Food of Loathing

I made myself a meal
and forced it down my throat.
It sounded so great,
the recipe so perfect.
Who could resist
a self-pity pie.
Filled with empty longing
and baked with abandonment.
No one even knows
that they made me eat.
I play the victim once again
and bring the fork to my mouth
And suddenly as I'm ready to vomit
the realization comes over me
in waves like nausea
no one forced the fork
to my eager mouth
it was my own hand,
my own tears and strife
that went into the pastry.
Yet I blame everyone else.
When I should have been
baking for them.
Mixing up batches of love cakes
and pouring out kindness sauce.
If I'd only stepped out of the kitchen
for a moment,
I might have seen earlier,
that the need is great.
And I live in a bakery.
I have been pretending far too long
that I have been starving.
In truth, I will be fed much more
of the milk of human kindness
when I offer the glass to others.

Grief is Great

"But please, please-won't you-can't you give me something that will cure my Mother? Up till then he had been looking at the Lion's great feet and the huge claws on them; now in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion's eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.
The Magician's Nephew
C.S. Lewis

Wide

Even as a child I knew
deep in my being and bones
I'd never be happy
with a commonplace life.
That's not to say I don't
like simplicity, or order.
But I know,
I knew
I know that it will never
satisfy me to be the little woman
who folded up big dreams
and tucked them away
with old sweaters and photos.
No, that will not be my lot.
I crave adventure
experience
thrills.
But direction is another thing
there are so many paths before me
leading up mountains,
down valleys,
to harbors and ships ready to sail,
into forests,
across plains.
And I stand here ready
to take your lead,
waiting.

It is well

I seek you in the morning

The morning is my recluse
I open my eyes to a dark world
still wrapped in slumber.
It is in this quiet
in this stillness
that if I listen closely
I find you;
between the lines in a worn book.
Hear you whispering in my ear.
Feel your sudden rush of warmth.
Or your refreshing cool.
Surrounded by your song
that all creation sings.
Some days I hope
that eternity will be
forever morning
standing in the beauty and brightness
of your dawn.

Cold Nights

Sometimes I remember you.
It is always something small
insignificant
that brings us to mind.
The song on the radio
the color of my pajamas.
The feeling of someone else's touch.
The knots in my back
and the flutter in my chest.
Suddenly I am back in those days
back in the snow shivering
in the middle of the night
waiting for you.
You were always so warm
I still don't understand it.
Or was it just that I was cold.
That my heart had seized up
letting the rest of my body
slowly freeze.
Then I'd melt into you
wishing you could cover me
like a blanket.
Even then you weren't enough though.
Before I knew it I would be cold
again, standing there in the snow
and wondering
what exactly I was doing.

Frost

Tonight I look up
into the endless night sky
and breathe in the air
so still and chilled
it fills the cavity
in my chest
sending icicles to form
in the cold depth.
And the ache
so common around this time
sinks into my very being
as if my beating heart
had been removed
and replaced with one
made of cold stone.
And I try to smile
and not feel lost
in that magnificent blue
sea above.
Try not to forget
that my feet are firmly planted
on the frozen ground.
That I cannot float away.
Out of the lives
of those who cannot tell
that my skin is fading blue
with the lack of oxygen
my heart once supplied.
Those who do not care
to scrutinize
but are content to see
what settles their minds.
And my lips are frozen shut
into a weary smile
unable to utter that I need
warmth so desperately.

I Worry So

Have you any idea
young spry one
that the life
which you so take
for granted
often flashes before
my very eyes.
That I find myself
in a cold sweat at times
wondering if that awful
feeling that washes
over me like a late tide
is my heart being informed
of you imminent death.
That visions flash
across my mind
sharp as needles
of your eyes closed
to open never again.
And the grief I would feel
I do feel
at just the notion of it
is worse I'm sure
than the mother who bore you.
In that moment
it is as if all light
fades from my world.
All laughter from my soul.
If I could take your place
I would in a heartbeat
though at this rate
my life will mean more
at least that's what
everyone insists
You're a lost cause.
I'd take your yoke and my own
if only it was possible
to save you.
If only you'd realize
your potential
your meaning
your place.
Maybe then I wouldn't have to
worry so.

