Picture of Here

heart
       broken
heart
    frozen
stuck in place
try to erase
no going back
                disjointed
           ideas

place the hurt
          up on a shelf
study it
    analyze it

what is it?

like a painting
someone decided
was genius
but looks to everyone else
    like rubbish
makes no sense

         say what you want
it just will not die

chosen
mistaken
and
                what is it good for?

the tree has no leaves
I thought it would have
             pears
                     or apples
something edible
        anyway
now look at it
might as well have been
burnt to a
                    crisp
all thin
and
charcoal-y
maybe we can break
off a piece
and draw a picture
                of where we are

The Hero

He is the Hero who saves us;
The Hero who made us.
We are not forgotten.
In our desperate situation,
The Hero has come.
The Hero has won.
We are free!

Many choose not to see
That their chains have been broken.
They've rejected the Hero;
Didn't like how He looked,
Didn't want to hear what He said:
His words of freedom
Were distasteful to them.
Though they bemoan their slavish existence,
They won't be set free,
For they have called the Hero their enemy.

There is a Hero who loves us.
He has come and will come again.
The Hero always rescues.
The Hero always wins.
No Villain can defeat Him,
Or take what belongs to Him.
But the Hero never forces the one He rescues to be free.
They come willingly;
All but those who have fallen in love with their captivity
Instead of their Hero.

We need a Hero to save us.
We need a Hero to change us.
The Hero shows us ordinary becoming extraordinary
And vice versa.
We too become something more than we have been:

Loved,
Valued,
Worth Saving.
We have purpose.
We mean something to Someone--
The Hero who made us
And the Hero who saves us.

The Hero never abandons what belongs to Him.
Nothing will stop Him from reaching the one He loves.
He will go through fire and water,
Through pain and death,
Through the depths of hell itself,
To reach us--
To reach you.

You are the one He's coming for.
Look for your Hero!
He is mighty to save.
Look for your Hero!
He is here; He has come

FOR YOU

Step

On the edge of knowing
On the verge of being
Uncertain of the ground that's showing
Can I take a step?
Or when I place my foot
And try to stand
Will I find myself in sinking sand
Sucking me under
Into a dark oblivion?

In between
Who I was
And who I will be
The question must be asked
Who am I right now?

Opposites

Being inside and outside

At the same time

Is painful

Those opposites

Don't go well

Together

Like feeling alone

In the middle of a crowd

To be two things at once

Is wearing and sad

It's confusing

To be both up

And down

To be loved

And ignored

To be a friend

And an outsider

Like the moon

Circling the earth

But always 

At a distance

Sublime Aquaintance

We're friends that are more like strangers

Sun and moon aquaintances

Politely sharing orbit

We smile and nod       
         
                 smile and nod

                           smile and nod

As we pass by with all the niceties observed

And cordial phrases uttered at timely moments

Oh, what a lovely game of pretend

Like little girls sitting down to a tea party

But the tea is only water

For we couldn't handle anything stronger

Or we might break

I could say that I adore you

I only wish I didn't find you

           so profoundly inaccessible

We have everything in common

And nothing to talk about

It's fortunate we are forced to share the sky

Else we might never be friends

For now you can just be

My sublime aquaintance

Only You

Where is my passion?

Where did it go?

The depths of my heart have closed.

And only the shallows exposed.

The passion is there I know

Somewhere in the deep it flows.

