A Heart is a Place

     A heart is a place, not a possession. Somewhere to be welcomed into, not a thing to be given away. To let someone into your life, your heart, is to let them into a portion of yourself. You don't have to share everything with that person. They don't have to own you. They don't have to have all of you. If anything it is better that you keep a portion to yourself and not give that power to another person.
     A heart is a place. A home that houses you. It is a place that carries memories, sometimes has secrets, holds insecurities, and remains your safe zone. It is a place that bears pride, records joy, holds a beautiful entity, and above all defines you. Your innermost values live there. You choose who gets to take residence there, whether temporarily or permanently.
     Who you choose to let enter in can determine a lot about you and the future. Do you let that person leave treasured memories? Do they trash the place, leaving you damaged and in need of repairs and cleaning up? Who are those you get close to? How much do you let them in? How valuable and essential are they to you and your life?
     A heart is a place. I've let family, friends, and a lover in. Some I still welcome in from time to time. Others I never want to let in again. The walls are lined with memories. I am marked, changed, by the people I let in. I used to say my heart was broken and now healed. I used to say I have scars. Not anymore. I understand now. This place, this space that is mine that some get to see, to know, to touch, is affected by those people. But it is still mine. I choose who goes, who remains. I choose who I value and who I disavow. I choose who I love and who I forget.
     For now, permanent residence is myself and God. God comes first. God will remain. He's the whole reason why this heart still stands. Someday I may choose to let a fellow human in forever, but for now, I only carry memories of some I held close and sometimes let in those who are precious to me today. But I am careful of who gets to see inside my heart. Yes, I still make mistakes with who to trust, and even then some who have proven themselves trustworthy to spend time with the most vulnerable part of me fall short from time to time.
     If I have showed you myself, please be grateful. I am protective of me. And I might not let you in again for a long while, or even at all. If I have not let you into my heart, perhaps a day will come when I do. I wish I could with all people but right now my heart is not big enough nor strong enough for everyone. Only God's is big enough for that. But at least we are somewhat like Him in that we can share. It is a beautiful thing for another precious heart's doorway to open and we can pass through.
     A heart is a place. A precious, wonderful place. Visitors come knocking, thieves come to try to steal and destroy, some try to manipulate and control, and others prove themselves careless. But there are some who understand that it is a high honor to be welcomed in and that they might not have tomorrow in that place. A few who hold their own heart to a high value and value those who let them close. Choose carefully who crosses the threshold. It will determine who you become, what your heart looks like after the fact.
     Your heart is a place. It is not simply an emotional thing. It is a part of your soul. It is you.

Someday (a poem)

Someday I will see you again.
Someday we will meet up once more.
Someday I will have my own place without roommates.
Someday life will be full of adventure.
Someday.

Someday that pet I want will be mine.
Someday I'll go to that place I've always dreamed.
Someday I'll pursue that bucket list.
Someday that special person will come my way.
Someday.

"One of these days." "Perhaps another day."
"We should do that sometime."
Someday. Someday. But what of today?

Someday I'll reach my goal.
Someday that dream job might be in reach.
Someday I'll have my own life.
Someday I'll make a difference.
Someday.

Sometime. Somehow. Some way.
"We should do this someday."
Someday there will be so much more.
"Next year we'll go there."
"Sometime we'll do this."
Someday. Someday.
But we only have today.

Who (a poem)