Autumn Our End

The leaves have begun to change
to their true colours already.
As if they knew
what the first of September meant.
And we can feel a change coming too
somewhere deep in our bones.
There is that hint of frost
in the crisp morning air.
The sweet songs of summer--
the days so bright and green,
ripe with promises no one intended to keep--
have faded away with the last painted sunsets.
Now suddenly it’s a blur of colour
as we dance for the last time;
the yellows, oranges and red red reds
blurring around us as we let go.
Autumn is a sober reminder,
as the leaves are blown from the branches
they once clinged to for life,
that we too must drift into darker days.
We both knew that this would never last
as we accept the brown leaves
crushed beneath our feet.
And resign to the faint whispers
of a cold-hearted winter.

Oaks of change

Things have changed again
I suddenly realize it
starting with the oaks
who shared my days of splendid youth.
I remember
being able to wrap my hands right around them.
When they were much smaller than street lights.
They're all grown up now.
I need both arms to reach around.
They've grown tall and proud
watching over the street.
Their tops touch each others
shading the street from the summer sun.
Winds do not shake them as they once did
They are solid now, not easily persuaded to move.
While everyone else is marching onward
and moving away from the street
one by one by one
They remain its guardians.
Oaks do not change in the same way we do.
They grow taller and stronger and broader.
You will not find them
changing their address,
traveling the world,
getting married,
heading off to school.
They stay where they were planted,
anchored to the earth.
One day perhaps my own children will know them
as the massive guardians of the street
forever the oak walkway.

Nights of Yore

I remember nights like this one.
In the middle of July,
the buzz of a thunderstorm
hanging in the distance
the warm humid air filling your lungs
as if you were somewhere tropical.
The impending darkness of dusk
bringing with it an endless night
full of possibilities.
The way laughter echoes
down empty streets.
The way cigarettes waft on the breeze
and glow orange through the dark.
The way the it feels
to lie on burnt grass
and watch the stars.
To feel so invincible.
To be so sure these days would last.

The times are a changing

My how things change,
it seems just yesterday
I was couped up in blankets
trying desperately to keep the cold
from sinking into my bones
while writing papers
in my dorm room.
How different it is now
with the summer sun on my back
and the warm breeze wafting by.
It is not just the seasons of the year
which are in constant motion,
the seasons of life
seem to be fast forwarding
with the winds of change.
Everything around me is sprouting,
blossoming, maturing, seeding, whithering.
Things will never be quite the same again.
I cannot stop it though.
It would be like trying to hold sand;
The harder I try the faster it slips through.
The only thing to do now
is grab a canoe and row down the river with it
let the current carry me
to distant lands,loves, adventures.
So much has happened already
but the truth is
this is only the beginning.

Dandelion seeds

The dandelions seemed to have changed overnight.
They are no longer the bright yellow little suns
which once painted the boulevard in a solid golden hue
but are now orbs of a thousand white seeds.
Waiting.
Waiting for winds of change to come upon them
to blow them in every which direction
carried by the currents of life somewhere entirely different.
Sometimes I long to be like the dandelion.
To burst into something different,
into a thousand little parts
to travel upon the winds of change to a new world
drifting slowly over the earth.
To plant myself and grow again in the warm sun.
Maybe someday I will be like the dandelion
as for now I stay planted.

Diving Board

I climbed the ladder with excitement
at first my hands quickly grasping
up and up
my feet following my gaze
at how high I was climbing.
Anticipation flowing through my veins.
But the higher I became
the more trust I lost.
Starring down from the diving board
at what seems a pool with no water
only concrete to crash into.
There is no way down,
for the ladder has disappeared.
Time is one of those things
which only runs one way
like the tires on a bicycle.
So here I stand looking down
quivering with fear
and yet in my ear there's Your voice
whispering to me to jump.
I can't jump and I can't not jump.
I'm stuck it seems.
Yet you remind me once more
what trust is really about
as I shuffle closer and closer to the edge
preparing for the worst
yet hoping for the best
and finally I walk clean off the edge
into the unknown.

