Here I Am

Another music video :) hope you enjoy share and stuff if you do...

I Got Fired!

Re: Science Mike

I guess I talk too much... but Science Mike is writing a book and he asked for help from his fans and facebook didn't like my comment so I am putting it on here in hopes that it will reach him,  so here goes... he asked us to reply to him with the following:

1. A time you felt like God answered your prayer.

There was a time, probably three years ago now, my mom had a last minute procedure that needed to be done it was supposed to be an ambulatory type surgery, we all expected her to go home later that day. First, (I have no license) it was hard for me to find someone to take her to the hospital because she wasn’t supposed to drive for two weeks after the surgery. Out of a whim we ran into a friend who was asking how we were and she offered to drive us to the hospital for the, it was a prayer in the back of my mind that we find help… later after the surgery Mom had a terrible reaction to the anesthesia, turns out she is probably allergic or just has a bad time with it, seems she had a bad reaction when I was a toddler or new born back in Cayman Islands so there was no medical history to point back to it (she told me about it after the surgery, saying something like “Oh yeah last time I had anesthesia I was throwing up”) needless to say I had no idea about this bad reaction or the danger of it, and since the doctors in Cayman Islands didn’t seem to communicate that to Mom… well let me tell you this way…

I got called back to the recovery area before she was fully conscious, the nurse said Mom was screaming in pain. She was simply praying in English (her second language) and the nurse didn’t understand her or whatever. I am not sure if it was the combination of like three pain pills the nurse gave her and the anesthesia but Mom kept falling asleep and when she would fall asleep she would stop breathing, her BP (which she had hypertension) would drop and her heart would almost stop completely. I was alone, with my sibling refusing to answer the phone (or couldn’t cause of work in my mind it was different) and I had no one to turn to… Mom was steps away from death and I wasn’t ready to lose her. Who is ever ready to lose a parent, right? But Mom is young and had so much more wisdom and beauty to offer the world. Anyway, I prayed because it was all I knew to do… soon enough Mom pulled through just fine and had barely any pain in healing from the surgery. So I think that was answered prayer.

2. A time you felt like God did not answer your prayer.

Oh, this is hard, and I guess more personal…? Maybe I don’t wanna answer this one, ha ha… Um, well, maybe something smaller, I prayed many times for my dad to stop smoking, especially after he got emphysema, but I am pretty sure he is still a smoker. I never hear from him now so it kinda became a pointless prayer and I stopped asking God to lead him away from tobacco.

3. A time prayer made you feel closer to God.

So… I have spent years feeling like an odd duck, when I was younger and knew God but had no “community” I felt like I couldn’t understand people in or out the church. Later I ended up joining a church and felt like no one understood a lot of things about me and the things I liked making… Soon enough I was going from church to church then I was really close to losing my faith, with so many things that didn’t add up, to so many people letting me down, misunderstanding me, and then not fitting in with people who don’t care about God, yet understanding a lot of their world… I don’t even know how to explain it now really… but I really longer for clarity, for security in my identity, all of it not in fragments. I longed for a home. I just wanted to abide in Christ, and have Him abide in me. Artists understood me as an artist, Christians as a Christ-follower trying to be a “little Christ”, intellectuals as a person in search of answers, and being okay with not knowing all, or having any clear but definition to what I “believe” except what I have witnessed and that knowing only part of what I think God is, is okay, and finding Him in everything… anyway… I felt misunderstood and unwanted, wandering in an endless sea, with no anchor except that I believe. I believe God is…

By some sort of chance, researching music and how music is not “worship” and my deep frustration and isolation because of what I see as a lack of community for people who think like me, I was checking up on Gungor with no internet access of my own and I ran into The Liturgist, a blog or something explaining who the Liturgists were and why it all came about. A little time passed, (earlier this year I suppose) and I was at my wits end, ready to turn away from everything I loved and believed. Suddenly I had internet access and remembered the Liturgists and now there was a pod cast and I listened to every episode all summer. Suddenly my heart found its home again, suddenly a constant conversation with, who I call God, what I consider prayer, made sense. Suddenly my whole life started making sense again, and I found Him again, listening to strangers (who now feel closer and more tangible than many in my physical life), suddenly the body of Christ and everything I have known Him to be made sense again, and I wept in my cubicle listening to a simple repetition of “My God loves me… My God loves me… My God loves me…” Suddenly, my prayer for community led me to find His feet again, and everything that didn’t make sense in my faith was wiped away.

4. Any combination of the above.

The very first time I spoke to God was when I was a teen or child or somewhere in between maybe twelve, thirteen…? I was listening to a song by Jaci Velasquez called Speak for me and the words “Speak for me this my plea. Say the words I can't express. Sing for me a heavenly melody that the people will be blessed, speak for me” hit me somehow, deeply a way I could never explain then but later I would come to understand as the presence of God, or what I like to call His presence. Because of all the pain and hurt I had seen and learned about in the world, then, even as a child, I asked this of Him “in my heart.” I wanted my words to bring life to others, I wanted my life to bring about love and joy and peace to those around me, as much as possible, knowing somehow I would fail but to do my utmost best and try my hardest to so do… So I asked for that without even knowing what I was asking. I suppose it was like a wish at the pit of my psyche, at the very back of my mind and I never thought about it again… Within two years I was writing stories, songs and poetry just out of the things I was learning in school and seemed to love to do and soon enough it was all I could think about. I would go to bed thinking of my stories, come home from school rush through my homework to write the next scene, sing a melody over and over and over in the shower or wherever else I was alone until I could write down the words to remember it forever. Soon enough the drawings I did for just fun became another way of communication, another way to give life to others, but I didn’t know it then, or call it that. It’s been whatever amount of years since then (I am 31 now) and really, that is all I know to do that I can say are my “talents” and somehow I have grown to be a person that hears many tell her “you have a big heart,” so I feel like (even as this feels so prideful to say) God taught me much about love, and giving love and particularly communicating about love and that is how I feel I best give love to others, so I think it was answered, in a very long and roundabout way. Now I just got fired and have no way to feed my family (my mother and I) so I am freaking out, but I have a lot of time to invest in these things that I love that I asked for years ago, and I think kinda molded my mind to SUCK at normal jobs, so I became what I asked for, even despite what that means, but I did ask multiple times for God to help me provide for my family and being less than three weeks away from probably being homeless isn’t very much looking like answered prayer… however, answers come in many forms and not always the way we expect them to, so I am not discouraged, just scared out of my mind. Hope this helps, sorry I am so long winded.

Silence

So I made my very own first music video :3 Please have a listen, love and peace!

Molecules

Sometimes I wish I could
Just shut up

I wish I had no words
Especially as there is no one
To hear to listen to feel
As I speak into space
(Cause I hate containing this)

Talk over me, give me no room, quiet me
I miss my silence
I miss my peace
Yet my silence was fear
And as love grew near...

