I should truly turn my phone off today
And spend 15 min. with the God who gave me life
Find something to say “thank-you” for
Because for this I was created
I will close my eyes
and call him, “Father”
Because the simple truth that I’m His child
That He loves me
That He loved me enough
To send his son
To die for me
Is enough
It’s....
enough.
I don’t need any extra blessings.
I’m enough.
Me.
Me without anything added
Me, and Jesus, and My Father
with the Holy Spirit
He gave me.
“It is better for me to leave, so that my advocate can come,” He said.
I believe
that God is for me.
I believe
that there is a reason for this day.
I believe
that there is a reason I’m here to live it.
call the sound. bruised. but never buried.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Friday, September 14, 2012
living worshipfully is important
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.
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.
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.
Monday, July 2, 2012
When Grace Gets Real
Christians who don't live with bars on either side of their eyes,
Who haven't been set rigidly in place,
Who aren't always organized, who mess up sometimes,
I learn the most about grace from those people.
I was in the wedding of my childhood friend, Emily, two weekends ago.
One of the groomsmen, the groom's best friend, drums for the band Twenty One Pilots.
My conversation with Josh truly affirmed what I think I've always known.
It was so interesting, when he asked me, "Why did you want to go to a Christian school?"
I was at a loss for words.
He's standing there, one arm completely covered in a tattoo sleeve of a tree;
And I'm at a loss for words.
And, for a split second, I find myself judging him for that tattoo.
See, the thing about going to a Christian school is,
You might start developing a picture in your mind of what "Christian" looks like.
Even me, who solemnly promised herself
That she would never be like that, would never do that...
...Would not judge the books by their covers, the people by their tattoos, the girls by their hem length,
Suddenly found herself
A professional.
The summer before college, I'm standing in a basement packed full of Believers,
At a church with no worship group, or even church sanctuary,
Who look nothing like this picture in my mind.
And they're there for the free Christian Apologetics class-
On a Sunday morning.
They weren't getting college credit,
but it was packed-
-Wall to Wall.
There was never enough time for all the questions...
And...woah. The questions.
These people were really brave, unabashed to ask what everyone was thinking.
At a Christian college, these people would most likely be considered
Heavily liberal, over-worldly, doubters
They would get demerits for their clothing
And their cussing
And their (not-getting-drunk) drinking
But they're faith is real.
They are alive in God's grace
They are truly unafraid
When I got to college
I missed them
In Old Testament, with engaged-to-be-married boys in my row
And sitting in front of me,
I had to answer the Song of Solomon question
In Politics, I was the lone
Liberally-inclined thinker in the room
People responded to me like I was a feminist lesbian (Heaven forbid!)
But did I care?
Not really.
But it gets kind of lonely, swimming against the current;
Understanding what it means to be
True to who God made you to be,
Not true to how everyone else looks and acts.
My answer to Josh's question?
"I'm a Christian!"
He blank-stared at me,
And it was in that moment that I remembered...
Those bars?
Their self-imposed.
That culture?
Can be crippling.
That fear?
Is worthless.
I'm remembering what it means to live in God's freedom,
Learning how to love those who squander themselves by not asking questions
And trying their damndest to live lives that look like everyone else's.
And please, do yourself a favor and don't care what other people think about you.
Stop censoring yourself, stop second-guessing;
God is bigger, and you don't have to play by rules that don't matter.
Lyrics that inspired this post:
Little Lion Man; Mumford & Sons
Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep Little Lion Man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your own head....
....Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Brother; Matt Corby
Wait there
Pull yourself out of this state, dear
Acknowledge you were a fake here
From there on you might just grow
Guns For Hands; Twenty One Pilots
The solution is, I see a whole room of these mutant kids,
Fused at the wrist, I simply tell them they should shoot at this,
Simply suggest my chest and this confused music,
It's obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
But I can't, but I can't when you all have,
Guns for hands.
Who haven't been set rigidly in place,
Who aren't always organized, who mess up sometimes,
I learn the most about grace from those people.
I was in the wedding of my childhood friend, Emily, two weekends ago.