I can't seem to let it out

I begin to doubt that I can

I can't

Only You can free me

In all the ways I need freedom

I don't want to be locked away

I want to be free

I want to let go

Let go of control

And fear

Fear of unknown

Fear of being known

I want to be known by You

I am Your love, Your servant, Your Bride

I belong to You

Only You

This morning, I was inspired to write this poem because of the song "Worlds Apart" by Jars of Clay, which we sang today in church.  Here are some of the lyrics that particularly stand out to me:

I look beyond the empty cross

forgetting what my life has cost

and wipe away the crimson stains

and dull the nails that still remain

More and more I need you now,

I owe you more each passing hour

the battle between grace and pride

I gave up not so long ago

So steal my heart and take the pain

and wash the feet and cleanse my pride

take the selfish, take the weak,

and all the things I cannot hide

take the beauty, take my tears

the sin-soaked heart and make it yours

take my world all apart

take it now, take it now

and serve the ones that I despise

speak the words I can't deny

watch the world I used to love

fall to dust and thrown away

I look beyond the empty cross

forgetting what my life has cost

so wipe away the crimson stains

and dull the nails that still remain

so steal my heart and take the pain

take the selfish, take the weak

and all the things I cannot hide

take the beauty, take my tears

take my world apart, take my world apart

I pray, I pray, I pray

take my world apart

To love You - take my world apart

To need You - I am on my knees

To love You - take my world apart

To need You - broken on my knees

It's a song I have heard many times before, but it meant something new to me today.  It's amazing how God can take anything and make it new to use for His purposes.  Even me:)

Ideal

Most of my days
Are spent thinking of ways
To feel more
To feel more alive
To feel more like myself
I am still myself
Aren't I?
SometimesI'm not certain
I was once a girl
I was once on my own
Now I am "Mommy"
I am never alone
I think I am not sure I can do this
Too late, I am already doing it
I love it
I hate it
I feel depressed
But then I celebrate it
This life
This crazy life
This wonderful life
This strange life
What kind of life is this?
I had imagined something
A bit more adventurous
Glamorous
Ideal
A little more ideal

Tears

Mary served You

With her tears and alabaster

She gave her brokeness

There at Your feet

Sweet smelling perfume

I have none

But I will take my broken heart

And place it at Your feet

I'll pour out my tears

Those cried and uncried

I'll surrender all to You

Shattered pieces

I know not how to repair

Wound upon wound

Hurt upon hurt

How can I be whole again?

I come in brokeness

Just one soothing touch

From Your healing, loving hands

That is all my soul desires

Please fill me with new life

Let not my heart continue dying

Wash me in Your love

Give me hope once more

To continue in this journey

And reach my destination

Written by me, February of 2002

My Redeemer is Alive

I hear a whisper in my ear
Telling me that You are near
And nothing that this world holds dear
Could make the glorious truth less clear

My Redeemer is alive
He truly came
He truly lived
He truly died
Yes, my precious Savior is alive

I feel a gentle breeze go by
Softly spoken words from God Most High
"I love you; you need no longer cry.
Wait, for I will soon draw nigh."

Yes, my Redeemer is alive
He really came
He lived
He died
My beloved Jesus is alive

A soft and gentle rain washes over me
Cleansing, like the blood that set me free
A life like this I never knew could be
For I was so long blind, but now I see

And my Redeemer is alive
He truly came
And lived and died
Yes, my Redeemer is alive

I originally wrote this poem in October of 2001, when I was a Senior in high school.  For most of my life, I had gone to small Christian schools, but my senior year, I went to public school for the first time.  I believed that God wanted me there, so I could tell others about Him, and "be a light".  The irony is that I was such a quiet and shy person that I rarely even had an opportunity to talk to anyone about God, and if I did, I was too timid.  Part of the reason it was so difficult for me to share was that it was very important and very personal to me, and at that time it was very hard for me to share something that I cared about so much with just anyone, even though that's exactly what I needed to do.  I had all these ideas about how I was going to be a witness, and I was going to sit at the lunch table with that person who was all alone.  What I hadn't counted on was the fact that since I was new to the school,  I was the one sitting alone at the lunch table! 

I would often walk to the library after school to wait for my mom to get off work, and I would ask God what He was thinking sending me to this school.  He knew I was shy.  He knew how hard it would be for me to make that change.  Sometimes it felt like a joke. 

