Part One: Draw Bridge

          A year ago I was challenged to love when I feel unloved, hidden, or forgotten, I think that’s why I spent a year looking for a place to do so, yet after a year of no growth, still being stuck in that same feeling, and failure (which is okay, it happens) I believe I know not how to love others. Maybe it’s just my current situation what feels like a sea of physical limitations that I cannot begin to document here, physical freedom-sucking limitations that seem to be making deep emotional and spiritual manifestations. I know, most would say it’s the other way around that the spiritual ill births the physical ill, but these limitations are very much outside of me, and they are bleeding my insides dry. I am aware that most of the things affected are existing hurts, and I am also aware that God may very well be fortifying me, and cleaning me of those hurts through this time. As some would say, we all have times in the desert. A few months ago I committed myself to a community of people, most of whom are strangers to me, and I have failed. I cannot commit to them and I am mourning the day I uttered such false words. Deep in my heart I think I knew it, I would have to swallow those words after speaking them like a dog returns to vomit, but the thought at the forefront of my mind then was “only time can tell.”

          I never knew how intensely I cherished the thought of being a person who can keep her word, even if they are little ones, and this has cut me deeply. I know, like I said already, failure is not the end all and be all of life, but I think there is a certain level of mourning I cannot even grasp enough with words when one fails at something held closet to one’s core. Everything I do, and everything I want to be, in Christ, for me is based around this, knowing who He is, who He made me and is making me, and being who I say I am to others, this is the way I know how to love; honesty, consistency, perseverance, fighting until the bitter end to engage the other and giving my life away as best I can therefore showing others a piece of who He is through my imperfect fragment of light. I know I’m not perfect, I know I fail at this in little ways every day and big ways too, but to outright lie knowing, somewhere, that my words could not be, I feel my edges fraying, and my insides raw and deteriorating. I feel I have betrayed the very one I love most.

          Ironically, I wondered for weeks if I could keep my word if I were able to become self-reliant and therefore able enough to even try to commit. If I could make all the stars align, shape the face of the world, change racism, classism, poverty, sexism, egotism, unfair wages, privilege the unprivileged, repair the image of family and what it is and does then, and only then I could go, let my yes, be yes, and my no, be no and not have to think about everything I face every time I wake. I thought, maybe then I could find a community, plant my roots, learn how to love others and not God, alone, far off, not out of sight and therefore not out of mind, not out of my mind.

          I haven’t been completely cut off; I am not a hermit by any means. Yet, the thought was crippling, when I was most desperate to find a bridge out of my lonely world, it became a draw bridge and it was only let down at the hands of others, and at their whim. Yes, you can have a friend today, because she needs to talk, the draw bridge lowered. No, not today, the bridge is raised, even though you are distraught with your pain, it is incommoding me. Sure, you can come to gather with others like you, lowered again, because we need you to fill a roll that is convenient for us. No, not this time, I can’t (or don’t want to) help you the bridge is raised, and though I have plenty of more resources than you, you need to take initiative and find your own way; I am not your keeper. Come be a part of planning who we are, and what we want to do together this year, oh but figure out how to travel 12 miles in limited time, with a limited income all on your own, don’t be late. Those who had privilege and power over me planned my dreams, contained my wishes, left me to burn in this desert…

          I’ve said it many times. I know I have God love and commune with and to communicate, and I know He loves me, hears me, and speaks to me. In my darkest moments, it is the only thing I can cling to, and know I am not insane. However, this God I love, with all I know to give, which never feels like enough and always fails to be given fully, also asked, begged, pleaded and bled in so many ways, for me to love not only Him, but to love others, and every time I fail I am spitting in His face. I am leaving Him cold, hungry, lonely, sick, desperate for human contact of any sort, and I ask myself, does anyone else feel the weight of this charge? Each time that bridge was drawn against me, and my family more so, I felt less than human, less than what He made me to be, less than living. After trying to find ways to cross that bridge and be able to come back, because I have a home here I am committed to not out of obligation but out of love and duty, maybe, and a calling I felt Him give me, after trying to find ways and failing attempt after attempt I couldn’t even commit myself to keep trying. I gave up. In the end, as lonely as it is, it’s easier to not ask, to remain out of sight and out of mind, and not be a burden to anyone else. I said to myself, “Until I find a way to be a gift to anyone without having to take from them first, I will remain. I trust that God will show me, in time, a way that the working poor can give and be a blessing without being a project or a parasite because God made beautiful symbiotic relationships, even where one is stronger and the other weaker, yet they coexist without one always taking and never giving, and the other always giving but never taking.”