I stepped onto a new path,
giving up old dreams and past hopes,
knowing where I had been,
and looking to a brighter day.
I had broken up with who I used to be,
said I'm moving on, growing up, I'm free.
But every time I turned around, she was there again.
I kept changing, I kept moving.
Still she haunted me, and I stalked her.
I clung to memories of who I was,
jealousy lingering over what she had.
But she was rash yet fearful,
a child trying to be an adult,
demanding independence yet devotion.
She thought she had it all,
and so was terrified of losing a fraction of it.
When it was ripped from us,
she grew angry and even more fearful,
but I reached up,
reached out for the guiding hand of God.
When she screamed, I cried,
clinging to the faithful Most High.
And as my renewed friendship with God grew stronger,
I sought to fight against that other me.
But it only made a mess.
So I started over,
gave everything up.
And a new me stepped into the light.
I realized that there will always be a new me and an old me.
So I must seek to be better than the last.
Generations racing through a single life,
A fluid soul driving the mind insane,
Moving and changing until the end of days.
Who will I be before I grow old,
when the mind will break down,
unable to even struggle to catch up?
Who will I be when I die?
Who will take my place when the King returns?
What kind of a person will I be when the people rise?
I pray that I will mirror my Savior:
Faithfulness incarnate.
Joy complete.
Naturalized self-control.
Peace perfected.
Patience fulfilled.
Faultless kindness.
Conclusive goodness.
Wise gentleness.
Love ultimate, pure, infinite.
Tomorrow I will be new again.
So I ask of me:
Not who am I,
but who will I be?

A Million Things

There are a million things I would say to you.
A million little sayings,
a million heart-to-hearts,
a million tears,
a million shared laughs,
a million songs,
a million dances,
a million adventures,
a million moments of silence.
So much I would say,
but you're never around for me to say it all.
So much I want to do with you,
but there is never enough time.
Oh my friend,
I wish eternity were here.
I long for the day we can walk hand in hand
on the streets of gold.
But still I walk here,
still needing to fulfill my purpose.
But the pain here won't leave me be.
A million pins,
a million swords,
a million icicles,
a million dark fires,
a million shadows,
a million fights,
a million lies,
a million sins.
So much that I hide,
glad you're never around to know it all.
So much of me you would see,
yet thankfully wrapped up in your own life to be blind to me.
Oh my friend,
I wish eternity were here.
If only the day would come where all what's wrong melts away
in the light of the life perfected.
So that I would be the best me,
for you, for all.
One day, one day yet,
I may say the million things.
Or be rid of them at last.
I pray that God will grant me the courage,
and a way,
to share a million things.

Memories

Inside this head there is a house that represents my life.
Memories decorate the walls,
draped across windows and along the ceiling.
Crystallized moments dangle like dewdrops on spiderweb,
creating a thousand chandeliers.
Every room has a different story,
some so bright and colorful, a child's imaginings,
some arranged and adorned for company,
but others shrouded in sheer greys and charred blacks,
hiding the shredded and stained walls underneath.
The outside and the main rooms are carefully preserved,
groomed and manicured, on presentation for all.
The owner of the house cares for her guests.
But travel further in and know more truth.
The back rooms, though still bright,
are messy and memories are scattered about like toys,
and trophy moments kept high as if to keep a child from taking them.
But the locked basement, poorly lit,
whispers of things desired to be forgotten.
Ghosts float through the interior, muttering,
Disturbing the strung crystalline memories,
Making them flash moments into the dark spaces.
Fear, Anger, and Pain had taken residence long ago,
their destructive evidence left everywhere downstairs.
This portion of the house is kept hidden away,
locked up, even the owner rarely dares to trespass.
What would cause such a vast difference from room to room?
Treachery and grief were coupled with joy and light, she answers quietly.
My childhood was good and beautiful,
yet my years of growth were torture.
Though I still lived for the most part in innocent youth,
it was this naivete that led to the first betrayal,
shattered my trust and love.
And it happened over and over again.
My young adult life was little better.
I had many good moments, precious to me,
but I lost so much and so there is grief.
Yet still I care for my fellow humans,
so I seek that which can be hospitable for them,
welcome them in and protect and nurture those who come to me.
But all these memories that are mine have shaped me.
Touch the crystals, see my life.
Some moments of my life, some people are so amazing
that I try to hold them close,
and when it fades and becomes a memory,
I fight it, wanting to live in it forever.
But forever is not here yet,
so all I have are my memories.
This is my house, this is my life.
There is much wrong with it, much good in it.
It is painful every time the Builder comes to renovate,
but each time is good for there is one less room with darkness.
One day I will tread through the house of my life,
the shadows and fear and pain gone forever,
all memory traded for perfection.
But for now, there is life on this world,
and we collect moments to decorate our houses.