As I speak into space
Is anyone out there needing
Is anyone out there bleeding
Is anyone out there healing

I feel like the rain
That seeps into a home
Destroys treasures and warmth
Makes the known unknown
Forgotten unheard

Wish I were the rain
That quenches the earth
Longing for relief from thirst and fire
That nurtures the weary
Sooths the burning the seething

As love grew near
I found words
I found color and light
I found songs and life
Is anyone listening
Is anyone deaf from pain
Is anyone numb from blame
Is anyone out there
Is anyone out there
Is anyone out there

Quiet me,  shush me, hold me, warm me
I am floating in a vacuum
Losing all my essence
Can anyone hear me

Each word a lost waft of heat
Every thought a vapor of breath fading
I will breathe my last into nothing
Pray something births in darkness
In longing brings reconcile to life

As love grew near
I wanted to speak
Awaken the slumbering soul
That has been tortured and burned
I wanted to sing lullabies to dream

Strengthen the weak heart
That has been dry and used
Come back home
Rest in peace
Live in love

Is there anyone out there

Helloweine holloweeenie Hollowthatwordihate

I could never spell this day's name, ha... Halloween... moving on.

     Of course I can't sleep. Sit at work in the cold, fall asleep, even as I am with papers in my hands, while some weird music that I have no idea why I am listening to is playing in just my right ear, why this music, why this kind... I've never liked this kind, of course it reminds me new things. While a loud machine chunks away page by page by page... at a job to keep my mother off the street... I sleep then, not now. I get home to eat dinner, fall asleep, my fork falls from my finger tips hits the floor, my gosh I gotta clean it, nah too tired, wipe it with my hand, my pants, so sleepy, but right now I cannot sleep. I play a game to check on my friends, new friends that I met on--a game, fall asleep, yet again, my tablet drops on my face, good job, good job--what am I doing? I am playing--a game, it's just a game... but there are people on the other end, with hearts and minds and souls and I care, again, I care. Yet, right now I cannot sleep. Funny thing, I played a game, this game, to ignore everything that was falling apart at my finger tips. Everything I wanted to forget, everything I was trying to push away to be numb, to not fall apart myself. My right shoulder has been in pain for a year now, left one now too since July. Here's what I see dying, all those dreams He put on my heart, the dreams that drenched my soul with life, hope, dreams about beauty in the dark corners that everyone forgot to care about, dreams about loving the least of these with the only beauty I was willing to accept I had in these dry aching bones, the least of these including myself, and my mediocrity at what I love the most --creating, the thing that ties me most to the divine... Yet right now, I cannot sleep and I am feeling more than anything, more than I ever asked, and I for once, refuse to run and hide.
     I can't play guitar without pain, I have had little to no will to sing, especially after being stepped on about it for so long, yet months ago I was finally comfortable in my own skin, and the structure of my vocal folds that create the voice I have... let's talk about the drawing and painting that I left on the shelf for a dream of teaching (planted almost 10 yrs ago) oh how cowardly fearless I was then... and finally I can only stand to type on this tablet, everything else hurts from this shoulder,  to my soul, to my disillusion of self, and the people I committed, to wondering if they were worth the pain, again, this deep pain of always giving but maybe not giving what was needed or wanted so I am like an inflamed appendix,  someone, please rip me out... I found myself in the way again.
     So I ran to a game. How silly of me. As if there wouldn't be people there too. Glorious people, who lifted my heart to want to speak with my creator again, even if I can no longer define that creator enough to say a name ("God" seems like too confining of a word for something so far beyond what I could ever know, but always need and crave and long for...) there is still love, known defined,  understood, yet mysterious and an enigma, for I feel it, somehow give it sometimes, and fail every second I breathe, love is what I fail to give and even more receive. I fear love. I am unworthy of love, though I once believed, God is love, and still do. The question is, is there any of love (what I would call goodness and noble and truthful and life giving and many other things) in me? I was created with love, through love, by love, for love to receive and to give love. Why is it so hard to love?
     There was a time, that without knowing I would pour out all life I had in me into my own creations. There I met with love, my creator, most, readily, easily, unashamed. This was always to be our little secret. The most intimate giving of myself to any other being, but it was mine, no one else's. Time passed, I don't know where I am going with this, but somehow it seemed suddenly okay to dream of pouring out that love for everyone who never felt love or needed more love, or forgot love. It all sounds disgustingly silly and childish now, even as I dare to say it out of my mind. Then came the time my shoulder gave way, and my greatest weaknesses are raw and exposed. I am frail and fearful and lose strength quickly and if I push myself too much I fall away at the seams. I hate my weakness so much.
     My gosh, did I always dream about being an artist tied down by nothing yet always having the stability of a home? What is home? Do I have a home? Did I ever have a home? The one I knew in the past lays in cinder and ashes from 16 yrs ago,  and there is good and bad in that death. There was a theme, to abide in Christ, then he will make a home of me, but I don't see a worthy home when all I see is the pain I leave in my wake. Sure in present time I hear, "you are a blessing in my life" and such talk that communicates that but once they want to cross the bridge away from me all I see left are the scars I placed in their souls. I am too much, too little, too late, too soon, I am just me and I have nothing to balance my toxicity. I want everyone to walk away, yet pray they never do, because I truly long to love. I feel insane, too insane and silence swallows me whole.
     I want to scream sometimes in my darkest moments. Leave before I break you, leave before I reaffirm your fears, leave before the weakness in me and the selfishness in me devours all the beauty you have to give, all the beauty you are desperately clinging to just to have enough hope for the next breath. So, in this game, with beautiful people, I met friends. Friends that reminded me of one friend in my "real life" as we all say, who has seen much of my ugliness and still feels I am worth the risk. I used to think this was rare. I have doubted friendship for so long, I always seemed to kill it with myself, who I am and who I am not. 

     Tonight, my friends are all in silence and it hurts everything inside me... Some hurting, some.. who knows-- I always seem to want to pursue the one lost sheep, to affirm my love for them and my longing for them, but it seems tainted with me, all of who I am and wish I could be, so I stand where I know how to live best, alone. I am abiding in fear, and keep the silence as well. My pain doesn't seem enough to justify crushing another with my presence if it is unwanted or unneeded. Many tell me over and over... if a person cares they do whatever they can just to be with you... okay, okay but there are the times they can't or won't for well... probably the same reasons I don't when I don't, or can't when I can't and the times I cross the bridge to say hello I feel like the damn-est fool that ever existed. Shouldn't love have trust as well? Should love be proven empirically to be true and real?

     Love is far from science, and as much as I enjoy science my depths enjoy the life that love is far, far more, and incredibly more deeply than anything else. So on this dark sleepless night, I am too little to love again, but friends I do pray you are a greater risk taker than I am tonight. If anything you have taught me, love is also a risk, and damn, this little coward can actually be bold and a risk taker. This little coward, would risk her life for you, if I could forget about me long enough, and I want to trust that you risk your heart and soul for me too, even a little tiny bit, because I know you know this darkness deeply, but the times you shine are worth fighting every demon inside me, just to see you, and know more of you.

     When I feel my creator far from me, I cease to breathe in reality.  My greatest weakness is my doubt when all I have been given is beauty. I never thought I would feel this way about anything besides an invisible god... I hate not trusting, while life gets in the way, while the past tries to haunt us, while the future seems foolish or far too big to dare to dream. Yet, the people who crossed roads with me are so profoundly inspirational,  beautiful, mystifying, encouraging, and too good to be true, and on the other end of this encounter I see a girl who used to dream, becoming a woman who fights for life and wholeness and love. Every minute I see who I am I want to run, but you make me feel beautiful, that you do. Each of you make me feel beautiful, and in silence I miss you most.