I had this, and several other poems written in one of my school notebooks.  I had sort of forgotten about them when a guy in my French class took my notebook and started looking through it.  I didn't care if he looked at it since I didn't think there was anything but class notes in it.  But he found the poems, and every one was about Jesus, about what He meant to me, how He made a difference in my life.  Every one said clearly all the things I would have found very difficult to say. 

Whenever I think of it, I have to smile, and that smile is for God Himself, because, yes, He did know how shy I was, and He did know that it would be hard, but He used me in a way I wouldn't have thought.  He used my writing. 

I don't know what happened with that boy, whether he ever accepted Christ or not.  I have to leave that to the Holy Spirit, and trust that the things I wrote will be like a seed in his heart, and that someday hopefully they will grow into something more. 

I have thought about that year of my life many times, mostly with regret because I felt like a failure.  I never led anyone to Christ, never even had an extensive conversation about Him with anyone.  But as the years go by, I remember things, like the poems, and I know it wasn't wasted. 

Not too long ago, God showed me that even if I didn't say anything, because He lives in me, just my being there brought Jesus to that school.  Not that I was the only Christian, but I was one more.  Wherever I go, Jesus is there.  When those kids looked at me, though they might not have known it, they were seeing Jesus. 

Daffodils and Dandelions

Daffodils and dandelions
Those little fluffy things that fly away
Like thoughts and ideas
That have gone astray
A little resistance and off they go
Floating about til
They find a place to land
A patch of grass to fill
They say they're weeds
I'm not sure why
They seem a lot like flowers to me
But much more independant
They sprout up where they will
Those dandelions do
A mind of their own
No one likes that
A good flower grows only where it's planted
And stays within the proper confines
"Be more like a daffodil!
You wretched dandelion,
Messing up the green of grass
With your patchy yellow.
You'll never be as good as a real flower."
But you can aspire
And even weeds are pretty sometimes

Truth

I don't know how many tears you've cried
I don't know what pain you keep inside
I don't know how you mend your broken heart
I don't know what you do when you feel torn apart
I don't know how you find your way when you are lost
I don't know what you do when you find you can't pay the cost
I don't know who you turn to when you find you can no longer fight
I don't know how you overcome fear when the darkness shuts out your light

But I know Someone who would wipe away every tear
I know a Perfect Love that casts out fear
I know Someone who can heal your broken heart
I know One who can restore when sorrow tears you apart
I know the Light that would show you the way
I know Someone who will fight for you today
I know a Redeemer who has already paid the price
I know Someone who died to give you new life

Are you brave enough to take His hand?
How lost will you become before you follow His plan?
Are you brave enough to let go of your pain?
What will it take to accept the Lamb that was slain?
Are you brave enough to find real life?
How long will it be that you remain blind?
Are you brave enough to look Truth in the face?
Soon you must decide, before your time vanishes without a trace.

For there is only one Way
One Truth, one Life
Will you settle for a counterfeit?
Will you settle for a lie?

This is a poem I wrote almost exactly eight years ago to the day, in March of 2002.  I wrote it for a friend of mine.  The reason I decided to post this today is that I was trying to write another poem and it wasn't coming out right.  Then I realized that a lot of what I was wanting to say with it, I had already written in this poem.  I may still write the other poem eventually, but for now, this one will suffice.  I think I might have written it differently today, but I was very strict with myself and didn't change anything (okay, I added one word).

Butterfly

When it comes right down to it
A butterfly is just a bug
A significantly prettier bug however
Than a caterpillar
But a caterpillar
Is limited to the ground
And where his feet can take him
Whereas a butterfly
May go anywhere
Anywhere

Come Back Again

I see your face
I read your words
And they are painful

It is your pain
But it hurts me
How could it not hurt to see you this way?

