There are days that leave me weary for Heaven.

Christmas Eve is usually one of them.

Recently, Christmas has just been me and my immediate family.

My dad wasn't raised celebrating Christmas, so it's not his holiday by any means.

My mom's childhood Christmases were more focused on the magic that is Santa and his red velvet bag of toys.

I'm not saying I don't love getting and giving gifts.

And, my dad always tries his utmost best to join in during the holiday festivities.

But, my heart yearns to visit Jesus in the manger.

All these years when I begged Santa for a puppy, what I really wanted was to be a wise man or a shepherd boy.

I understand that now.

I understand that when I sing "joy to the world" at Coral Ridge Presbyterian's emphatic candle-lit Christmas Eve service, it is with a yearning for the true joy that will

Only be found when I'm in my Savior's arms.

I understand that no matter how much shiny paper of red, green, gold I shred with my fingertips, the gift inside, no matter how expensive, is not the

Gift of Gifts that God gave the world when He sent His son for us.

These earthly Christmastimes aren't for all of eternity, and

That's a good thing.

I can't wait to sing these carols with the angels someday.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Hypocrisy...

...Amazing hate,
Oblique the sound,
That stoned a bird
Like He.

I once was held,
But now I'm bound.
I've cried
And now, I see.

Live; Content.

Below are some words from a wise man named Max. The question is not 'are you addicted to porn?' but 'what is your porn?' We all have an idol(s) and we've all been addicted at one time or another. Our eyes can't stay on God's if our hands aren't holding on tight in a circle of community. Celebrate fellowship. Celebrate freedom from obedience to sin. Don't celebrate alone. Make friends... Jesus did.

"Using pornography is rarely about using pornography. It’s always about something else. For sex provides immediate power and gratification. It smothers anxiety and tension. Sex validates us, and makes us feel loved. And while these things may make us feel good and worthy at the time, they only empty us faster than we can be filled. Which keeps us going back again and again. Because it’s the fastest, easiest way to seek gratification when we are discontent and lonely.

Pornography THRIVES on loneliness.

A multi-billion dollar industry that depends on the exploitation of your loneliness.

A loneliness that doesn’t disappear with marriage or sex.

Loneliness disappears with contentment.

Contentment with who you are.

Contentment with who God created you to be.

Pornography is resistance.

The resistance against contentment.

Resistance stops us from living the lives we were meant to live"

Amen.

XVII

There is something so glamorous about prophesying your own story.
Something so unequivocally thrilling as to,
Make your own God hat, wear it around.

There are things so alluring about making grand proclamations,
Loudly justifying exquisitely screwed-up life decisions;
It's easy to follow sheep.

Where did the Shepherd go?

Oh hell, I don't know...but I'll just follow the rest of this white wool...

There are moments that nudge me toward buying the manual,
Giddy, gloriously feminine,
Blissfully labeled, skillfully maneuvering
my every motion for the taking,
Drifting with the tide.

There are reasons for echoing words delusional,
Paper-mache, congregation-manipulated illusion,
Beautiful but fake.

If I expected this culturally whitewashed
Buddy-system brainwashed
One way sign
To lead me

If I was fine all the time
Lived minus fine lines
Black and white, "God is good!"
Inauthentic trying times

I wouldn't Believe,
Couldn't imagine dreaming outside the box,
Pulling my ears out of the clouds.

Make my own God hat, wear it around.

Taryn's Blessing

May your plans be interrupted, disrupted, rearranged.

May you find yourselves far outside your comfort zones.

May your waters be stirred and your weaknesses laid bare so that the beauty of God could be made more visible.

May all you lack be used by Him as well as all you have.

May your vulnerability be an act of worship.

May your Christ-centered minds be sharpened, hearts softened, eyes widened, hands opened and wills daily relinquished to Your King.

May you realize the seemingly serendipitous moments in your life have been orchestrated by an all-knowing, plan-having, loving Father.

May your own agendas not get in the way of God’s.

