Struggles of the Heart

Fear. Trembling, unsure.
What has happened to me?
I once walked with the pride like that of noble birth.
The confidence of the beloved.
The assurance of my life in my hands.
But I placed my heart on my sleeve
And fell in love with what I ought not.
When I was rescued and the scar healed,
I knew then of my weakness.
And sought a wall of protection.
I placed cords across my heart.
No more. I said.
No more will I let my love be taken.
No more will I listen to deception.
But that's the thing.
How do I know?
Who do I trust?
I know my weakness.
I know I will love again.
But when is that time?
How am I to know?
Would loving again heal the scars?
Or would the betrayal I fear cause a deeper wound?
Oh, would I know my destiny.
To see all the twists and turns in the path before me.
And yet it is all or nothing.
To stay safe and lose an opportunity,
an opportunity that might be what's been waiting for me.
Or to risk it all for one final hope.
All or nothing.
I don't like it.
I'm not a risk taker.
I like to play it safe.
But is it not what I prayed for?
I'm an absolute in a world of middle ground.
I see black and white when all around me is grey.
I sing and smile to the world,
But will I blow kisses to the wind?
I live to impact other lives.
What if mine needs a change now?
But I recoil from the thought.
I don't want any more pain.
But love isn't love until you give it away.
I face the world.
They see me smile.
They do not know who I was before,
they do not know the battle inside me.
Do I make myself vulnerable once more?
I want to reach out again.
But you play with fire and you will burn.
I have the scars to prove it.
I glance across the table.
And our eyes meet.
To see welcome and love behind those eyes,
what would I give?
My own.
A smile is for everyone.
A kiss for those close to me.
And love? For one.
But I struggle to contain what I've clutched so tight.
Do I take the leap?
Do I let go?
Will I fall or will I fly?
Pray God there will be strong wings beneath me if I step over the ledge.
I bear the struggles of the heart.

Green

     Did you ever walk through a garden and pause to think instead of the variety rather the similarities? Almost every plant on Earth is green. Green because of something called chlorophyll in the cells of the plant. Incredible. A biologist would tell you down to minute detail the reason behind the green, but I'll make the simple out of the complex. There is a uniformity to this world. So much green.
     Speaking of this world, I find it interesting that they call Earth the Blue Planet. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's because there's so much water that when you back away from Earth it looks blue. Being that green is my favorite color, I much would have preferred it be called the Green Planet. And why not? How many planets out there have life, let alone so much foliage?
     When a child paints the bottom strip of his paper green, everyone automatically assumes it means grass. The green beneath our feet. Green has also been associated with life. Trees are especially common in myths and logos about life. When a plant dies it loses its green and slowly turns to grey and dust. Makes me wonder if the same would be said of us if we humans came in green.
     Some rather funny things about calling people green. Call someone a green thumb and you're calling him a gardener or one who likes to garden. Call someone a green worker (or apprentice, as the older phrase was) and you're calling him ignorant and inexperienced. Tell someone he looks green and you're saying he looks sick, unhealthy. Talk about green politicians and you would mean environmentalists. A bit confusing if you ask me.
     Did you notice where green is in ROY G. BIV? Yep, in the middle. Green is the center of the visible light spectrum. And you know what else? Everybody looks great in grass. Try it. Have your friend take a picture of you in the grass. (And hope your friend's a good photographer.) That and green can go with any other color. Take a regular green and a color wheel and spin it. And then change the tone of the green. See?
     Lime green. Neon green. Bright. Cheery. Bold.
     Dusty green. Soft. Foresty. Implies a summer's day just before the autumnal color change.
     Green. Plant green. Happy green. An overall pleasing color.
     Dark green. Royalty. Dead of winter. Evergreen.
     Green is the new black. Go out and wear green. And not just on St. Patrick's Day, okay?

Who Am I?