Tears of the Season

I hear the promise
ringing in my heart
a dear and familiar phrase
long since forgotten.
I no longer needed it
in this time of joy
in this season of prosperity.
Yet perhaps I did
as it comes to mind once more.
Tears scour the heart
But I've no tears to cry.
It is like trying to draw up
from a well long since dry.
and yet perhaps these could be tears
of another sort.
Not those of deep despair
regret and longing
tears of emptiness and defeat.
But tears of joy
of victory of triumph.
That I do not have to fight
when reminded that You
already fight for me.

Sarah the Earth

How very quickly the times change
it seems only yesterday
that the snow fell silently
like crystallized tears
upon a barren world.
But the earth has awakened since then
and like Sarah is barren no more.
Instead it brings forth new life
flowers and green grass and buds
and every sort of creature
comes up from her to give colour once more.
Even the air seems different
more like warm breath
teeming with life.
Surely the Lord's favor
has shone upon her face.

Tangled up in a Thought

Ok So I know this is probably really cheesy. But I love Tangled, and I love this picture. How could the little girl in me not? And I think there are some worthwhile themes in Tangled that deserve a second glance. If you think about it, I know this is a bit of a stretch, there is a story that is untold tucked away in there. Your story, My story. You see each of us was stolen away after our birth without us even knowing it. Kept away from God by our sinful nature. And the forces of the enemy, just like mother Gothel, tried to lie to us. Tried to tell us that there was nothing else besides what was right in front of us. Tried to tell us that anything else was strange and unsafe, and that we'd best stick to what we knew. And yet, in each of us there was and is this yearning for more.
And God who wanted us back, just like Rapunzel's parents, did not give up hope. He sent us sign after sign to remind us that there was more that we didn't know about. Signs like floating lanterns. In hopes that one day we would finally step outside our tower and find Him. He never stopped sending us signs, and watching over us, no matter how much we turned away.
He even sent His son to bridge the gap. To make it so that we never had to be separated from Him again. You could say His Son was like Flynn in this movie, but He was really so much better. Jesus was not a lost thief, like Flynn but a perfect sacrifice sent to Earth to pay the price for your sin so that you and God never had to be separated again.
But sometimes we have the same problem Rapunzel did. You see after she has the first part of her adventure she goes home again. She tries to go back to living in her tower, but she can't because she knows who she is now. That she doesn't belong there. Just like we belong in relationship with God and not elsewhere. And so I hope this is like a floating lantern to you to remind you just where you belong as the daughter of the King.

Someone's Child

Tonight somewhere a child cries
not the one upstairs,
which will quickly be attended to
But somewhere far away
out of reach.
Choking sobs in an alley way
or under blanket in a bed.
Somewhere they are crying,
of hurts that run deep
and course through their veins.
Does anyone even hear?
Even though mirrors deceive
they are still someone's child
and in the deep recesses of their heart
long to beheld once more
in secure hands.

Snowy Morning

This morning is silent.
There is no sound
of footsteps in the hall
of showers or sinks
of alarm clocks
or birds.
There is only snow
drifting placidly down
soundless upon the grey backdrop.
My feet are cold on the tiles
my breath in the air.
Perhaps it happened last night
I would not even know
if everyone left and I,
I was left behind here.
In a world that is silent
and gets colder and colder and colder
a world that is empty
of possibilities; of joy
like color leeched out.
A world where I am alone,
it goes by the name hell.
And yet here I stand
in a cold room
alive
heart still beating constant
wishing to be elsewhere.

Still Winter

Just a thought...

Like the Squirrel

I look out the window
noticing the squirrel
hopping, twitching, digging
oddly I long to hold it
soft and wild in my arms.
But like so many things
it is one my hands will never catch.
And should they, it would surely bite them.
The good I try to do
better left undone.
I am reminded that there are those things
that are better admired from a far
things that I am never meant to have, to hold.
They will always be,
much like the squirrel
out of my grasp.

Gomer

You look at me
with that look in your eyes
You swear You're in love.
But how can that be?
You've walked in
so many times
to me in bed with others.
Lovers that I tried to give my heart to
that I tried to fill myself with
so many empty attempts.
And when I ran away
unfaithful as I've been
You went out in search of me.
And with tenderness brought me home
and bandaged my wounds.
I expected the rod
to beat the insolence and lust out of me.
But instead I felt your warm touch
your comforting words
and Your sheer joy to have me home again.
One taste of you was enough
to satisfy me in ways
they never would.
So here I stand
looking into Your blazing eyes
awestruck by Your indescribable love
because I am so unworthy.