May these cornfields surrounding you be a constant reminder of a the beautiful, sometimes confusing, truth-unearthing and life-altering season in which God has placed you to grow, become, thrive and catapult you into changing the world.

May your devotion to Jesus be unwavering.

If the moment your own dream dies and God’s dream for your life taking root has not yet arrived, may it soon.

May you with all boldness wave the white flag over your life and offer it to God as His loving channel meeting human needs to His glory.

May you not choose the path of least resistance but of greatest submission to Your Creator.

May every step you take across this campus, every credit hour accrued, every movement you make towards that moment your diploma is placed in your hands be another layer of your surrender to God.

May your cap thrown in the air your last day on this campus be your symbol of a life offered up, a lifetime of servanthood to the SERVANT OF ALL.

AMEN.

Lining of my heart

Starting from the outer edges
Of my already cold elbows
I sometimes feel goosebumps

This thought invades my mind
Every few breaths
That if I give in to the number in front of the
Ne, Cl, H, Fe, Mn, H...HHHH!

To the writing of notes with my fingers
More than my own words
That if I drown in the words from the mouths of profs
Not, My, Own.

I'll lose my friends...
"You're different, why?"
My art
"I don't write anymore"
The lining of my heart.

I know my life is scrawled on an assertive scroll
Nothing I say can change that
But change worries me,
Nontheless.

September 12th, still reeling

So indescribably tethered to back home...

When her grandpa died on 9/11/11
I was reminded
Of the life I could have had
But ran away from

Of what she'll have
With those people
Who've always known her name
Were just getting to know mine

I'm blessed beyond any chemical
Atomic level
Grainy picture of the inside of my heartbeat
And you'd see just how happy I feel

Never do I cry here
Well rarely ever
Periods might make me
From time to time

But time isn't something you can hold in your hand
Or even in a moment

Raindrops blinding my determinedly opened eyes
When I stayed my running steps
For the hundredth time

As the flag surprised me,
Waved above me
I was reminded

Of the life I could have had
Was raised away from

Save the Date

Bound by inhibitions
I sit up and raise my hand
I like the sound of my voice, to often, more than the words
The voiceless, invisible white noises resound
A blur of too many devotion-lacking nights
And whispers reserved, now dead

Yes, it was something you said
That made me want to curl back into that bathroom
Where I'd look out the window, onto that street
Envision walking down that road,
And never looking back

The funny thing about feeling victomed
Is it comes from you, into others
It's like, genetic or something
Whatever, no one cares, poor me
And she says it now because she likes the sound of her voice

Yes, it was something you did
That makes me want to shackle my hands behind my waist
Already enslaved
At least I can say, "I make my own decisions",
And never looking back

love.

I'd rather not build up a single block
If it meant waking up mornings later, sooner than it felt
A breathing person beside me, in the shadow of a tower I built
Flag swaying at its top
With a big red heart
So everyone would know
I was in love

I am in love
And everyday, I fall further
Completely unnecessary is it for someone to come along
Lead me through the Word He gave for everyone
Not two
Every one

Towers fall on either side
I see them come crashing and spring up
Peripheral and right before my eyes
I am in no hurry
For any but He
who gave His life

We answer to the King individually
What we bond so extremely,
However young,
Will be separated
The day we wake up
Finally at home

Ombre

Sometimes I hear something so worshipful
With no words
No big, "let's raise our hands, arms together" moment

Lonely but fully companioned
Cognizant but blissfully unaware
Caught up but grounded by itty goosebumps

Air all a'chill
Frozen, stilled by classical piano
I don't even have it in me to gasp at the drop
Warmed inside, heart held by hands that made us able

Vibrant blue, green to violet
Violent red that turns to rust
Dust to dust
And yet I marvel

"He knows it's scary to be us"
Yes, that is always true
Fragment of joy, however short its time
Is greater than this phrase of mine

Soul raised, lifted higher than my hands can reach
With no words
Such a big, "I can't see my hands, arms" moment

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XK7y47M7Hk

Secular?