09.09.15

Hey...
I want to catch your stars
Wash tears from your soul
Anoint your weary feet
Give warmth to your heart

You
Lovely,  you are...
Bold, cunning, will you...
Be unashamed, dear one?
I hear the melody of
Words swollen with life and beauty
Flowing from tender lips...

You
Source of passion and fire,
I dream of gazing into those blazing eyes
Lost in the dark mystery, I delight
Do you feel who I see?
Waiting for rest,
Waiting for home,
Waiting...

Is this real?
Where is the road headed? Am I drunk on joy...
You're intoxicating, but I am too much,
No one can handle me, but can I be your keeper?
Stand back,  look away, fragile treasures,
I cannot be trusted,
Especially with this...
With...

You
Friend,  I never think you'll stick around,
Friend,  I never think I'm worth it (whatever it is),
Friend,  I am not enough,
And I can't have nice things
But you I cherish, somehow odd

Voices say you're toxic;
You're worth the risk.
I will bear it, to find you.
I see your life and wonder,
Creating light and essence,  another breath
I'll tell you to your face.
Love breathes and longs to live in you.

You are worth more than flesh and blood
Worth every word lived
Beyond time I see you,
Holding me on sleepless nights,
That's the
You
I see...
Reminding me  what I am made of
Reminding me of tendeness...

I long to give anything you desire
To fulfill need,
To nurse your broken wings...
What have I to offer?

You
I will breath out the last of my life
To keep the air in your lungs,
To keep you strong when weak,
Too keep hope in your heart
         And joy on your mind...

September, and Another Year, The Drawbridge Returns

I really wish I were a bird. Being sick to my stomach and missing work right now I could think about how to make up the missing money, more missing money, and less food for yet another X amount of time. Instead I am thinking of the past eight months, the last year, and what as of last night was officially wasted time. I hate writing like this, except there is no other way for me to get this out. My intuition seems to be stronger than I think. I always call it pessimism,  but I am more optimistic than I want to believe. I expect my thoughts and heart to be wrong, then when they aren't I am angry, hurt, and disgusted, and mostly at myself. I don't trust people easily, especially my own judgment of the characters of those I meet. I think, maybe he's not superficial and egotistical, yet it ends that they are, and though I dream of God nurturing a better person, or hope that He already has, in the end I am wrong. I think, she seems insipid, lacks a heart, and depth of compassion,  but it must just be the surface, it must just be a thought,  a bias, jealousy,  pride, whatever etc, then, once again, I was wrong. I believe in giving the benefit of the doubt, since I am so broken, I am so shitty (I have no better words in my current state of mind) I assume there is goodness behind the eyes of all humans I find. Against my heart, I sometimes choose to commit to them, knowing love is a choice when it comes to humans since we have separated ourselves from it. I expect to dig deep, and find that blossom that needs air, water, light and that no matter how well or ill acquainted one is with love, more love cannot be wrong, why should it be so? If God is love, then committing and deciding to love, is giving God. Most of the time humans, both in and out of the church (meaning the Body of the Christ who I believe came we to teach love, how to love) choose to deny love to certain people for whatever reason. They deny time, and knowledge, they deny compassion and commitment,  they deny relationship and in this Western society I am caught up in, it is always because of some agenda. I can tolerate such actions in a business, a world that is dedicated and sustained by money to produce money, but I refuse to tolerate this in the Body of love, the church, Christ incarnate. It saddens me, and angers me to the point of sobbing that because of strange politics and systems and algorithms that the Body would choose to refuse love, to anyone, and continually fail at loving and instead of committing past the failure,  call it what it is and grow from the wound instead they cut ties and call it something else. It saddens me most that a year has passed and I find myself writing about the same thing. There is this belief that loving the body of Christ is wasted time, if that is the only love you give, granted, it is sad and I add you are not truly loving anything if you only love yourself (the Body). If we as the body are a tree, each branch is fed from the vine, yet there is light that comes from outside of the vine, as branches we are intertwined,  one blood and heart, and send this light through one another to be reconstructed by the vine, the roots as food which sustains the branches. That same energy is transferred when we die to feed an animal. A branch or a leaf alone dies, there is no tree, there is no connection to the vine, there is no where to transfer the energy from the light. That being said if you expect the love deprived to love those unacquainted with love we are just wasting our time. A leaf which doesn't receive nutrients from the vine soon becomes yellow, wilted dry and frail, it no longer efficiently absorbs light for photosynthesis, its purpose is dead, and it falls off, but it is rarely because there is too close to the vine if ever. If we expect every part of the Body to be a leaf, we are all cut off and dead, think of autumn the trees that lose their leaves. The Body has many parts,  we cannot all be on the fringes, we are isolated and dismembered, if that is the case, we become a gas, and more of a vapor than water, too close we become ice. Both extremes are not absent of any use but both require a longer process to quench thirst. I wish I were a bird, fully within a flock, flying as one, each taking a moment to lead,  each spreading seeds by simply living and being a bird that eats and enjoys fruit and seeds and insects. Alas, I am a human surrounded by those who refuse the give and take of love in a society that thinks a pattern or system can reproduce what God has designed in all other organisms and the ecosystem,  which, oddly enough our adversity to living like it is killing it as well.

It's Not What You Think

That's when I long
To break the forth dimension
For we have no reason to meet
Here, beyond time, we can grow
Limitless in knowing
Litmitlessly learning
The heart of a stranger
Who has always been there?
Here, and known
Strung together in endless
Existence, the ways I know you
You are...
I am bound, limited, by myself
Alone, yet with you.
Breathe your song to me
Wind, light, dark matter
Unseen reflections.
Grow near to me, rise inside me
This is why I need you
To finish me,
As I ache for you
To touch my soul, my mind invaded,
My heart rushes...
To know such joy, ecstasy
Intimately intwined
You infuse my veins,
I feel you, don't let go
As my breath runs short
Be by my side, breathe with me
In and out, out and in
Every turn, every crack, every crevice, 
Every untouched corner
All of me shares your flesh and blood
I long for you to quiet my heart
Quiet my fears
In dark places,
Exposed and frail,,
My peace is in your hands
All of me craves more
More you
More, my love.