Temple

I stand in your temple
heart beating fast
I can't bare to be here.
I want to tear it down
I long to watch it collapse on itself.
My fingertips are torn and bloody
as I scratch at the bricks
trying to rip a hole open
trying to destroy
what you made.
Your sanctuary
the very place you dwell.
But I'd love to drive you out.
To bleed you out,
like blood flowing
from a thousand little cuts.
I bang my fists on the walls
I kick and scream
my feet ache
I'm hoarse and bruised
but I won't relent
not until you leave.
Who decided anyway
that this belongs to you?
You did?
Why would you want to dwell here,
in this ugly place.
The ceiling is dripping with tears
held in secret.
It is dark and full of cobwebs
dank and suffocating.
How could your light ever shine?

Just leave, get out!
It's useless,
You've seen it all, there's no hope
why won't you just leave,
go build on something beautiful
not in this dank cave.

Your voice echos in the darkness
Do you still not see, that this is where I'm meant to be?
And suddenly this place is filled with light
warm light
pure and singing
glowing in brilliance
and I don't see the same.

One day, you promise
it'll all be finished
all this construction,
for now you'll keep working
day by day by day
brick by brick
restoring these weary bones.
And we'll look back together
and admire Your masterpiece.
It's too late to stop you
I've already signed the contract with your blood
what's done is done
I am yours

Everything Beautiful...

I repeat the promise to myself
over and over and over.
but it is so hard to believe
in the deep recesses of a calloused heart
that You will make everything beautiful.
Everything that you touch.
When I look in the mirror
it's not what I see.
I see the ugly scars
I've given myself
the places others have cut
the accidents and the willful wounds
how healed over.
Ugly.
But I remember the promise
like a worn note
in the pocket of washed jeans.
Will you really make Everything beautiful?
Surely not me.
Me?
The scars are too deep
the mess to big
the fabric too ripped,
wouldn't you rather scrap this idea
and begin anew.
but you don't
that wouldn't show how amazing you are.
You'd rather fix things
though I'll never understand
how this is making me beautiful
I'll trust you with this mess that I've become.
Perhaps the time is coming soon
when I'll see what You see.

Why

When I think of you
in those times when I ponder
thoughts often much too deep
for my minuscule mind.

Just who exactly are you?

I know I'll never really understand.
It'll always be foggy,
like a thought that you just lost.

And what of me?

how do you even know I exist?
better yet why do you care?
I know that you do, but I'll never
know why

Why?

Why?

Why create me?

You knew right then who I...
Who I'd become,
and still You breathed Your breath of life into me.

How could you never doubt me?

How could You still love me?

I don't even love me always

I know that this is wrong
that I've no right to question You
but my whole being aches to know
what I will never know

perhaps when we stand face to face
this fogginess will become clear
as the sea of glass which I'll stand upon.
Until then I'll always wonder why.

Useless Words

Lately it seems
I have so much to say
about nothing.
I waste my words
on a moment,
a feeling
rush of emotion
that is utterly
meaningless.

Out of the overflow
of the heart
the mouth speaks

Is my heart then full?
Full of useless things
Like an attic cluttered
with all of the things
no one needs
yet cannot throw away.

Once again it's time
to throw open the windows
and let your light stream in.
To open the door
and let you help me.
Though it's the dead of winter
it's time for spring cleaning.

Day Dreaming

Encounter

I come to you with contempt
holding outstretched my shackled hands
the bowl of ashes held tight between them
tear stained and dirty I come.
I don't know how I can even look at you.
But you don't see what I see
and your blood washes me like rain
I see anew your eyes ablaze
with your jealous love
your zeal for justice clear.
You take my bowl of ashes-
all that I can offer-
and you give me beauty.
You take my shackled hands
and give me freedom
you buy me for the price on my head.
You wash my clothes
till I am white as snow
and you are dripping red
You tell me
that this is how a bridegroom meets his bride
with a heart that seeks vengeance and redemption.