Non-secular:

I will seek You in the morning
And I will learn to walk in Your ways
And step by step You'll lead me
And I will follow You all of my days

Very militaristic. You can almost hear the "left-right-left" of army boots marching as it's chanted out. Disturbing is the 'learn to walk in your ways', which feels very cult-ish, an eerie sort of conformity.

Secular:

But I don't care what they say
I'm in love with you
They try to pull me away
But they don't know the truth
My heart's crippled by the vein
That I keep on closing
You cut me open and I
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love

Graphic, real. Heart surgery where a person is forever changed. It almost seems inescapable...more than a choice, a completely new kind of love. A heart attack from brokenness...a healing for freedom.

Non-secular

Crucified
Laid behind a stone
You lived to die
Rejected and alone
Like a rose
Trampled on the ground
You took the fall
And thought of me
Above all

The baffling part about this song is the theme of "me-ness". He thought of ME above ANYONE ELSE. And, who wants to worship a rose trampled on the ground? I guess my point here is...where's the focus? Take Him down from the cross, already. Sure, there needs to be meditation on the sacrifice, but the celebration comes in the "He is risen!"

Secular:

And time goes quicker
Between the two of us
Oh, my love, don't forsake me
Take what the water gave me

Lay me down
Let the only sound
Be the overflow
Pockets full of stones

Florence + the Machine's new song is a poignant example of offering. "Take what the water gave me" is a devastatingly beautiful line, because it is a giving up of something naturally beautiful. This song, to me, is a recognition that even though nature is glorious, it cannot compare to love (AKA God).
Obviously, I'm taking it out of context, and Flo most likely wrote this to a guy (girl?) who was contemplating leaving her. The worshipful resignation of "lay me down, let the only sound be the overflow", although in her context, sexual, paints a beautiful picture of how we should strive to allow God's hand in our own lives.
So raw and powerful, "I only need this sound to survive". I also love the "pockets full of stones", which reminds me of the "my burden is light" verse. I love this song. It's much easier to feel unworthy than to become fired up for giving up...but Flo's song inspires me to NOT take the easy way out.

Fishbowl Monday

I had a fish named Jude
Before
I killed him, accidentally
by not feeding him enough,
Before I starved him.

Jude lived in a fishbowl
And
It was so small.
His whole world was in that fishbowl
The whole breadth of it, everything, all.

"There is a whole big world, out there, Jude!"

He never did hear.
Believed he was the biggest fish in the world
Because in his world
He was.

These days,
Predictable,
thick with bubbly interlinked, understood chatter
About things that never touch the under-blessed, under-dressed.
Nothing, never...
Everything's always blessed.

Makes it difficult to remember
When I was deep in dark too far up
To reach my head over
The lip of the cup

It sounds nice
Dwelling daily in fishbowl days
And, yes, it is.
Sometimes it drags, milky footprints, shaking Wonderbread crumbs from my scalp

I see the vibrancy and angst of my younger self
Writing songs, songs, words scrawled in any empty corner
Colors of rainbows Noah never saw

From behind the pane of window glass
Fogging up the surface
My finger traces, "You'll be fine"

She never will hear
Believes she is the biggest fish in the world
Because in her world
She is.

Another Kind of Always.

There is family.

And then there is the one who held your hand on the cusp of midnight darkness, leaned into you, barely looking up, teary eyed, saying "I have to tell you something."

You didn't know what would be said would be what you'd been dealing with.

There is family.

And then there is a moment.
A moment after quite some time.

Where a person who drifts in and out of your life, who knows the core center of your rotting apple heart, drifts back in with nary a hesitant glance.

There is family.
There is that, always.

But there is another kind of always, the one that keeps you inspired while others belittle.

I don't think I'll ever understand, why I so easily, nonchalantly even, hurt those who've shown me this other kind.

I don't know what compels me to hurt these angel-lead lovers of my life, the very soul of what makes me mine.

I think, just last week, I might have lost one...because.of.my. words..

All I can say is, despite all my culture, I can still be a biotch.

May angels lead you in, wherever you are to arrive.

There is family...
And then there are friends.