Drawn Out Smile

I miss looking forward to something
I miss the days having meaning
I miss the difference of breaths
Light breezes filling a soul
Gentle warmth-rays, glistening
  through dancing trees

A fresh start, jubilation whispers
Exhale, exhale, exhale
That breath of applause
The bird's encore, rejoice
Life awaits...
I miss tenderness, giggles
I miss tickles of spirit
Tears, joy, sorrow
Exhilarating, roaring heart rates...
I miss coffee smelling sweet

Here the air is dead.
I am alone, speaking to death
Cold shadows ache, fragrance dissipates
Did you hear the music?
I really wanted to dance,
I really wanted to laugh.
The silence comes from white noise
I don't sing, solitude in a crowd
Singing I am most alone
I echo nothing, compliment nothing
Melodies disintegrate, they are lost
I am assassin if not idly listening
I would rather listen, watch Life.
In my box, you can go on existing
In my box, the viper is contained
Coffee never warmed me anyway
Only one hurts when I don't partake

The greater good matters most
I can take it

A Lot of Words

I haven't had much to say lately. For the past few months life has seemed like an endless line of pain, I suppose, either mine or that of countless others. It seems I have a separated shoulder, and I can't afford to fix it, physical therapy,  missing more work... countless obstacles I cannot name at once. It makes me wonder how many people are in pain because of a maze of issues they can't get past or because they are far, isolated,  forgotten,  unseen, much like systems that silently and invisibly hurt people go unchecked. I wonder if people truly want to know one another, and know the struggles of the humans they encounter, or if they are caught up in their own suffering and anger so much that they would pass a dying child without a flinch or thought.

I haven't had a lot to say because I wonder, seriously and gravely wonder, if I have anything worth saying. A past me would've said something like, everyone has something to say something meaningful to someone. However, if the person meant to hear it never does, what good is it to say anything? I have seen how I have no audience, and I don't want to self promote because something in me feels it's wrong. I feel like force feeding my ideas to someone is wrong. I think to myself, those who are communicating effectively are being sought out, they are being asked questions, simply because of merit. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I am right, and it is those who are leading and loving an audience who have the most poignant things to say, the deepest most moving things to say, the most honoring and uplifting things to say, the most convicting and loving things to say.

So again with those who are cut off, isolated,  unseen and forgotten, what  if they have no voice becuase no one is listening,  not because there's nothing to be said. Then there are those who who do have influence, and have a huge audience yet they have no love for them. In these past few months I have seen countless words come across a screen with no regard to the recipient. Drive the agenda; whatever heats the blood enough to break the silence, but not enough love, mercy, compassion, or understanding to care if the person on the other end was respected enough, or even thought of as human enough to be able to listen. Are we communicators more concerned with words than flesh and blood? If my argument is, in my mind, the best, but is only accessible to one who is of my context what good have I done? Arguing for the sake of arguing has always seemed like a dead end, yet when it is on social media we forget that the person reading our words is worthy of love,  forgiveness,  and compassion,  and mercy. Actually,  I have seen this in person as well, our pride is so swollen from whatever it is that's in our mind that we are talking to walls, but those walls have feelings,  and they are another living person.

Why do we struggle so much to be heard? Do half of us know how to listen? I have said things over and over and it is as if they were never said. I wonder if I just don't know how to write, but that's not the case. A lot of times I have seen it happen outside of myself,  words that were never said being added by someone's mind, words that were said being completely ignored, all for the sake of saying what is desired and not saying something to connect with another human being.

So I stopped wanting to write,  as much as I love it, because I don't want to impose myself on others. I want to be asked, and speak into what needs words not what I think should be said, but then that's tricky too. What if no one knows it needs to be said besides me? I have not enjoyed this blog because it is just talking to a wall. As a young lady, who does videos on YouTube named Jenna Marbles, once said about what she does, the point is to connect with people. It's not about fame or being known,  but to know another person. I think that's what makes internet media revolutionary,  and special. Both sides can have a conversation,  and interaction,  an exchange and not have to be limited physically.  I could have the same exchange with someone across the earth who I have never met or someone I see every Sunday, but the joy is the back and forth, connecting with people. Anyway, just some thoughts,  feel free to actually give real feed back or even talk, but who actually talks these days?

Cloud

A caterpillar's in the cloud
Yes it's been a long day.
Journey to dreams and pray to not wake.
Here is where life can bloom.
Here is where water can never die.
Grow organs flesh and eternity's key.
Don't slumber too long, work is at the ready.

Love awaits to deepen the blow
The way and sway that nurtures the heart
Yet as you stretch a doubt unfolds
Raging waters dark and vast
Fear not, Dear One,
Throw your net aside cast it away,  away
Your hands and feet desire
Cultivate with your bread and wine
For there inside is love
There inside is

That voice
That voice unfailing,  so true
That quiver and shiver of light
Unseen
Unheard
Unwind the flames, and swallow the scroll
Care not for the danger
You know the beyond is worthy
You love it so pay it
Lay down the fears, face it

The rhythm might fail you
The melody may fade
But the beat of love's heart
Resides beyond the haze
Unveil unfurl the wake of fighting
That is without hurt or blood of other
Lay down your breath you know who owns
The contents of lungs, heart, mind and soul

The one forsaken
Gave life for his own
The one who gave life
Is life's own word
Fear not, rest,
Content in the arms
That hold with energy
That cannot be disclosed
Home it is, home it will be
The weary find rest
The soul is made whole

Bunny 2.4.5

     It took my mom pushing me for me to commit to caring for a bunny.  Even though I have dreamed of having one for years, as things got more tangible, the only thought on my heart was, "I will kill it."

     Why?  Why would that be the only thing taking over my heart? Well, I am overwhelmingly used to killing things, and half of these ideas are false, but there is a dark truth in these thoughts as well. Keep myself alive, unscathed,  whole (in my own definition) are the motives I face. I want to preserve myself beyond anything, as if God isn't my keeper, the one who plans what is ahead of me, and who heals what's behind me, in me. That selfish fear is the death in me. I surely deny these motives, seeing as how I sometimes think the world is better without me in the equation. That's the false half. Somewhere I assume my actions are always vicious, or maybe useless because I know the depths of my sin.
     Perhaps we all fight that thought. I am no good, so what I do is no good, but God is in us, whether we deny His very existence, we are made in His image, and He uses us for good, and love, and life. How much more can He use us if we commit to bringing good, love, and life into the world, and to let Him deal with the darkness in us? Truth be told, I am my worst enemy. So as I looked at the thought of caring for the life of another, especially one who cannot defend against my evil, I was paralyzed. Surely no good could come of this. Surely only death and abuse could be the result. Yet, someone knew more than me, Mom knew, others maybe knew, how I am designed to love. Why can I not accept this?

     I see my own evil heart and weep inwardly, yet when I see others mourning their sin it is so easy to place God's truth for them as the only viable option. Why not accept it for me? That is probably a moment I can say I need others. I need the same folks I am too scared to love, not because I don't want to be hurt, but because I expect only death to come of it. I expect only death to come from me. I faced God with these thoughts for the past few weeks, maybe more. I asked "why am I such a snake, poison to all I touch? Why not just lock me away where I cannot hurt anyone?" Not only that, we also discussed, "I only talk to hear myself and think I'm so intelligent, why not just keep me from doing that too?" Oddly enough, I wrote up a post to end all posts, saying good-bye to this part of me which I love so very much. I couldn't really tell you why besides thinking I am arrogant to think anyone would ever read this with out me shoving it down someone's throat, and if they did read it on their own or otherwise... Well let's just say I don't think it would make any difference either way.
     That being said, God seems to ignore me when I am all crazy talk, or really, this is when I refuse to listen, because His truth never ceases. Where does this sort of thinking come from? I do not doubt it is something we are all tempted to believe it in our darkest moments. We may think our sin is uncontrollable. The truth is, it is conquered. The law is fulfilled. Death has lost its sting. Do we, as children of Christ, truly believe it? Do you, in your depths, see any hope for yourself? Can you hear that sweet love song from Him? Can you believe it? Can you trust it? Can you, day after day,  remember freedom? Do you remember the truth as it quietly hums beneath the surface of all your mistakes and all your triumphs, driving all your hopes and dreams, slaying all your shortcomings making you new?
     New forgiveness every morning, with each new breath, with each new step, grace and mercy for each and every drop of death we still carry, these are gifts given to us in Christ. Wholeness, we receive, for every scar left in us, and those we leave in others. Surely He is capable of freely giving these things. He does give us these things. Freely they are given to me and (oddly and thankfully) I see myself readily willing give it away, except to myself. Me, I don't deem worthy of grace or truth, or renewal.

