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.