Ah, the joys of having a sibling

I sit, centered, cocooned blankets, en masse.
Black hoodied-silence, ponder breathlessly how perfectly you mocked me.
...On our way home before we would leave to pick up the knives that were left to be sharpened...

Ironic metaphor, meta-rivalry, meta-escapist.
I never met a brother quite like you, man.
Punctured through the gauzy film I spread around my head to avoid the nasty words said
By you.

Rollin' like a big shot, not caught, fightin' words all crisscrossed,
X'n through my ears like lead, hot.
And here I thought,
that we were...
friends.

Was it mature that I didn't lash back?

I sit, feel the mist, rise up to meet my eyes, my fist.
I never met a brother quite like you, man.

Inspired.

dear evil people

"So now we see how it is
This fist begets the spear
Weapons of war
Symptoms of madness
Don't let your eyes refuse to see
Don't let your ears refuse to hear
Or you ain't never going to shake this sense of sadness."

Inspired.

Homesick

There's this paragraph from Breaking Dawn that goes a little something like this,

"The march was too slow as I struggled to pace my steps to its rhythm. Mercifully, the aisle was very short. And then, at last, at last, I was there. Edward held out his hand. Charlie took my hand and, in a symbol as old as the world, placed it in Edward's. I touched the cool miracle of his skin, and I was home."

Today, in the car with my mom, it dawned on me (haha, no pun intended..well, actually...) that the reason I am excited about going back to school, overwhelmingly so, is because of a four-leafed friendship that has forever changed my life. My three friends and I couldn't be more different, couldn't. be. more. different. but there is just something about finishing the circle of interlaced fingers when we bow our heads to pray that feels like coming home. I spent so much time in the beginning trying to mask the fact that I was raised with emotional people, have an interesting family situation (half and half doesn't nearly do it justice), until I lost it one day, and a volcano of anger meets vulnerability tumbled out and colored the air a rosy tinged purple....I'll never forget the look on their faces...or the lightening speed with which they forgave me. I can't wait for moments when I'm needed to finish the circle, and I know, in my moments of need, they'll be there, too. Girls..if you're reading this...I LOVE YOU! :)

A post on finishing a series

So, I finished the third book in The Hunger Games series, the other day, and..I gotta say..it sucks to finish a series. I think I've figured it out...when you get to know a character beyond one book, you start critiquing them because you feel like you know them. When they act like a wimp unnecessarily, you're shouting in your mind, "man up!! come on now...find your inner champ! I know you can..." When the heroine ends up with a guy...kinda by default..because the other one moved away, you find yourself genuinely concerned..thinking thoughts like, "Hmm..if Gale would've stayed, would Katniss' life look different? Probably not..but then again...MAYBE. IT. WOULD. HAVE. She should have gone to visit him JUST TO SEE what he was up to." Certain things are difficult to just leave in the epilogue...such as..NOT KNOWING THE NAMES OF HER CHILDREN....I somewhat understand it..trying to appear all suave by addressing them as "the dancing girl" and "the boy with the blond curls" but...seriously...when readers have grown to respect and love the driving force of a story..that's cruel and unfashionably rude. Obviously, I'm having withdrawals...

Not even gonna sigh

I don’t feel so separated from the fall
When I’m falling.

Falling into rage, a sort of humanly billowing of heat that fills
Where the heart should be.
Causes my head to lift up, oddly, as if on hinges
Then strike down with words, more venomous than defensive.

If this were a sport, I’d be losing.

If my life is short...if I die tomorrow
What is the sense of allowing rage to ebb?
...Only to emerge from reserve
Later, and
continue consuming any rationality that once kept me
In rhythm.

My walk is more like a crawl,
My fingers on a steep, angry edge.

The other day, I watched a line of ants crawl by, in perfect formation they swirled,
Not really going anywhere.
I could have
Crushed them with my foot,
Drowned them with a smallish glass of water,
Burnt them
With one orange flame.

They were all brown;
They all looked the same.

But, I didn’t.