     Then a few weeks ago, a little over a month ago, a tiny bunny came into my life, sweetest thing ever, and hurt and broken like me, yet braver than I in trusting, trusting me, sinful broken me. So it hits me now. If I can readily see beauty in all that is around me, broken or not, and this innocent yet intelligent creature can see goodness in me enough to trust and wait for me to love her, why can't I trust myself to love? Surely, she's not struck in fear and terror of me, but I am. I see the evil I have dealt to those I hold dear and I tremble, I shut down, I want to run. I want to get as far away from everything and everyone I can before it's too late. Lord, help us to love fearlessly, knowing our sin is not stronger than love! Knowing Jesus is so much greater than everywhere we fall short.

     There is the residence of beauty, right there, in your heart, friend, in my heart. What is truly beautiful if not broken and weak lives that are reaching to the God of all things made? With as much as we can offer in our alabaster jars, our love is fragrant to Him and wanted by Him.
     He seeks to love you, to be loved by you, to love through you, and He already has, even if you don't see it, even if you broke a few things on the way. Even if you weren't so shiny and grand in the past, and are still lacking now, beauty resides in your bones, truth abides in your heart, love is molding your mind, and life is the strength your body leans on, Christ is alive in you. Fear not, live and love to the best of your ability, for He is pleased in you. We can only grow further from the dark soil where we were planted and closer to the light that feeds us.

Fragrant Offerings

     I feel like I’ve talked about this before, and I hate defending myself because it only seems to make another level of despair come to be, and me, I wonder if I have to convince even myself. I also feel like a handful of artists stand at this, this “dichotomy”” we’ve conjured, or… is it a man-made line?
     The most prevalent manifestation of this line I face, for my personal life, is music. When I hear the words “the song doesn’t even say Jesus” or “they could be singing to anyone” those innocent words cut to my heart, directly to that place I lock away because I fear my thoughts there, and I want to trust God there, there more than anywhere else… “Is this song religious,” heh I dunno, am I religious, who am I, does it matter? I suppose it does, because just as we are images of our creator, my creations too, are images of who I am, who I love, who I aspire to become.  If they are, somewhat, Jesus’s grand babies, I kinda hope they look like Him even if they aren’t Jesus III.

     Do you hear me? Should I go back? How do we know we are our parents’ children, and that their parents are our grandparents? Isn’t there something more than a name running in the blood, the very DNA of each cell? Even if it is the sweetest name ever whispered (mostly because of whose name it was), does the name itself matter or the very meaning of the name, God with us? Maybe my creator isn’t your creator so that’s why you need it to be clear, then maybe that’s why I feel like nothing when you say those words.

     I don’t want to be a cry baby or victimize myself but every time I hear this argument over the arts it cuts at my soul, my faith, and my identity. Is it because I think these things I make are more than me, no. That story was sold to me but I couldn’t buy it. I love God, I want to love Him with all my heart, soul, mind and strength and these songs are not who I am, but that reflect my heart and if those of you, who know God, my brothers and sisters struggle to see our Father there, who am I? Nothing more than a heathen, a harlot, a false prophet who sells lies, and believes she knows God but clearly doesn’t. Do you see how much those words hurt?

     These are things that God put on my heart to draw, write, and sing. Maybe they’re ugly, distracting, stupid, confusing, imperfect, far from God and long reaching, completely broken and you hate them. You’re disgusted by them, and you can’t see God in them. I’m sorry. I expect God to be strongest in weak and foolish things, and I want to trust He has blessed these things, as awful as they may be… as awful and broken as I am.

     However, I can understand where the sentiment lies, because I have been there. I have sat by and listened to music, stood in a gallery gazing at a piece, watched a video or movie all the while wondering “Is this Christian?” or “Is this a Christian Artist?”  In the meantime God would whisper into my heart, “I made all things. Everything that is beautiful, praise worthy, noble, true, and just… these are part of who I am. These things that bring joy, peace, solace, hope life; they are expressions of my love.” I ask you do flowers have a cross on them? Do birds endlessly sing “Jesus?” Does the sunrise quote an (out of context) Bible verse? What warms your soul in unspeakable terms? What brings your mind to beauty and love and good? What about an attractive man or woman, if this is “distracting” is not your heart in the wrong place didn’t God mare that person beautiful? Shouldn’t we think of God’s work and creation when we see, hear, taste, feel things that are beautiful? He made them beautiful for nothing is good outside of Him; nothing that was ever made was made without Him.

     Now that doesn’t mean that there are things He made that we have destroyed, this brings out greed, gluttony, sexual lust to name a few, and I would say those are the things that we should be against, but not those who made them. They are like you and I, trapped in our hurts and mistakes. 

     I have judged, and judge harshly scrutinizing every last word of a book, or poem. I have questioned every part of a sculpture or image but who am I to decide what a perfect reflection of God is? I hardly know who He is. So I asked Him to reveal Himself in the things I love and the things I don’t love. To place great over this critical heart, mind, and soul, to know there is a part of Him in all that He made in Him image. My Dear Ones please don’t shut my words out of your heart or the art of others, unless they out right hurt you. I for one chase beauty to lay fragrant offerings at His feet, to nurse the wounded lambs who have wondered like I, and to love as best I can through these words and images, so as to love Him by trying to love everyone He has entrusted to be near me.

Shameless Plug

I’m scared to believe in good things.

     Because I fear naivety will leave me wide open for assault, a fool before a firing squad… and contrary to popular belief do I think this stifle God’s blessing of me, or Him giving me good things, certainly not, because God cannot cease to be good. God is good. The effect of my broken and paranoid psyche is something entirely different. Good things strike a deep fear in my heart. Gifts become shrouded with doubt of authenticity or infected with suspicions of manipulation. My dreams become a potential to lose yet something else and fear of materialism or a potential source of ridicule and taunting.

     And I can celebrate good things, but far and separated from my heart and spirit. I can sit and watch from the sidelines, smile and now partake, like a living play or movie unfolding before me. It wasn't until recent years that people started pulling me in, inviting me to dance and play and share with them, if they saw me, and this too ended up feeling wrong. A hand extended to my loneliness became a source of guilt, of “playing the victim” or “fighting to attention.” So I playing-ly joked with God, “Why did you give me a gift that can only be shared in spot light, when I hate being seen? Is it to torture my false humility?” Because we all want to be seen, I gesture, but maybe not the center of attention narcissistic way, but to be known and loved.