This is part one of a series of three related blogs, please see my next post to read on…

Do people comment on blogs anymore? I wish I had more time to sit and write and solidify my thoughts. I do my best thinking at work and can't write a thing. I'm at lunch wondering, wishing my heart was settled enough to say half the things I've been feeling needed to be said to anyone. I was told once, maybe more, that sometimes we need to be heard... I wonder why, since God always hears us, why do we have that longing, and that need? I feel it's related to how Christ called us to love one another, and I feel like when we are unknown and do not know others that's when it's hardest to love... I have more thoughts on this, but have not the time to write them all down. But soon I will, I hope to keep my word on the soon, or the ever... Kid's Church was beautiful, as always God tells me my deepest weaknesses through the least of these, and I love them... so I don't want to say "I promise" unless I really mean it because I taught my little ones to make their "yes mean yes" and "no mean no" something I have always felt is important, but have cluelessly failed at more than I realized... So I will try to post, soon, soon.

Look Into the Eyes of the Least of These, There You Will Find His Heart

          Often, I have faced solitude with despair, and usually more so, when I am most inspired. One might wonder why, and the best answer I can give is it makes my inspirations, aspirations and hopes seem pointless, and that in and of itself (that feeling of despair I mean) reminds me of something I think many of us face at some point, especially in the arts. Why pointless, because there is no one to share in anything, not the process, not the end product (if any) and much less the growth of everything that comes after. What is it that I think we all face? A sense of worthlessness, especially with things we make and create, because with no value of the means and depreciation of the ends (meaning a lack of appreciation) and even less support to justify the whole process, our creations, our self, tends to find a sense of being discarded, or replaceable, less-than etc. Beyond all this, when I sit long enough with my thoughts they eat me alive.

          I know I am my Maker’s child, but with Him I was promised a body, a family, the answer to solitude. Since I have seen more compassion outside the body and wonder how “non-believers” cope, but moreover… There’s an issue when your thoughts are yours alone. When there is nowhere to share your point of view, your fears, your dreams, we construct our biggest enemies, or fall prey to him. Day after day I spend a life of silence with my dreams, observations, fears, failures, pains, outrage, joy and sorrow. Yes, He hears me; the very whispers of my heart are in His hands, whether I am aware or unaware, but honestly, alone for an extended amount of time, I find darkness.

          I don’t mean to say or think that He is not a constant rock, a strong tower, the only eternal being of the cosmos, of course, can be trusted with my inner workings, but is it right to keep it secret? Would I not be guilty of egocentrism? Darkness only breeds, despair, lies, fallacies, the list goes on, and I feel that we were given very clear roads to guide our thoughts into fresh air, into light, with proper filters, but we rarely take these roads. Instead we live with our thoughts shrouded, even the word can be misinterpreted when one is alone, (I don’t mean to negate the Holy Spirit) when it comes to sharing and taking those steps into light there is always a hierarchy, as we are now.

          What is intelligent, beautiful, or of worth is appraised, assessed, balanced by society not the Dream Giver, not the One who inspires us (to live, breathe, create) not by those we (should) feel free to trust. For instance I cannot share without first evaluating, is it a waste of someone’s time, is it worthy to be experienced, is it enough? These things paralyze freedom, creativity and unity, three things I see as part of being human, and God given gifts for community (to be shared, refined, nurtured and tided into our body as that of Christ). Why have I not heard the beauty of my brothers and sisters? What about their deepest hurts, darkest fears, greatest wishes, largest ideas, little spurts of creativity or inspiration, or ingenuity for revolution or life, what about those stories?