I watched them swirl in senseless patterns.
I smiled at how little ground they covered.

If one of them had called out for me,
Asked me for help,
Pleaded with me in a language I created...
“I want to go further than just here..lift me..I’ll only ever walk in circles.”

I don’t feel so separated from the fall
When I’m falling.

Falling into apathy, a sort of ‘giving up’ that
Happens when our minds have had too much.
Maybe not now, when I have time to read all the opinions.

When I’m older, there will still be unsolved questions,
But there will also be children, who call me “Mommy”,
And worry about their own little worlds.

Like the ant world, mine confuses me.

I know I have guidance.
I know I have freedom.

Knowing the balance doesn’t excite me.

One day, I’ll know how it was and why.
But on that day
Of perfect change
I won’t even lend a sigh.

"The Secret Life of the American Teenager, Season 4: Ep. 3"

Picking up the pieces of my broken faith
My heartbeat faintly whispers to my fingers, my feet,
“Someone, somewhere needs a Friend like you did”.

Entirely dismissive, annoyed and too often,
Begrudgingly employed,
I acknowledge the obvious end,
the greater Good collecting dust,
The Highest of High,
who I call,
Healer.

Tonight,
alone but
drowning in
polluted,
shallow,
powdered sugar

I squealed when the girl asked the boy,
“stay with me, heal me...”
and convinced him
with. a. kiss.

I know better
I live better...
right?

Nope.

And as I shut my screen,
Their embraced lips tattooed along my eyelids,
I don’t even notice how far away
Our true Healer is
from my
easily-entertained,
attention-hungry
heart.

These meager rations
leave my soul’s bones barren,
begging
to say those words

in a state of vulnerability
to Creator Friend,
forever
my Guy.

This truly
lack-lusting,
Intimacy-here-than-waning,

Melodrama inducing
Blood-racing, breaths-increasing
drama
is suddenly too sweet.

Picking up the pieces of my broken faith
My heartbeat faintly whispers to my fingers, my feet,
“Someone, somewhere needs a Friend like you did”.

Everyday.

Beautiful.
Like there's a name for the catching of breath in throat, veins pumping looser, silver, warmer, gold.
They say, "you're beautiful!"
And you wonder, if there's a way to freeze this moment forever,
Then melt it later, spread it on days dry and barren of anything to boast.

Beautiful.
Like you needed someone to say it, louder than your own thoughts.
Yeah, you did.
Because when they say, "sup, pretty girl?"
You turn, because you don't feel you belong.

Believe it, beautiful.
It's your turn to love yourself.
Adore the small, charming eyes
See the color of chocolate, not dirt.
See the way it frames your face, the too small-just right smile.

Beautiful.
When they say it next, know it anyway.
It's not just today, it's everyday.

Some heavenly pictures

I don't know if there's anything worth studying
I lose my breath when I allow Your colors into my world
And if You're really outside of time, do you see us like this?

Fast-forwarding into blurs of industrialized dust and concrete grays?

When Eden was standing and love pulsed through earthly veins...
When no one was forced to fathom pain...
Were there harmonies playing, drifting through the wind?
Before sin...and hatred...and You watched human evil begin...
Did you want to

pause.

Did Eve ever recognize the blessing?
What women would do to step one day in it...
Garden colors...were they like these?
How did you know which light went where?
Swimming in parallel lines, poking, sharp and in endless supply...
How confusing are our lives in angels' eyes?
I don't know if there's anything worth studying
What will I need when I finally live in untainted color?

(Thank you to Teso and their heavenly pictures. So amazing to know that...these images reside under the feet of Him...how much grander will those colors be?)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rk6_hdRtJOE

Guest Post-Jasmin Banachowski

I Run
July 26, 2010

I run
I am a runner, in more forms than one.

I run for fun, to race, to win, for challenge,
Up high hills, down country roads, in moist heat, through chilled rain,
To build strength, both body and mind...
So, in the long run, I will have
Structure, work ethic, determination, and self worth.