     Then what of love that feels wrong, because you were beaten into thinking your very heart is wrong? Perhaps it’s seen as “wrong” because you have been designed beautifully and someone said that is wrong, that is too much, that it is in some sort of sense defined as evil.

     Walking with God He has tenderly shown me who He sees, not something wrong, but the little girl He loves and longs for, but in every good moment, now, in all my brokenness, there still come moments that the image is ripped from my hands, and I am left crippled.

     Then I see her shut down, that glowing face of joy and playfulness disappears in a slow fading aching moment. The shell of a woman is there again, paralyzed. Suddenly she is a spectator of play and celebration, of beauty and life. Again, she sees all the reasons why she shouldn't dance, play or sing, especially with and around others, especially anywhere she could be seen, and I silently pull her aside searching for excuses that is would seem a choice to sit it out instead of speaking against the silent death she is facing. Again, that little girl is a ball or fire and poison who should be locked away, or snuffed out. Again she is a weak, tiny, frail infant who doesn't know the evil of this world has no immune system to fight the world’s sickness and dangers and therefore must be hidden and sheltered.

     This might all stem from the fact that I’m a woman and we are conditioned to believe that women are always overzealous or weak and feeble, nothing in between. I was taught that my emotions were always reason for reprimand, and that honesty and vulnerability were things that were to be used against me. These lessons came from two broken parents who I believe were trying their best to protect me, to keep me from the same pain and hurt they endured; that is how I see it now and it’s something I probably would have never understood without knowing their stories, or at least part of them. There were also many people who confirmed these teachings so they solidified even further.

     I think we’re all quick to blame “society” because we want to believe in love, and believe in the love of our parents even when it ends up hurting us, and I think love is not free from mistakes when it involves humans. Why would I think this? Because my love with God is not free from hurting Him, betraying Him and the completion of this love we share has been in grace and forgiveness, and as the self I have made dies I experience pain and I see the hurt I leave in my wake.

Seeing that never gets easier.

     As I keep others at arm’s length to protect myself, as I doubt every word and gesture given to me, as I plot ways to hide and put on a mask, as I distrust even God Himself with love and loving others, sharing and caring for them being known and telling them I want to know them… as all these things fight inside me… forgive me.

Forgive me for doubting God in you, as He is your creator, and you are His image.

Forgive me for loading the sins of the others onto you, and making it harder to love you.

Forgive me for assuming perfection in any way of your life and not loving you in your hurts, in every way I could be adding to them.

Forgive me for caring more about myself than a brother or sister who was made to be loved.

Forgive me for robbing chances for reconcile or growth through silence and selfishness or pride.

     In the end, every attempt at truth feels like a shameless plug, a desperate attempt at getting attention, a cry for help, or it is proof of my insanity, but aren't we all a little bit crazy if “insanity” is rooted in words meaning “not healthy,” we all need the great physician, and we’re all getting by as best we can, growing towards wholeness in God, and bringing His kingdom here on earth as it is in heaven.

Drifting

I am afraid, my love
I am shaking, ghosts, shadows,
So many pains I can't name...
Are you here with me?
My love, I am not well.
Remind me, remind me please,
How my cries do reach you
How you are near to me
How I can make a joyful noise...
A song beyond this suffocation
Past these hands that bind my lips, clutch me by the neck
Stronger than this escaping breath, these empty lungs
     the collapsing void of my heart.

I am afraid, that I will never change,
I tremble to know this monster who stares at me
     through a mirror,
     through the window
     through my eyes
I am afraid, I am frozen, I am dying
Will my help ever come, will my life be lived
     and not survived?
Ever will ever be here, now, this moment?

I wish I wasn't afraid of my dreams!
I wish I weren't devouered by despair!
You have given me good things
You have loved me, you love me
Protect me... I am afraid
The nightmares keep coming, in living breathing days
     with skeletons and flesh
This cage keeps closing in...
Will we, can we run in fresh flower fields of spring
You promised and I was not muddled
The word was not an illusion... wake me, shake me
Gently as you do, lift me from this mire
Kiss me with your grace and love
For I feel myself drifting, disintegrating
I want to run with you again,
Can I trust you, help me trust you

Drops of Rain Years Apart

Each passing of time without you

I am undone, I am lost, I am wanderer

Incoherent longings escape

From the lips of my soul

Each beat of my heart grows weaker

Where are you?

Was it a dream, that day?

When your eye pierced through me

Esa mirada dulce

When you called me to your side

Ay, el sabor del sol

That shattered the darkness

This silence is debilitating

I can’t breathe, it’s easier to not

Breathe…

Maybe you and I were always nothing

Maybe you and I, were never

You and I…

For when you are away

I am widowed, orphaned

Desolate and parched

Ryan Adams said it best

“Give me a sign, just a wink, even just a sigh”

Do you still remember me, Darling

Just a moment ago, I was sure

Just a moment ago, we grew closer

word by word, breath by breath

Just a moment ago…

Maybe it’s good to know longing like this

For their suffering is not far gone

I too, know it well,

the depth of hunger, ages without food

the weight of thirst, drops of rain years apart

the suffocation of cold, naked and exposed

the echo of solitude as sickness takes hold,

            and my cell grows smaller, squeezing life from my heart

Into nothing

Nothing is who I am without you

Nothing

…

…

…

…

Asleep and dying

I forget my frame and its contents

My thoughts, balloons slipped from fringes

            Lingering in nothing until innocent birds are entangled

And there are no wing beats

Drums beats

Heart beats

Only the flailing arms of the clock

Spinning wildly, no order

As nothing can quench my eyes

Or my heart’s thirst for beauty,

Sustenance…

Will my arms ever embrace you

And your warmth again meet me

Lavished by that sweet scent

I miss you.

For no one has loved

As you have loved me

So I will cling to the hem of your garment

I will cherish the crumbs from your table

I will wash your feet with my tears

For you stood before me

Where all have judged

And said I am yours

You said we were one

Skyscrapers

     There's something that comes over me when I am around kids, it's something I can hardly describe, a deep humbling, a deep glimpse of how God must see me, of what He longs for in my life in so many ways for which I have no words, but this is possibly too small to be how He truly sees us, His children, probably too little for Him, a vast and endless being... Yet, I see them, the way they play, the way the cry, the way they love, the way they fail, the way they grow, the way they change, the pain they start facing as sin begets sin, and they fight, struggle to keep going, fighting for life, fighting for love, fighting to be who they were made to be.
     I have seen some kids who are unafraid, and I have seen kids heavily marked by sin, scared so early, even babes, calloused to the world. Then it hits me, how much weight I carry on my hands every time I interact with them, and how much they are like a breath of fresh air to me, a breath of life and hope. They make me sit at the feet of my eternal Lover, the One who molded me before anyone laid eyes on me, the One who gave all He had so I could have a way to love Him face to face, and as I sit at His feet I beg to Him to pour out of my pores (pun intended) to be more than all the fear and sin I carry, to show Himself incarnated in me, so they can know Him, see Him, love Him and be loved by Him.
     Then there's the effect I feel after I have been around kids, I seem to have a strange sense of wonder, like a heightened sense of wonder. I see the world with different eyes, maybe eyes I always have, but that I usually quiet down, in fear of hoping, in fear of dreaming, in remembrance of pain, and sin and all that goes swirling around with that. So today Mom wanted to go drive around Downtown and I thought, why not, I would love to explore for a bit, break away from my usual routine and not think of my gut first.