Porcelain Girl

     It started with a fracture.
     In her little porcelain heart, in her little porcelain body. Not a big deal. A tiny crack that did not affect the use of the body? No worries.
     Most people get it, her mother assured her. You'll be fine, I got one too, her friends told her.
     But little Dighta was not sure. Though still a heart, her heart as a whole was gone and that could never be taken back. Yes it was just a small thing. And if her family had the money, gold could have been filled into the crack and the loss made beautiful. But that was out of the question. She would just have to live with it.
     Considering that some from Porcelain begin with more than imperfect bodies - missing a leg or an arm or having bumps in places - Dighta thought herself lucky. It's only a tiny fracture, she said to herself often.
     And so life went on.
     One winter, as she hurried down the path home one late evening, it started to rain. Icy drops splattered heavily and soaked through her clothes. Hardly able to see, she slipped in the mud and fell. Higher class Porcelains came by and laughed at her from their ponies and carts. She shook her fist at their backs as they disappeared around the bend. Huffing loudly, she got back up and ran home. Reaching home, she clinked her little body in a chair and threw her cloak and outer garments in front of the fire to dry. Whining to her mother about how horrible and mean the people had been, she swirled her soup around in its tin bowl, not noticing the new edge to her fracture. Her mother too only saw the wet exterior and told her to stay inside tomorrow and not catch cold.
     Dighta went out again later that week, still wanting to help with the errands. Bitterly cold, the wind bit into her thin woolen cloak and chilled her body. She ran to make it to the next warm building. Rushing inside, she realized her effort placed her in the blacksmith's barn. The old Porcelain grunted, barely acknowledging her presence. Shivering, she begged him to let her stand closer to the fire.
     He waved her towards the house and growled, "You go in there and stay out of my way girl."
     She reached the house and found no fire lit there. Furious, she called out the foul words that had been used on her several days before by the other Porcelains and punched the flour sack, which had been the closest thing to her. Ice, beginning to form even on the inside of the panes, formed along the fracture that had not dried. Crying out in pain, she looked at her heart and discovered a deep line along its entirety. Shivering in fear as well as cold, she wrapped a piece of burlap around herself to hide it.
     Running outside, she fled for a new place. Nearing a shop where one of her friends lived, she rushed past townspeople into the shop, calling out to her friend. Appearing by the shop's back door, her friend Marhi immediately pulled her into the back room.
     "How could you be out at a time like this," Marhi scolded her. "The rain and ice are bad for us. Let me dry you."
     But when her friend took away the burlap, seeing Dighta's heart beginning to split, she stood back, unable to approach her.
     "Why do you stare?" Dighta demanded. "I know there is something wrong with me! Do you not still love me?"
     Her friend shook her head. "I've always known you to be weak. Now I know you're a fool too. Why would you come to me like this? If I stay near you I will break too."
     And she fled.
     Dighta stumbled after her into the dark, crying. She slipped and fell, again and again, but she kept getting up. Kept moving. She had to or get trampled on by late-night street goers.
     Eventually she came to the home of another friend. She hesitated, afraid. What if he treats her the same? But a faint spark of hope still glimmered in her broken heart. She reached up to knock on the door.
    The storm picked up more forcefully than before. Ice rain, turned into sharp blades, flew sideways with the roaring wind. She screamed, clawing at the handle of the door before being flung back into the street by the relentless wind, toppling over and over, battered every which way. She did not see the door open and light shine out briefly as the storm claimed her for its own.
     The night wore on. No one was out to see the little Porcelain on the street, unconscious and with a shattered heart. No one but the Master.
     The maker of Porcelain and all who live there had come into the town during the storm. No one had seen him in a very long time although he lived just beyond them. He had heard her scream, seen her pain. He came and picked up the tiny body, cradling it in his arms as he turned toward his home.
     When Dighta awoke, she found herself in a soft bed beside a rosy, popping fire pit. "Good morning Little One," the Master said, offering her bread and butter and milk. She glanced at his table, where the pieces of her heart lay before him.
     "Why?" she said quietly, but anger still tainted her voice. "Why did you let me be this way? Why did you let me fall apart? Why am I more fragile than others?"
     He smiled a sad smile, and started to put the pieces back to together. "You're not the only one who was hurt."
     It was then she noticed his wounded arms, a portion of flesh missing in between the bones below his wrists, and other scars across his forehead. And the fresh cuts on his hands from carrying her fragments.
     She hung her head in guilt.
     When he was done with her heart, though it was together again, the entire heart was covered in hairline cracks that showed every which way it had shattered.
     "There are many reasons why I let my children hurt - to teach, to rebuke, to draw them closer to me, but mostly I let things like this occur because I want you to love."
     "That doesn't make any sense," she muttered. "All pain does is make me angry and afraid."
     "That's because you do not understand how you were made," he said gently. "Though you are tempted by fear and anger more so now than ever, I made you to reach out to those also in pain. You now understand others who suffer as you have suffered. Though you may struggle to fight the belief that you are not loved because you are not normal, and you will be rejected time and again, I have made you to love and persevere."
     He took a drop of his blood and let it fall inside her heart. Within, the porcelain turned to flesh, and started to beat, making the cracks on the outside open wider then close and open again with its rhythm.
     "It is good to be vulnerable," the Master said. "Yes, you will be hurt again, but do not lash out in anger or shut out everyone, or even many. I made you, and I made you the way I meant you to be. I made you fragile so you can feel when my heart breaks. With me you will grow and love and guide."
     Placing her new heart in her body, he helped her out of bed. "One day, there will be a new life beyond Porcelain, with no more pain. But while you live this life, use your pain for me. For others. Not to protect yourself, but to help others to heal."
     So saying, he sent her home. Her journey had begun. She carried part of his heart. Although she knew there would be hard times ahead, she could not look back. Porcelain was waiting for his heart. For him.