One of the groomsmen, the groom's best friend, drums for the band Twenty One Pilots.
My conversation with Josh truly affirmed what I think I've always known.
It was so interesting, when he asked me, "Why did you want to go to a Christian school?"
I was at a loss for words.
He's standing there, one arm completely covered in a tattoo sleeve of a tree;
And I'm at a loss for words.
And, for a split second, I find myself judging him for that tattoo.
See, the thing about going to a Christian school is,
You might start developing a picture in your mind of what "Christian" looks like.
Even me, who solemnly promised herself
That she would never be like that, would never do that...
...Would not judge the books by their covers, the people by their tattoos, the girls by their hem length,
Suddenly found herself
A professional.
The summer before college, I'm standing in a basement packed full of Believers,
At a church with no worship group, or even church sanctuary,
Who look nothing like this picture in my mind.
And they're there for the free Christian Apologetics class-
On a Sunday morning.
They weren't getting college credit,
but it was packed-
-Wall to Wall.
There was never enough time for all the questions...
And...woah. The questions.
These people were really brave, unabashed to ask what everyone was thinking.
At a Christian college, these people would most likely be considered
Heavily liberal, over-worldly, doubters
They would get demerits for their clothing
And their cussing
And their (not-getting-drunk) drinking
But they're faith is real.
They are alive in God's grace
They are truly unafraid
When I got to college
I missed them
In Old Testament, with engaged-to-be-married boys in my row
And sitting in front of me,
I had to answer the Song of Solomon question
In Politics, I was the lone
Liberally-inclined thinker in the room
People responded to me like I was a feminist lesbian (Heaven forbid!)
But did I care?
Not really.
But it gets kind of lonely, swimming against the current;
Understanding what it means to be
True to who God made you to be,
Not true to how everyone else looks and acts.
My answer to Josh's question?
"I'm a Christian!"
He blank-stared at me,
And it was in that moment that I remembered...
Those bars?
Their self-imposed.
That culture?
Can be crippling.
That fear?
Is worthless.
I'm remembering what it means to live in God's freedom,
Learning how to love those who squander themselves by not asking questions
And trying their damndest to live lives that look like everyone else's.
And please, do yourself a favor and don't care what other people think about you.
Stop censoring yourself, stop second-guessing;
God is bigger, and you don't have to play by rules that don't matter.
Lyrics that inspired this post:
Little Lion Man; Mumford & Sons
Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep Little Lion Man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your own head....
....Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Brother; Matt Corby
Wait there
Pull yourself out of this state, dear
Acknowledge you were a fake here
From there on you might just grow
Guns For Hands; Twenty One Pilots
The solution is, I see a whole room of these mutant kids,
Fused at the wrist, I simply tell them they should shoot at this,
Simply suggest my chest and this confused music,
It's obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
But I can't, but I can't when you all have,
Guns for hands.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Chosen.
Every woman needs to be chosen
I've come to this conclusion
That it's every woman
All of them
They all are chosen
Once
By He whose crimson grace ran from his wrists
Drips down to our heads beneath
By choice, some come to know Him
Are awaken to being already chosen
Once
Others wait, chosen-less
The ones who live chosen
Are sometimes chosen again
The others don't breathe right
Until that ring is given
I pray for the day
When Earth's rules are broken
When all of us, together
Share the same Selector
I've come to this conclusion
That it's every woman
All of them
They all are chosen
Once
By He whose crimson grace ran from his wrists
Drips down to our heads beneath
By choice, some come to know Him
Are awaken to being already chosen
Once
Others wait, chosen-less
The ones who live chosen
Are sometimes chosen again
The others don't breathe right
Until that ring is given
I pray for the day
When Earth's rules are broken
When all of us, together
Share the same Selector
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Thus is life.
Thus is life,
One long chain of moment-to-moment victories.
This galloping onward despite
Calcaneus screaming for us to stop,
The flesh hangs down in surrender; Bleeding.
We keep on
Suppressing that still, small voice that hungers to
Be still and know.
Oh, this dancing poly-happening...
Multiple sirs owe us!
We bang our fists on the dinner table.