          We have constantly listened only one way of thinking, feeling, or acting and not from God but from one of His creations instead, not Jesus in flesh. One story is told and misses the insight of many others about the same plot. A man I admire as an inspired and inspiring leader said it best, “The greatest man who ever lived, trusts us to tell His story,” yet we do not tell it. Yes, this man was referring to the Gospels, the stories of those who knew Jesus in the flesh, but each story of Christ is its own. Christ promised us greater things through His Spirit, that it would not be contained to one man, one place, one time, one nation of people, each of us can know, does know a piece, a facet of His story, best told from our own point of view. Yet, we forfeit our stories to whoever is considered most cunning, learned, intelligent, or over-reachingly connected. Giving room to the little ones, and to the way God made them to share His story should be second nature, we should long to hear of His works eager to find another face of a tremendously endless Creator.

          A friend of mine tells me how she longs to share a journey with another, a journey of growth, refining, of polishing, and I believe these are the stories we neglect most. If one sees God most through dance, with its failures, aches, triumphs and perseverance and cannot tell another about Him through those same means if is our fault, perhaps we never knew to look. Moreover, we only await the finale, the recital, the final master piece when it comes to all the arts. Consider song, if it were one singing about the trenches, and valleys yet we only eagerly await to listen and enjoy the mistrals who sing of the summits and the elations is it not our folly to reject their whole heart, is that not wasting every tear that was shed, every moment that was shaping a heart? Again, let us muse upon something that is of a whole different nature, perhaps not even considered to be, by many, a form or art, yet it has all the same aspects. Do we dare to belittle how a young woman might toil, train and patiently learn the ways of a gentle and mighty animal, a horse, by then only valuing the prizes, money or glory one can get in a race, or show, which puts much less value on the relationship of a horse and her girl, something only a horsewoman can explain? If we say these all are nothing, if there is no room for a breath of fresh air, there is even greater sin in our midst. The silence is deafening, what have we forgotten about our own walks if we cannot value every step in between the highlights and climaxes?

          I want to hear, see, feel and taste these love stories, and I want more than a stage for them to be played out. I want to share a life, and have a life to be shared, as my friend put it so eloquently, a journey. I want to know my Maker’s creations and find Him there, and be found, remembering He is there, through the good, the bad, and the ugly, beyond the beautiful, the tainted, the broken and even the undone, the forgotten, and the unfinished. These are the veins of His body. Look into the eyes of the least of these and one will find His heart, we will find Him. So in the end, this is why I hate solitude, this has been my question for years when contemplating friendship, craftsmanship and the unity of the body of Christ. I hate solitude, the kind that robs peace and tranquility, the kind that makes me dream for only myself, and my benefit. I also believe that the Arts are a gift from the Creator that allows us to communicate, the same way He sometimes does, in mysterious beauty, beyond words (even when they are used), beyond the physical senses, and not only the express love of Him, to Him, for Him, but also on another, as He called us to love the Lord your God, with all your heart, mind, soul and strength, and to love one another and He loved us. As a friend of mine said when another friend asked, “what’s the point, why do I do this?” speaking of her drawings and paintings, my other friend said to her, two souls connect and find each other through beauty, and its deeper than the pretty things on a paper. How else do we guide our thoughts and hearts into light, with confession to one another and giving them to God, yet how many times do we need to communicate something that has no words, thoughts, of ideas, a deeper part of us that the Spirit sees and knows how it is killing us silently? Then I wonder about those of us who have scorned and belittled those with less privilege, knowledge, and training, and silenced them while they are probably the most honest and unveiled, unclouded by sophistication. I once heard a man who loved God sing with his whole heart, and his whole soul while I writhed and squirmed, as probably most any musician I know would, because his voice was not polished, or sophisticated. In fact, when I think of his voice it is probably damaged and aching, tired, and dehydrated because of a rough life of pain and poverty, yet until the Spirit quieted my pride, arrogance, and brain washing enough for me to hear this man’s heart and feel his spirit’s joy I was a judgmental silencer, ready to throw him off a very humble and loving stage.

