you breathe. Tears slide down your face as you lie on the floor, but you're okay. You're a little shaken, it's true, but theirs light in the room.

The music dies, then, but the hope in your breast does not. You think its heartbeat gets stronger.

it should be, it can be, it will be

There are times when I am stunned by the brilliance of the world.
Stunned, numbed, struck dumb.

The color, the dullness. How painful and beautiful. Rooms spilling with paint stains. Broken mirrors, dizzy reflections. Wind on skin. Tears in eyes. A gentle touch, a harsh word. Life, so pregnant and full. Life, so crashed and hollow. What is all of this? Flavor on tongue. Out of tune singing. Acceptance, apologies. Misunderstanding. Dancing. Stilted, still. Rushing, humming, rubbing, stumbling. The drum beats on. Time stops for no one. This is silly. This is hard. This is beautiful.

And someday, too, this will end. This isn't all. It shouldn't be, it can't be, and it won't be. There are days beyond these, and a kingdom that will never fail.
The broken will be mended,
and hey,
the colors will be all the brighter.

On, on

A little something I wrote earlier in the year. It is interesting looking back... see how I felt, how much has changed, and how much is still the same. I am seeing how full this year has been with growth.

* * *

loved and lonely
the tug and pull
of sadness and joy

tears
even after the warmth of friendship
melancholy in the stillness
overwhelmed in the chaos

longing for old days
or wishing today was different
seeing faces

possibilities but nothing more

losing what was never mine
how are you? fine
I have no choice but to go on

on, on, until I realize that what I've been
looking for
is right in front of me

Resurrection

For this Easter, I'd like to share a piece I wrote last spring. I performed it last year at my high school during its annual event called Creative Expressions Night. I paired this piece with the poem Staying Power, by Jeanne Murray Walker. (It's a beautiful poem. Read it here, if you'd like.)

Anyways, here it is.

Resurrection

I didn’t feel ready for Easter this year.

Maybe it was because I didn’t go on the appropriate emotional journey that was expected of me – that I expected of myself. It starts with the mourning on Good Friday, a sober contemplation on the brutal crucifixion, and the magnitude of my sin hitting me in the gut. I dwell on the nails, the pain, and the God-man forsaken. Then there’s Saturday, a sort of numb ache, my waiting for the hope tomorrow will bring. And then – oh glorious day – Sunday comes, and a vivid taste of victory, joy, and confidence lands on me. I savor the power of the cross and listen to the crack of the curtain tearing in the temple. I relive this journey, a pilgrimage back to the time when I was carried out of the pit and brought into sunlight. When God raised my dead bones to life.  

I think I didn’t feel ready because that didn’t happen this year. My lack of emotional attachment made me uncomfortable. I was feeling dirty, at midnight after Good Friday ended, when I realized I hadn’t even thought of Jesus all day long. I sat down on the couch to play guitar, a lost feeling in the pit of my stomach, hoping that the music would bring me back to what I thought was the right place. It didn’t, and my voice was hollow as I sang the words I couldn’t feel: this is all my hope and peace, nothing but the blood of Jesus. All I managed to do as I started to fall asleep was muster a prayer for God to move me to a better place. It was my small whisper of a hosanna, my hope for Jesus to enter me like he entered Jerusalem.

This feeling of brokenness, and the recognition that I am trying to earn my way to God, and even seeing how I believe feeling  a certain way is more important than knowing God – it’s all too familiar. My inward struggle, the war that the Spirit of God requires of me, sometimes feels like enough to discourage me from entering the empty tomb – where, even though I can’t believe it at first, I will find life again. 

God is the phone call I didn’t want to pick up. He’s the one I doubt even if he never disappoints. Sometimes I think I need Easter every day.  

Because really, Easter is simply the finding of God. It’s when dawn breaks upon the dark tomb of my heart. It’s when God lets me see his glory in the craziest things – blood, death, betrayal, and a naked tomb with a missing body. In the holes in your hands, Jesus, the scar on your side, and the look in your eyes. You free me from shame, and I want to have unfettered obedience to you. More than a faith grounded solely on feeling, or just on knowledge. Shape me like metal in fire, brand me until all of me, every part, my soul, is yours. I’m going to search for you with all my heart, because to believe you’re alive is the resurrection of my faith.

when a murder is love.

Tonight I'm asking what love is. Staring into the lights so faint in the night. Pondering. With an aching bruise on my edges. Sore, tender, broken. Here I am. The purple and blue of my skin is nothing to what yours was, fresh from the whip, flogged for selflessness. The blood coursing through my veins speak of the life you've given me.

And yours was poured out.

Onto dry, cracked ground. Splashed upon hard, silent stones. And it soaked into the wood of two boards strewn together for your murder.

Your murder... to you, your willing death. Your sacrifice which paid the greatest price of all.

Who can fathom this gory, gruesome, glorious reality. I can't even grip with this means. Give me better understanding, greater insight, and a softer heart.

I can't realize any part of you without you touching me. Without your spit and clay smeared upon my eyes. Can't see 'til you change my heart.

Can't grasp the trembling truth of a man dying upon a tree and a God giving mercy to his enemies. Or what that really means, really, truly means, the extent and ramifications of what that does for me, you, and the world.

What is love? Is this love?

And why do you give love to me?