Skyscrapers...

     The first time after my family had moved to the US, to this city and we drove around below these sky-high creations, at five years old, I was amazed, at awe... the height of these beautiful structures. They were my favorite things to see when Dad would decide to drive around the city, I never knew why he wanted to, but I always loved it. For me it was a time to dream, to delve into a world that spoke of stories I never knew, stories I could find in my own mind. Thinking of this today I never thought I would be the type of person to lose that state of wonder before majesty and grandeur or beauty.
     As time passed, these beautiful structures came to mean something else. The shadows casts down by these buildings seemed endless, they seemed choking, they seemed like everything I felt I could never grow beyond... Somehow they made me think of something ready to collapse over me, something people used to drop their lives into death, something that symbolized human power and a struggle to survive, a struggle for money and greed that left so many in its wake. Suddenly I saw these buildings and I didn't think of who imagined them. I thought of who was trapped inside of them, who had been crushed by them. I wondered what building was too old, too ugly and abandoned which one didn't make the cut and deserved to no longer be nurtured into being healthy, whole and not condemned.
     Then I felt like a child again, but not the ones I was around today, full of life, willing to fight, willing to explore and feel, and learn but the children asleep because they've lived a life that has "taught" them they are to not trust, to never engage others, to never think they are worthy of love, and thus don't expect anything from anyone. A baby who gave up on crying because no one ever came when he cried, a girl silent and uncommunicative because no one was there to listen and there was only someone to hurt her, use her, or forget her. Then I asked God, is this who I am now, a child frozen in fear, not a child living in love? I am both, suspended in the state of dreaming, yet also staring down the reality of what sin does to people, and I wanted to crash down on myself, but I wanted Him to be more than me, always more than me, beyond my hurts and my scars, beyond the things I can do to continue a domino effect of hurt, especially when I face such dear little ones. Jesus said we are to be like children to enter the kingdom of heaven. I want to learn to be a child again, and I want to be a woman worthy to hold their hands through this journey.
     It's a rare thing that makes me want Jesus more than I can even feel in my bones. I hate saying that. It's a rare thing that makes me fold before Him fully submitted, paralyzed knowing everything I could do would be so wrong, and everything that would happen that is good is truly Him living in me, and truly Him shielding these tender little ones from all the ick I carry, and I can't get beyond that thought when I think of my little Kid's church classroom. There's nothing that pushes me to want to be a better woman and really learn who Jesus is, with all His eternal endlessness, and try to put a crumb of His beauty into this little being, a smidgen more of His love into my fingertips, in the creases of my lips, in the depths of my heart to overflow and give them even a bit of what they deserve so they can see even a spec of Him, and know a spec of what I know about Him, which is almost nothing, and long for Him, as I long for Him.

02.05.15 Was a Nice Number I Missed That One...

My titles are always pointless, ha, I am not good at titling things. Anyway, here's a poem... I've been working on other things to post but they all seem too scattered to be coherent or even worth reading thus... as my days have been heavy emotionally here is a poem... Maybe tight words are easier than loose, and numerous ones.

Fear running in the depths beyond
Anxiety, nerves... I ponder
My past, my present, systems of prison leak through yet entrusting the days to come
Instilling, instigating, inhaling in waiting for
Love, as I was always dreaming
Yoked with a burden that is easy, light, love-to-give is in me
Freely living, growing, breathing
Ardent, adamant adoring
Mingling with pus and scars, the water creeps through the xylem
Initially, I did not intend to investigate yet
Longing is there, the longing breaths and callouses tremble
Yet another aurora dazzles the line where earth meets heaven
Fragile retinas cannot recognize the signal
Afar from pain, blinking, squinting... the Golgotha splits
My heart races, "Come out!"
Is this real? Such deep slumber, I knew well, seeped into my core
Leaving a shell of illusions, delusions, lies
Yearning to die, shed shame, molt mortality...
Freedom came in a new mercy
Alone no longer, coincided, sisters, brother, father
Mother...
Is this alright? Scared beyond compare -- I step
Lively, yet shaken and broken, all the pieces
Yesterday... today... yesterday... today... ...
Falling apart, it's okay, try to keep it together, can I go
Another step as all of me bleeds, I'm afraid I will
Make things worse than yesterday's
Illness and only add to pain in the world.
Love is given and grace received
Young and old, weakness and strength every eye, every toe untied

Along the way,
Leave no
Parts forgotten...
Hold on and listen for the cries
As orphans become daughters and sons

One heart, submitting to incarnated love
Moving together
Eagerly the parts join
Gather and
Adorn yourself in beauty

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        365 days have passed with this thought in mind, a theme I cannot escape, and these thoughts and observations may have been on my heart for much longer, but they haven’t burned as white hot as they have as of late. As I look to the next few months I wonder how to make peace knowing I seem too damaged to take in or not damaged enough? This is the strange enigma that is communicated to those who stand on the fringes, silently. Perhaps it is done so unknowingly. But in all humility I can muster, I know I’m not perfect, I know I can be poisonous or wretched, but I also know I can give and bring life, love, beauty, and I long for a life that exchanges both, good and bad. In a struggle to find a home, a place I could retreat, recover from daily work and battles, I have heard the words in my heart to trust, to risky m fears of humans and their forgetting to let their yes be yes and their no be no in their lying and selfishness. I heard the words in my heart to give people a chance, to risk, to make a leap not knowing if I would land safely, I thought real love cannot exist without trust, real love cannot exist without humility and full knowledge that we are not perfect and accepting your neighbor means everything they are.

             However the hardest thing for me this past year has been realizing that as much as I know this a little bit, enough to talk myself down from rage and hurt it seems like others do not know this at all. We seem to be ready and willing to burn our neighbor down for their faults, and yet also put others on a pedestal of marble and gold trim just as easily. So I guess now I am thinking humility is something that should be an outward as well an inward expression, and this is what I have meant and felt all the times I have said we need to treat each other as human, not subhuman creatures who are unworthy of forgiveness or grace, not superhuman beings who can do no wrong, who know all and do all perfectly, flawlessly. This seems like common knowledge, but is it common practice? I ask over the past few months how many times did you put someone down for their opinion over the drama of Ferguson? How many times did you praise and exalt someone for the same issue? How many times did you say someone is a lost cause or someone is so amazing, and wonderful without weighting out the depth of your words?