          The truth is, we are unfinished, unpolished, and untrained in the ways of the Kingdom, and the man we call Jesus the Christ. We are imperfect and stained, yet we are given grace, love, and a chance to grow into a beautiful tree that bares fruit that is sweet to eat and pleasing to the eye and stomach. We have a chance to be seen as polished, sophisticated and elegant despite our past, present or future faults. We must love the unfinished, and give room for their beauty to shine, that is all of us, growing.

Today

Today, my heart feels so different from the last time I posted on here... and it took me way too long to even figure out how to post on this new set up thing. I'm going to try to write, often, and again, and at all... I guess I don't know what I am saying... Well, with doubts that anyone will read this, I guess I feel free, yet with hopes that someone might, I feel I have a duty to fulfill, let's hope it's not performance related. Anyway, I might tell a few peeps about it, and then see what happens. HELLO BLOG WORLD SO DIFFERENT FROM HOW IT WAS LONG AGO WHEN IT STARTED...

I promised that my next entry would be a testimony, I think I did anyway... If I did, I am breaking that "promise," though I don't remember promising that at all. Not that there's someone to hold me accountable, ha ha. Tonight I am feeling the need to flee to a solitary place, though I still don't want to be silent, or I mean, uncommunicative. I want to say something though I don't know what it is I am to say.

These past few days have felt like a mental blur, I feel unable to speak, unable to say anything, voiceless. Though recently I was told by God that I am not voiceless, that He gave me a voice for a very overlooked heart of society, that of the artist, of the musician, the creative one who does not want to create to be known. Well, maybe it's not all that romantic, maybe I just want it to be. I mean, I feel very much that I keep seeing familiar things around me, in the heart of those who I see suffering as "outsiders," those who feel no one identifies with them. I don't even know if I am making sense, everything I say right now feels like it makes no sense, and I feel I am simply writing here to get something out of me, something out so that God can pour into me instead of whatever this mess is.

I keep hearing bridges and echos, yet today, or for the last couple of days, I guess since Friday, I feel I am the one echoing myself. Same old issue, new face... I am tired of it. I don't want to deal with it... I don't want to deal with my thoughts because they always seem to come back, but maybe that is why they echo. Maybe it's because all I ever do is push things under a rug and ignore them. That is what God has been showing me anyway, I think it is. I have felt very much alone these days... very much in a need for the shedding of tears, but very much unable. I feel there is something I am mourning but unable to face. Lord, I want to build a house for you within my heart, within this flesh, but everything feels like it's dying. Maybe it's just me dying, and that would be a good thing, me dying to You. I don't know anything anymore I feel like, ah ha, and I am such a hypocrite. I was just talking to a friend about this... What is really in my mind? What is really taking home in my heart? I must put my eyes on You, but I feel there is a wall that I cannot climb, that I cannot get past.

What is it I am looking for? What is it I am asking for? I have no answers, and I feel nothing was answered with writing this entry... so maybe its point was not fulfilled. Ah ha ha... I just want to be in a hole I suppose. A hole until I can look to God's face and nothing else, yet, that is my escapism coming back isn't it? I wish I did not feel as though I need something wise and glorious to give to the world. I wish I did not feel like I am forgetting to say something, something important. Let's be truthful here, I have nothing paramount special to share with the world, it will not cease to exist if I remain silent. Maybe that's my issue, my pride again, or this sense of responsibility with no sense of having the capacity, or having anything to offer. I am told, I must offer God to the world, that is what I have, but how is my story different from others? It is not different, I have no words to offer with this new found voice. That was always the issue was it not? That is why I wanted to remain silent in singing, in drawing, in writing, in everything. Well, good night all... later days... Good night and I will be the one who reads this later on in my life I suppose.