I bow, broken and unworthy... blessed beyond measure. Somehow, sacredly and scandalously rescued by blood, death, and sacrifice.

swimming in darkness, found by the light

some rare nights
the sadness hits like a hurricane.

unexplained, sudden, fierce in nature and brute force. but it's gentle too. creeping in behind my eyes. a thief in the night. and it is a blessing to feel this much, though confusing to not understand the intricacies of what is going on inside of oneself.

pain exploding. a concave of emptiness, mingled with bursting feeling. maybe even peace. mixture, beyond words,
just gutsy, profound, and human.

i don't know why i am writing this, nor what i am saying. but i just wanted to express this moment. strange, foreign. but familiar because this comes to me sometimes. and it is strange, in the sense of emptiness,

i feel a sudden nearness to God. like i have been thrust into His arms.

and oh how i need to be held.

recent ventures

my spring break in Seattle has abounded with blossoms.

exploring the city/being tourists with my roommate and her family.

at the downtown library, a beautiful place.

the texture of the trees around here; I can't get enough.

exploring at Discovery Park.

from the shore.

listening to the waves.



from a hike in the Cascade Mountains.

how I love moss.

so much beauty to behold.

here to ask.

Hello. Here I am. On spring break, finally. Free at last, you know. And I find that I am in dire need of rest and refreshment. For my body, most definitely,

and for my soul
even more so.

I'm not sure exactly why I am here writing. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask God for some things.

Because it doesn't hurt to ask. And I say that I believe God wants to hear from me, from us... but my prayers haven't really shown that. My faith isn't very persistent. When have I ever prayed like a person knocking on the door of a neighbor in the middle of the night? Knocking and not stopping. The neighbor might answer only out of pure annoyance. So how much more likely is God to answer? He is the gracious one. Giver and healer. If I believe that, I think I should ask more.

Okay. Here it goes. (Call this experimentation, maybe.)

Hello God. First off, I want to ask that you'd help me be bold... even in my asking. In these things, little or big. Grow my faith. Expand it to new heights and depths. I want this, and many things, not just for this spring break... but for beyond this time too. I want lasting faith.

I'm also aching inside. Oh God, you see this. For me, and for other people too. Please heal the pain. Do something about this. Don't leave us alone. So many lonely people. So many consuming desires. Fulfill these desires, God, or if they are distorted... redeem them. And fill the loneliness. Wash away the pain. At least be present in the pain, God. Be near. And grant us the grace to believe you are near and to hear you when you whisper in our ears.

Oh how I want to hear your voice. Teach me to listen. In the quiet, in the noise. I want to hear what you think about me, what you think about the world, and what you want to say to others. I am so far from that... will you change that? I want to live in a ceaseless conversation with you throughout my days. Listening, stopping, laughing, speaking. Right now, I feel so out of my element when in prayer. I have no idea what I'm doing. I do like that it keeps be humble and dependent... but I also am asking you to teach me of your ways. I want to know you.

And... on a lighter note. Would you mind giving me a few adventures this break? You know how much I would love that.

I love you, Jesus. Thanks for listening.

desires?

I am thinking, instead of studying. Pondering the complex nature of desires.

Desires really are funny... because they are so innate, so internal, sprouting from the deepest parts of a person. A desire really can feel uncontrollable because of how natural it is. But is a desire really beyond one's control? Can you tame a desire? Can you choose to kill it? And does killing it work? Maybe it will just revive itself again, even as you try to stomp it out. And the very fact that you feel that you can't control it gives it the flavor of being external, coming outside of oneself.

Is resistance futile? But passions, lusts, desires... can't you choose to fight them? You have to wage war sometimes, for not all desires are holy. Actually, I believe no desire in me can truly be holy without God making it so. Even the best of intentions can be distorted by my human nature.

I don't know. Where is my brain. It turned to oatmeal hours ago. I just had to ramble for a brief study break. Goodnight.

opportunity

hello lively days,
where peace is found under a blue sky.

here
the song of my soul is awakened by the world.
here
is the unlocking of the closed,
the mending of the broken.

I can't escape this place unhealed.

nights like these

I lie awake
at night

Eyes on the shadows and
on the walls

An ache, as empty as the white wall
lit by streetlamp
while my dreams flutter and
flicker like fading firelight

Tears come now, sometimes
and they are like prayers
leaking down, honey
from a cracked bottle

Out of broken eyes
and born from empty spaces

This seems to be the only
fragmented holiness I have
for it's the only prayer I can muster
on nights like these

questions

extent of love

Looking away, wanting things, it makes me miss what is right in front of me. The eyes, the people. The ones right in front of me.

Placed there by the very hands of God.

And I don't see them. Too many times I am looking away, eyes wandering, missing the moments being crafted. How blind I am.

Every day is a chance to love.

To choose love, learn love, receive love, and overflow it. To pour it out like fragrant perfume. To touch hands with the ones beside you. Look people straight in the eyes. To sit side by side on the floor, just being together. Being real. Seeing people - really seeing them.

So often I miss things because I am looking the other way.

Usually I am looking at myself.

Self-interest is the death of love.

My pride really needs to be broken. I think what I'm saying is - bring it on. Whatever it takes, God, do it, to stop me from looking at myself. I want to be like the whiskey priest* who thinks he is so unworthy that he will never ever be saved from damnation. That man always looks to others. He has no awareness of his selflessness because he is so occupied with engaging every person he encounters. He's unmindful of the extent of love he gives. I don't want to be aware of myself! I want to be aware of others...

devotedly and completely lost in love.

*The main character of the book The Power and the Glory