Father, You are my greatest joy. I turn to You, our King of Kings, in this hour to ask You to forgive this day and this upcoming week.
You are my greatest joy.
"I will fall at Your feet. I will worship You here."
I am not an innately worshipful person, but my hope is in a God who calls me to worship, who calls me to love despite my feelings and attitude of the moment. If my life's work does not glorify Him, no amount of money or attention or adoration will matter. Nothing is worth leaving the Lord's presence, and whether I choose to believe that today or tomorrow, it must be something I learn or my life will have no meaning. I have to honor that truth, or my life will be worthless to me.
It all comes back to You, God. It doesn't matter who we ever meet, because we have met You and You have met us, and accepted us, and loved us more than Yourself. When it was nothing for You to save Yourself from pain, to watch us sin without a final escape, while it would have been easy for You, You who are perfect, satisfied by Your trinity, You who isn't bonded by sex, enslaved to money, addicted to fame...
You are only jealous for our attention because You know that only You can satisfy our God-filled hole. Only You can satisfy us- us: we choose our idols and addictions over praising You every single day.
...While it would have been easy for You to keep the system- the system where we had to constantly sacrifice, had to constantly repent, had to constantly give offerings- You gave Your son as THE offering. You broke the chains that we created, because You love us in a way we can never fathom.
call the sound. bruised. but never buried.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Monday, September 3, 2012
Crimes Out to Dry
"Do you daydream?", she asked.
Her voice didn't sound like the other women: tired, apathetic, smug, disappointed.
Her eyes didn't provoke war.
Her tone was high, girlish even.
In her fingers, instead of the typical match with the ash-colored tip, held perfectly erect.
Instead of that all-too-familiar sliver of wood, she held a deceased dandelion.
Pinched between her thumb and forefinger, death of a different kind: mysterious and somehow
Full of promise.
The sunlight fell around her pretty but aging features in a way that
Warmed her thinning hair golden, created a sort-of optical illusion, until
You swore there was an actual halo atop her head!
Small, but glowingly real, you swore to yourself you'd seen it.
You'd sworn too many times in your short life.
"Go ahead, tell me."
You didn't want to.
You'd thought about this moment a thousand times. When this saintly lady would hear your crimes.
"I'm listening", she said. She slightly loosened her grip on the dandelion.
You closed your eyes, and forgot to pray. You garnered strength from your own merit, which was nearly enough to
Empower a horsefly.
You opened your eyes, childishly hoping your wish came true.
But she was still sitting there.
Attempting to swallow that immovable lump of guilt,
You remembered everything being a woman had taught you.
You used their passively abusive words
About competition and insecurity
To create a faux backbone for these next few seconds.
"Men are financial providers, women are emotional providers."
But you didn't believe that in this moment.
"God will provide!"
But that, too, was lost in the fear that shook your hands as you tried to hide them under the table.
You opened your mouth. To speak. To confess. To allow
the secret
to tumble
to her.
But the gust of wind was too great.
It blew the decayed seeds from the dandelion, blew the dead flower itself out of her grasp.
"Oh, no!!", she exclaimed as the dandelion flew off with the wind.
And with it, so much of her life.
"Wait, I'll get it!", you yelled, but even as you ran, you knew it was no use.
Returning to the table you'd always shared with the angelic woman, you sat silent,
No apology seemed big enough.
"I'm...I'm so sorry", you murmured.
It is a lame, overused phrase. But it was all you'd got.
Her eyes were so different, though.
She didn't recognize you anymore.
Her voice didn't sound like the other women: tired, apathetic, smug, disappointed.
Her eyes didn't provoke war.
Her tone was high, girlish even.
In her fingers, instead of the typical match with the ash-colored tip, held perfectly erect.
Instead of that all-too-familiar sliver of wood, she held a deceased dandelion.
Pinched between her thumb and forefinger, death of a different kind: mysterious and somehow
Full of promise.
The sunlight fell around her pretty but aging features in a way that
Warmed her thinning hair golden, created a sort-of optical illusion, until
You swore there was an actual halo atop her head!
Small, but glowingly real, you swore to yourself you'd seen it.
You'd sworn too many times in your short life.
"Go ahead, tell me."
You didn't want to.
You'd thought about this moment a thousand times. When this saintly lady would hear your crimes.
"I'm listening", she said. She slightly loosened her grip on the dandelion.
You closed your eyes, and forgot to pray. You garnered strength from your own merit, which was nearly enough to
Empower a horsefly.
You opened your eyes, childishly hoping your wish came true.
But she was still sitting there.
Attempting to swallow that immovable lump of guilt,
You remembered everything being a woman had taught you.
You used their passively abusive words
About competition and insecurity
To create a faux backbone for these next few seconds.
"Men are financial providers, women are emotional providers."
But you didn't believe that in this moment.
"God will provide!"
But that, too, was lost in the fear that shook your hands as you tried to hide them under the table.
You opened your mouth. To speak. To confess. To allow
the secret
to tumble
to her.
But the gust of wind was too great.
It blew the decayed seeds from the dandelion, blew the dead flower itself out of her grasp.
"Oh, no!!", she exclaimed as the dandelion flew off with the wind.
And with it, so much of her life.
"Wait, I'll get it!", you yelled, but even as you ran, you knew it was no use.
Returning to the table you'd always shared with the angelic woman, you sat silent,
No apology seemed big enough.
"I'm...I'm so sorry", you murmured.
It is a lame, overused phrase. But it was all you'd got.
Her eyes were so different, though.
She didn't recognize you anymore.
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