             Aright, I guess here’s where I will draw this closer to home, this is where I’m aiming at, I am a damaged person, who fears commitment and very much cannot commit even when there is a deep and fervent will. No when there is a will there is not always a way. Last year I left one community of support in my faith feeling God pushing me away from there for many reasons, and fully content to do so, to be honest, it was because I felt alone, forgotten and overlooked, yet soberly knowing in my heart this is something I will potentially battle my entire life. My soul has scars, deep ones that I have trusted to God’s hand to heal and I He told me I needed to trust others in order for Him to do the work. Because many of my hurts involved people, some who followed Him some who did not, as much as I wanted to write off the world it’s a deep conviction in my heart that saying “let the world burn” is the opposite of love, and since God is love I would be writing Him out of my life as well, a sacrifice I am not willing to make. In obedience I started looking for another home, another community to have a network, a resting place, and a place I could draw close to others and know them, love them, fearing what we all probably fear they would see my scars and never look back, knowing I have potential to do the same to them. Though it wasn’t hard to find a place I wanted to be rooted at all. In reality I found two, very fertile soiled communities who had beautiful dynamics, and who were both wonderful and warming, welcoming that is until I realized they were physically out of my reach.

              As I wrote before, you may or may not have read it; I have experienced a draw bridge when it comes to relationships. This is because I can easily travel to where I need to go (work and home etc.) but I cannot easily travel to where I want to go. As much as I wanted to plant my roots and soak up the sun in either of these communities and their hearty (yet imperfect soil) they are far from me. Week after week, month after month, I had to fight, beg, cry, and pray for a physical connection to them, and though once in their presence my heart, mind and soul felt connected I always had to go back, and face the isolation again until the next battle of travel. The main reason I stayed in a community that I had outgrown was because I could be self-reliant and trust my own two feet to get where I needed to go, it was close, we met within a mile of my dwelling place, and I could comfortably hide my fears, and be dutiful and diligent and forget my hearts desires, while I was there, all the while feeling like a liar, a hypocrite, and a shadow of myself. I knew no one really knew me, but it was such a large and congested community it didn’t matter. It was easy to wear a mask, even when I wanted to encourage others not to do likewise.

              That is where I have been for the last year, being called out by God to stop wearing a mask and be known, for whom He made me, the woman He has shaped with the beautiful life He has given me as I lived out every step. This time away from people has been one of nostalgia and the longing in my heart for true connection, a real exchange of good and bad with other humans has grown ever more ardent and fierce. It is easy to slip through the cracks when there is no one watching, when there are plenty of folks to stand in the spot light and take charge. It is easy to skirt by and live alone while saying to oneself you are not alone, but I have never been the type of person who agreed to skittish friendships and superficial encounters and call them real and true. Do I think we can have deep and real friendships with everyone we come across, maybe, should we probably not, we all have those who are easier to connect with, but I bring this to mind, as I spent a few years where God gave me a handful of people to care for and watch over, as a friend said to me a few weeks ago, love is a choice. She was speaking of romantic love, but I will argue that we choose to love everyone we love in our lives.

              We can choose to love or not love our parents, children, siblings, friends and strangers. Some may say love of our families comes natural, because we are blood related we have ties that are unable to be severed, okay, but if they hurt you do you forgive them as you would anyone else who hurts you? I know I have been more sever in withholding forgiveness from my family, and finally I had to ask myself why? Why were those hurts so close to my heart? I expected unconditional love, and therefore thought that meant no mistakes, no errors, no humanity… Isn’t that what we grow up learning about love? That it is perfect, selfless, kind, patient I can’t quote, but most of you know the definition, this is what we expect about love, and when we are hurt by those we love a lot of times we choose to not love. Thus I feel it is the same with others who are not our family we must choose to love them, forgive them, sacrifice ourselves for them, smash down our selfishness and pride, so as I realized I would never commit to somewhere I could hide, and somewhere I could fain reality and in my heart I knew they would never love me for the same reasons, because I was not a whole person there, I left that community. The trouble is, however, I find myself to be unlovable, because of my life and my situation, and in my heart of hearts I feel like that isn’t the case, that I was made to be loved, and love others, but somewhere in the idealism I live, and the reality I endure, these two don’t connect.

              I see a community at large that treats others as projects, business ventures, commodities, even as they fight for those who are in need to not have this oppression, I feel we are all trapped in a system that only knows this way of functioning. Our lives consist of decisions that weigh the favorable and the unfavorable, that look at the outcome of our choices and how they affect our comfort, our functionality, our ease. As much as I was told, and wanted to trust, that I could have a way to reach over the void, that the bridge would be let down so I could cross from this desolate island to a world rich in opportunities and support. The doors closed in my face over and over again, and quite frankly it hurt. The idea that I was not needy enough came to mind, as I saw others have a way to cross over, as I saw others receive a love offering of sacrifice (though I know not the toil on the part of the receiving end) and the thought that I was not enough came to mind as I saw that I was always taking, always asking, always feeling like a beggar and pleader, and this was more than pride that hurt. It wasn’t about how humiliating it is to ask and ask and ask and ask for a ride, it was how I have nothing to offer in return. “Why would they want me around?” I asked. Is that true? Maybe, maybe not, should is matter in a community based on love? No, but I wasn’t even around enough to communicate this hurt, or fear because I can’t trust what I don’t know, and that was probably my biggest error, but I was also never sought out.

             It has been months since I have visited either community, and no effort has been made to ask why. Maybe there is hear say, because I don’t live in a vacuum, but can I really trust that, can I really think they know what darkness I face unless they are asking? No, I cannot. Just as I see a good friend of mine live her days and nights in a lonely struggle for basic food and shelter I cannot even invite her to a home to rest her weary soul because I don’t have one myself and even if I did, I cannot promise to not put her through the same pain I live in fighting to find a way there. Moreover I am a practical person (sometimes) and as much as some have advised I just take the matters into my own hands and make my own community to call home I am in no way mature enough or supported enough or ready to do such a thing. I don’t even know what a real community should look like, why would I want to start one? Honestly I’ve seen the results of someone who was left to fend for herself doing such a thing, and as her heart is in ashes and I, with her, am blotting out the cinders that are still glowing because of it I wonder if anyone noticed how she was sent to build a palace with a deck of cards, or how she was thrown out of a nest as a hatch-ling.

             Even still I believe the hearts of these communities are genuine, I wouldn’t want to be with them if it was otherwise, but their actions communicate the opposite of what their hearts may actually be, and I wish this were not the case. I was scared to write any of this because in pride did not want to make it a “cry for help.” I did not want to bring it to attention and then be the only thing that brought a scale off the eyes of another, yet something in me knows that unless truth is told we die, we cannot forgive, we cannot grow, we cannot reconcile. I hate the thought of anyone being wasteful for my case, what is easy and what is logical seems right, it seems obvious, but sometimes I ask, was dying for the sins of a whole race of people who did not deserve pardon just so they could be loved unhindered easy? Sometimes those of us who are stuck in a desolate land just want a helping hand, because I am too weak to help myself, because I am not privileged enough to be fearless and trusting or bold. I even hurt someone dear and close to my heart this week because of all the hurts and fears that come with my simply asking for a ride, and they might or might not know it, but I know I hurt them in my heart, and that to me is enough. As I age another year today my wish is to be able to love another wholly, to be given that chance by being loved enough to be sought out, and that may not happen, but I am leaving my heart open and risking to hope and maybe hurt again even though I was ready to write off the world a few days ago, and I hope we can grow together away from a world that is all business and closer to a world that is love, forgiveness and grace.