     I know I've talked about this before. But this is something I've been learning for quite some time now and it still impacts me.
     We live in a world of social media. So many methods of communication and keeping in touch with others. We can connect with the whole world. And every mistake you make can be broadcasted across our space and getting it removed and forgotten is harder than ever. So what do we do? We build walls.
     We develop ways of hiding ourselves. We wear a mask, smiling, nodding, pretending like everything's alright. Our deepest secrets we bury inside ourselves and hope no one comes our way to break down our self-made cage.
     Because that is what it is. My Hero spent his life on Earth with no cage, no walls, no mask. Said, "This is who I AM." Are we not to do the same? Are we not loved for who we are? Then why do we compare ourselves to others, hiding the imperfections and differences?
     Even I still do this. I should know better. But I still find myself trying to compare with others, to measure up to others. Asking myself, "What do they think of me? Have I done enough or gone too far?"
     We fear being unloved. We fear the pain of rejection. As a Christian there's another level added to that. To be told "I don't want your Jesus" hurts. A lot. And I started to question myself whether I actually believed what I did. I started to question my insanity and if it was worth it. Looking around I started to compare myself with those around me. Those who denied Jesus and used The Name as a curse word seemed to have it better than me. They knew who they were.
     Then I watched a coworker go through a relationship faster than I thought possible. She was so happy and in love and then it faded so fast. And she questioned everything too. Then she asked me why I was so happy all the time. Everywhere I turned people were telling me this. I was called cute, spunky, energetic, a rock star, twinkle toes, Cinderella, happy. They envied me. What did I have that they didn't?
     Nothing. Nothing except...my Everything.
     Even if I lost all my possessions, my home, my family, my friends, my health, I would still have my Everything. My I AM. God loves the whole world. I was only different from them in the fact that I took God's Love and ran with Him, my hand in His scarred hand. Who knew a Wound like that would meaning healing for my own? I am filled to overflowing with the love of God. And that love that forgave my sin set me free. Free to become the person God wants me to be. To stop comparing myself to others and stand up and say, "I know who I am."
     Joy may not be a great sounding name, but the meaning sums me up nicely. It is the tears of happiness when I'm singing to God. It is the smile across my face that came up out of nowhere and I haven't a clue why I'm smiling. It's the peace looking at the sunset or standing quietly on the mountaintop. It's the rush of riding river rapids or looking over the Grand Canyon. This is who I am.
     Has God shown you who you are?

Touch Your Soul; A Poem

For a friend.


Strong intellect. Strong spirit. What would I do to know you?
Sometimes I feel I could guess your mind.
And the words you speak confirm my suspicions.
And then you turn it around.
And say what I least expect.
Beautiful.
Forgive the word, but it's true.
You are unforgettable.
Even if I were to never see you again,
you are imprinted on my mind as long as I live.
Your smile. No one smiles like you.
Such a big, ear to ear grin.
People have said your smile's a little much.
A little much? No. It's so much.
So contagious.
It's wonderful.
What would I give to receive your smile everyday.
What has happened?
Have I gotten soft over the years?
Why do I care such about one I've just barely come to know?
What am I that you should glance my way?
What are you?
That I feel like I could confess it all and you would keep it safe?
That the pains you would forgive,
and the joys you would cherish?
Are you as I?
A secret keeper?
The kind of person that all feel compelled to share with you?
And you are not one to share it again?
Are you as I?
A mind and heart so full of dreams and ideas?
Look me in the eye.
Tell me you see as I see.
Know as I know.
Are you...
do you...
oh words, why do they fight?
Where once a flowing stream, now I have nothing.
I would blame you for stealing my words,
but you also stand in silence.
But let the silence stand. Even silence is bearable.
But your eyes stare into mine.
And a hundred questions swarm my brain,
I'm longing to search your mind.
I take you as you are.
Forget your past.
Let me see you now.
Stand before me.
And I will remove my glasses of prejudice,
suspicion, and my fears.
Do you care? Or am I just another passerby?
To touch your arm is one thing,
to touch your soul is so much harder.
I am a warrior, used to protecting myself.
But I want to put it away when I'm with you.
To simply be.
I'm opening up my hand.
I'm putting down the sword.
I want to tell you my Insufferable Vision.
My Recurring Dream.
But to surrender this?
My hands are shaking like leaves.
Should I wait? Would you know what to do with it?
Would you laugh in my face? Turn away from me?
Strong intellect. Strong spirit. What would I do to know you?