We keep on,
Suppressing that little hungry voice
Catch your breath, wipe away your tears,
Let's go.
One long chain of moment-to-moment victories.
This galloping onward despite
Calcaneus screaming for us to stop,
The flesh hangs down in surrender; Bleeding.
We keep on
Suppressing that still, small voice that hungers to
Be still and know.
Oh, this dancing poly-happening...
Multiple sirs owe us!
We bang our fists on the dinner table.
We keep on,
Suppressing that little hungry voice
Catch your breath, wipe away your tears,
Let's go.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Mentor, Renewer, Friend.
Lurid stain of failure:
My magic marker dug through thin paper,
The visceral covering of my heart.
You knew that color,
Patches of it peeked through your sweatshirt.
My collarbone settled into the curve of your thumb and index finger.
It was like a dream,
Neon gave way to
Pastel harmony.
God was mentioned.
My eyes drew at their corners;
You stared straight inside.
My heartbeat drowned in sobbing noises;
You mentioned Him again,
Admonished to abide in grace, faithfully, again.
When I looked up
Into your eyes,
Your fingers melted through...
This sinking soul; you cradled me.
I felt my hope,
Renewed.
My magic marker dug through thin paper,
The visceral covering of my heart.
You knew that color,
Patches of it peeked through your sweatshirt.
My collarbone settled into the curve of your thumb and index finger.
It was like a dream,
Neon gave way to
Pastel harmony.
God was mentioned.
My eyes drew at their corners;
You stared straight inside.
My heartbeat drowned in sobbing noises;
You mentioned Him again,
Admonished to abide in grace, faithfully, again.
When I looked up
Into your eyes,
Your fingers melted through...
This sinking soul; you cradled me.
I felt my hope,
Renewed.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Father, God.
May all who seek You
rejoice and be glad in You;
May those who love Your
-salvation-
always say,
"The Lord be exalted!"
Yet, I am poor and needy;
May the Lord think of me.
YOU are my
Help
and my
Deliverer,
Oh, Father God,
do not delay.
Psalm 40:16-17
Amen.
rejoice and be glad in You;
May those who love Your
-salvation-
always say,
"The Lord be exalted!"
Yet, I am poor and needy;
May the Lord think of me.
YOU are my
Help
and my
Deliverer,
Oh, Father God,
do not delay.
Psalm 40:16-17
Amen.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Reasons Why
1. I'm discombobulated
2. I'm disorganized
3. I'm the biggest procrastinator I've ever met
4. I'm not dependable
5. I forget things easily
6. I'm proud
7. I'm selfish
8. I have addictive tendencies
9. I'm Liberal
10. I'm easily offended
11. I'm inconsistent
12. I'm loud
13. I'm self-righteous
14. I unnaturally enjoy being alone
15. I'm moody
16. I'm not a good listener
17. I'm not a good learner
18. I like being right more than I like being humbled
19. I'm annoyed by well-balanced, functioning adults
I didn't know there were going to be 19 when I started, but here they are.
2. I'm disorganized
3. I'm the biggest procrastinator I've ever met
4. I'm not dependable
5. I forget things easily
6. I'm proud
7. I'm selfish
8. I have addictive tendencies
9. I'm Liberal
10. I'm easily offended
11. I'm inconsistent
12. I'm loud
13. I'm self-righteous
14. I unnaturally enjoy being alone
15. I'm moody
16. I'm not a good listener
17. I'm not a good learner
18. I like being right more than I like being humbled
19. I'm annoyed by well-balanced, functioning adults
I didn't know there were going to be 19 when I started, but here they are.
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they WILL CEASE; where there are tongues, they will BE STILLED; where there is knowledge, it WILL PASS AWAY.
I'm not ready to cease these 19. I'm not ready to still my tongue. I have too much knowledge and not enough grace to settle down right now. But I am ready for God to eclipse my afflictions:
every. single. day.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
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.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, December 2, 2011
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.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
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.
Friday, September 30, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
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
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
Saturday, September 10, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
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
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
Monday, September 5, 2011
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
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
Thursday, September 1, 2011
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.
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.
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