When I know what you were
What you are
What you should be

I know what you know
But don't seem to remember
And if I could just tell you

If I could somehow remind you
I'm sure it would be different

There are no fancy words
If they would help, I would use them

I would learn new vocabulary
If those big words would mean anything to you

My friend, my friend
To use your own words

"Time flies by
It's been so long
Where have you been?
I tried to call
But you're not home
You've gone away..."
How I hope you'll be back someday

I hope you find your way
Away from hate

I hope salvation will
"Spring up from the ground"
You used to sing it that way

Yes, it hurts to see you this way
It hurts me
Even though it's your pain

And it is dreadful
To read your words
To see your face

The Rose

A Rose; red, soft, smooth
Made so by the rain of love.
It glows, radiating with joy.
Never has beauty such as this been equalled;
Love has magnified the rose's elegance.
Indeed, some say love caused it.

Another rose, perhaps the same,
Withered, dry, in the sun,
It's petals falling one by one.
The waters of love are gone
Replaced by empty pain.
And the rose, once beautiful, is dying.

Will the rose yet live?
Will the love and rain return?
Or shall the rose come to it's end,
Never again to love, never again to live,
Only lying wilted in the sun,
Dying slowly, mourning its lost beauty.

Love may come,
But none know when,
And none know how;
Perhaps in the rain,
Perhaps in the sun.
Only the Maker can know the rose's future.

This is a poem I wrote in August of 1999, when I was 15 years old.

Ode to Writer's Block

Sitting in McDonald's,
Trying to write a blog.
Instead I'll write this poem
Since my head is in a fog.

I have my new computer,
And (mostly) peace and quiet too.
I stare at this lovely screen,
But there's nothing I can do.

Writer's block is what it's called;
I have it all the time.
I'd like to write something really good--
Maybe the history of mimes?

Don't worry,
I wouldn't do that--
Write about mimes, that is.

"I'm sorry,"
You say, and pat my back.
"You'll do better next time."

Be Still

If you were me
Then you would see
Exactly how I feel
How every word
Grates on my nerves
And this does not appeal

Inside a little box I live
It seems awfully small today
I'm trying very hard to give
I know I have to find a way

Everywhere I go
Everyone looks taller
Because of this, I think--I know
That I am getting smaller

This isn't real
The way I feel
And yet it's very true
My remedy:
To say with you,
"Be still. Be still. BE STILL!"

Saturday Morning

Saturday Morning

6:22 am

My son all jittery

He knows that this should be a day that Daddy is home

But Daddy is working

“Let’s go downstairs” he whispers loudly

I turn on the TV and get him a “snack”

It consists of apples, cheese, and mini berry-flavored rice cakes

Go feed baby

Come back and eat oatmeal

Attempt to curl up on the couch and sleep

“Not today!”

This is his internal mantra, I think

Periodically, he jumps on me, just as I am drifting off

He leans his face into mine and breathes on me

“Don’t do that.”

Brief respite, and then

A strange, loud, nonsensical utterance

“Be quiet, Mommy is trying to rest.”

He gives up…sort of

He begins to pick up all his toys, which means he loudly throws things into the toy box, causing me to wonder what in the world he is doing

He’s cleaning?!?

I feel guilty, so I go and finish gluing these little animal crafts we started the other day

The glue it came with didn’t work

Neither did super glue, unbelievably

It’s time for the hot glue gun

Third time’s a charm

He is happy

He wants to use the squirrel as a hockey puck for the other animals

I guess that’s the difference between little boys and little girls

Wake up, son number 2

“You want some bamanas?”

(Yes, I said bamanas)

Yes, no, yes, no

He’s two, he has no idea, or can’t express it

Right now he screams at me for giving him what he asked for

“It’s just a phase”

I tell myself

“Mommy can you make us a tent like you did yesterday?”

Chairs and blankets and the couch and the doors from our armoire that were beginning to come off anyway

A little lamp so they can see to “read” their books

“Mommy, I don’t really like this tent. I like the one from yesterday.”

Some thanks I get

10 o’clock

It’s only ten o’clock?

Saturday morning