Do You Know Me?

Do you know the color of the minx's eye?
Did you hear the song of the nightingale?
Have you tasted the willow's tears?
Do you know the color of the fox's pad?
Did you ever hear the babble of the spring?
Have you smelled fresh earth after the rains?
Do you know me?


Have you seen the joy in the eyes of a child?
The wisdom in the eyes of his grandfather?
Do you feel the world spinning beneath your feet?
Did you drink from the well of Eternity?
Have you run through a field of grass with laughter on your lips?
Have you stood by a crowd and cried for the lost?
Do you see the world as if a stranger?
Did you ever make a stranger your friend?
Do you know me?


You might know my smile.
You might know my favorite color.
My favorite food, my favorite band.
You could even know what goes on inside my head.
You might know my name.
You might know my family.
My house, my friends.
You could even know my secrets and my dreams.
But would you know me?


My lifetime I have spent learning to know people.
The longer I've been at it,
The more I realize just how complicated you are.
Every snowflake is a masterpiece.
How much more a thinker?
Mathematician?
Artist? Or Singer?
How much more are you made in the Image.
You are as beautiful as the world,
More complex than any computer.
You carry a brain inside you like Einstein,
A motivation as Luther.
I could spend my lifetime learning one life.
And still not know all of you.
I do not even know the full extent of myself.
How do I impact other lives?
Am I worth living for?
Do my words change people's lives?
My actions influencing others?


Oh the mystery of humanity.
Would I give myself to know you?
Oh humanity.
What a wonder.
And yet we are as grains of sand.


Our Creator is the Great Mystery.
Our complication is simple to God.
I want to lose myself to know my Lord.
Jesus alone knows me.
And knows you. Everyone.
What it would be to know God fully.
And yet here I am on earth,
trying to learn of humanity.
Made in the image of God.
A Masterpiece.
Do you know me?
Perhaps you do.
As much as I know you.
But to know as God knows.
That would truly be knowing.
Do you know me?

The Cleaning Song

     As I was driving through town I noticed an elderly man with a small shop broom sweeping his sidewalk clean of the abundant yellow leaves that had fallen from his tree. Technically the sidewalk's not his sidewalk. The city owns it. But it sits in front of his house. So he keeps it clean.
     It's a shame more people don't look at things like that. It may not be yours, but you used it, so clean it up. You used trash, throw it in the garbage. Don't leave it everywhere. You use it, you clean it. A simple mentality. But a wise one.
     You eat somewhere. Don't leave crumbs. Pick up the leftovers. You chew gum. Throw it away when you're done. Don't spit it on the ground or stick it under a counter, chair, or table. You cause something to fall over. Put it back. Don't make someone else do it. You grab something from a store hook or shelf and decide later - halfway through the store - that you don't want it. If you remember where you found it, go put it back. If not, find a store associate and ask them to put it away for you. Don't just dump it.
     But you rarely see this happen anymore. What happened to being considerate of others? Why do people just leave things? Is it because of the entitlement mentality? Mommy pick it up for me? It ain't mine, someone else put it away. I don't care, someone else will pick it up. How incredibly rude and self-centered.
     It takes two seconds to pick up a wrapper and two seconds more to drop it in a trash can. That's four seconds of your life spent being considerate of others. A sentence's worth of conversation. The time of walking from one room to another. Is it too much to ask to spend a handful of seconds more to throw away what had encased your lunch?
     I know, I know. This sounds so incredibly hypocritical coming from someone who can't stand dusting and never takes the time to reorganize anything at home. It's kinda funny how neat and clean I am while at work but then you see my home and think how cluttered my life is. I can't help but laugh as I write this. It's true. I spend my days cleaning up a store left a mess by customers and then when I come home I just toss my stuff down and flop in bed or on the couch or at my computer desk, never bothering to put it away. Thinking of myself like this, I think I might appear a bit two faced. But truth is I'm not. When I'm shopping I put stuff back that I change my mind on. When I'm at an event I put things away the way I find them after I use them. I eat somewhere I always clean my place. I keep my stuff in a locker and hang my coat up at work instead of intruding on the rest of the break room.
     But when it comes to my home, I don't care about the mess. I like the frustration of trying to find things and having to reorganize eventually. It keeps things different for me. I like some spice in the monotony of the workweek. Yes, I've had to share room with people before and I've always kept things clean and organized (or concealed the mess in my suitcase.)
     Other people like clean everywhere. I've known more than a handful of neat freaks in my life. So when I'm at work or I know a friend is coming over, generally a cleaning spree ensues. I'm thinking of them.
     I'm looking at you dear reader. Are you keeping things clean for others? "Clean up, clean up. Pick it up, put it away."
     Is there something you can pick up today?