I run for elections and leadership positions,
To be involved,
And to keep things running smoothly.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm always on the run,
And there's always something or someone running through my mind.

This can cause me to run into things,
Whether it be a low branch
Or
A frustrated mother telling me to "put my clothes away..."
At times, I run out of fuel, because I overwork, and because
I forget to look at my fuel gauge.

I tend to run from reality and problems, because
I hate being wrong...
...facing the truth when I'm in a fantasy.

I run from my
Anger and frustrations, and
Pretend they are not there, only to find that
I lost my loved ones, my support for my race, on the way.

I become lonely, and decide it's time to
catch
up
with
them,
So,
We can run this race together,
Making our journeys
Safer, smarter, more enjoyable.

No matter what I run for, to, on, through, into, out of, or from...
...I always run to my God

This run is not what you would call an "easy run", but a constant, hilly battle.

-Sometimes, I i feel like this race is never-ending. I get run down, and my pace may slow.

-Sometimes, I take a wrong turn, or run after the wrong thing.

-Many times, I stumble and fall, get scrapes and "broken bones".

But instead of giving up, turning around, or going down the easier path,
I work toward the
Straight path...
...Right to my Father.

Though it's tough,
I feel strong.

I can run over obstacles and
Get up when I fall.

I will run, and run,
Until my race is done.

Why?
Because, it's a race I will
Never
Lose,

And, because I wouldn't want anyone else to run my life.

-Jasmin Elyse Clarey Banachowski
July 2010
Edited by Call the Sound

And perhaps reach out for Him

I asked my eyes if they'd take time
To rest on the sky today.
They complied, focusing on clouds
Almost too high to rain.

White, unblemished fingers,
Reached out from crumpled bodies
Gripped the sapphire ceiling.

Swaying ever-very-slightly,
Inviting shadows of platinum,
Ivory,
Light gray.

I thought to myself, "we're not so different..."
...Refuse release in our own way...

We grip the skies we paint ourselves,
As if Heaven means "more! tightly".

My own livid greens and angry reds
Exist unhinged,
Not lively.

These blues,
Light hues...
...This moment wherein I, again, choose...

Thanks be to He!
Another May-summer muse
Has cleaned my pride
In spite of me.

Acts 17:24-27

h@/^/D$

Help me not judge based on pretty, prettier
Taunt me with love rimming a lake of forgiveness
Dip me in Your honor, help me understand
I want to hold Your hand
I want to stand
Woman, Man
Hand in hand
“It’s not the hand that cuts, it’s the hatred deep inside”
All forever changed, silver steps for sand

Who art in heaven
Who hath made art
You gave me a brand new start
Help me not judge based on hungry, hungrier
Nudge me with grace brimming over another cracked cup
Drag me in Your peace
Please
Mercifully redeem
Interlace these raised, bruised hands

In Awe

I can feel plunged at the darkest of demons
Lose my gifted breath to tumultuous waves

I can stop going because I need water
Burn with martyrs
Drown a lonely drowning death

None can fathom, oh the glory
So I’ll praise, So I’ll praise

ben laden laid to rest?

I have the urge to celebrate
The passing of a fool
Who toppled towers
With his hate
Met ignorant in schools

Hours before
Amidst congregation
Singing with, as one
"Draw me gently to my knees and I am..."
Sweetly broken?
American token?
...As if this war is done...

My country is alive with wealth
Abounds in battle cries
Yet will the death
Of this louse
Unpurely prophesize?

Another April Sunday

I freed my vases for wilting dogwood
Stooping at the absence
Of smiling sunlit shelter

Replaced my shoes with ten toes and skin
Felt the grass talk underneath again

“So many things for granted!”
Too old to care that it was out loud
Too young for wind-song whistling, hours on end

Intimate means tickled by bee wings
Fragrant budding green things
Seeing the earth all dressed up
Scissors trimming wooden branches, as gentle as murder can be

I freed my eyes from waning darkness
Stared at Her Highness, the pastel queen
Replaced the cold with fulfilled promise
Nodded with the murmur
Of resurgent encouragement