I Write By Candle Light

Flame.
A state of energy.
Heat and light.
Material burning.




Candle.
A molded wax form
encasing a string.
Set alight:
Material burning.




Candlelight.
Used in stories and analogies.
Seen inside and outside.
In homes and public places.
Why is it still a favorite?
Is it warm and comforting?
Is it an easy way to illuminate the dark?




Candlelight.
A little flame. A big hope.
A little light. Bringing change.




Oh, to be a flame.
To be a candle.
So many want the fires of leadership.
Or stardom.
To be the greatest,
the most remembered.
The one to mark history.
Me?
I'm just a candle,
carrying a little Flame.
But this Flame will never die.
Even after my time is over
and this candle is gone.
The Flame will live.
For is lives on in other little candles like me.
Though my name be forgotten,
my life remembered no more,
still the Flame lives on.
Enemies will try to snuff Him out.
They even killed Him.
Still the Flame lives on.




I'm just a candle,
carrying a little Flame.
I write stories, I tell tales.
I pass on word of the Flame.
I write by the Light that I accepted into my heart, my candle.
I write by candle Light.

Too True Tango

     I am a lover of dance. I find that I enjoy watching (and/or dancing) almost every known dance there is. But recently I discovered the Argentine Tango.
     Now I know that many people make Tango out to be a romantic dance or a sexy dance, but the truth is far from it. The Tango is entirely a dance of communication. That's why the phrase "two to Tango."
     What is Tango? A dance of partnership. When a man asks a woman to dance the Tango with him, he is asking her, in silent contract, to follow his movements and obey his steps. And she, when offering her hand to be led into the dance is agreeing by her actions to follow him blindly. (Sometimes quite literally: I find I am the better dancer when I close my eyes. I also enjoy it more.)
     It is the man's dance. It is his job to decide where they go along the floor and what steps to take and, by his movement and strength of hold, to communicate this to his partner so she can follow in a split second so they stay in time to the music.
     It is the woman's dance. She is the crown jewel. In heels and graceful, gliding steps she commands the room. If she cannot follow him, she must stay still so no one watching knows the mistake.
     It is a dance of the senses. The partners hands meet on one side and embrace on the other. Humans are tactile creatures. Even something as simple as a dance hold can change your perspective. Your ears hear the music, you feel your own heartbeat. A simple pleasure to close my eyes as I am led around the dance floor. Beautiful.
     Now I know quite a few men out there who either don't like dancing or don't know how to dance and are embarrassed to try. If you can walk, you can be taught how to dance. Many women out there appreciate men to can dance or have the guts to at least try. Ballroom dancing was once a social norm. Now not so much. A shame. Men who dance have a tendency to be more chivalrous than others because they are taught to respect women. I hope, dear reader, that this new generation will try to Tango. It's not complicated, it just takes some steps.
     And the first step is to not be afraid of dancing in the first place.