When You Have a Mind Like Mine (a poem about mental disorder)

     Before I share this poem, please be aware that it is the view of one person; not everyone who suffers from functional mental disorder (neurosis/neuroticism) is the same way or has the same difficulties. However, this is indeed something that people suffer from and should not be brushed aside nor taken for granted. This piece is intended to be thought-provoking and bring to light a hidden part of this particular human being.


When You Have a Mind Like Mine,
a poem by a person with functional mental disorder


My brain is different.
I'm wired a little weird.
Most days I'm just like you.
I live life, go through normal things.
I'm happy, I get hurt, I get up again,
I freak out, I get stressed, I go to work,
I do my job, I hang out with friends, I laugh,
I live.
Most days, I'm just another person.
But every now and then, I'm not.
The struggle becomes harder, and I can barely function.
Dignity and social capability go out the window.
Emotional control and mental stability are lost.
In those moments I am in agony.
All I want is to be normal again.
Instead of thinking about a test score or a work project,
I pace in my bedroom, muttering nonsense.
Rather than planning a hangout or spending time on a hobby,
I'm laying on the floor, screaming silent screams.
I am broken, fluctuating on extremes -
euphoria to depression, bliss to raw anger.
Clawed hands grasp at my mind
and it takes everything within me to cling to God alone who hears me scream.
Those moments come and go.
I don't let other people see me or hear me.
I deny it of myself.
"It's not a part of my life, it's not who I am."
My parents told me I was fine.
I would grow out of it.
I was just being a drama queen,
seeking attention by being overly emotional.
"Stop crying, there's no need to cry about this and that."
I believed them.
My friends who knew told me I was delusional.
I agreed with them.
I told myself it was all in my head.
But that's just it.
It's my head that's "wrong."
My neurosis is real.
But I try to be normal, just so you don't see.
I just want to be an adult.
But sometimes it takes all my strength just to be "human."
Sometimes it's all I can do to smile at you,
to walk, to be around others, to talk, to listen.
Sometimes I wear a mask, pretending to be happy, pretending to be okay.
Other times I force myself to deny it,
to enjoy the moment of living at work or with friends just to get by,
only to go home to hours of pain and numbness.
I don't want sympathy, I don't want pity.
I don't want people to worry about me.
I'm speaking now to say that I'm an overcomer.
That I am strong.
I live in a beautiful world and I am beautiful too.
Let me show you just how much God has done in my life.
My strength comes from God.
You think you're having a hard time,
worried about the future, about relationships,
and life from the little to the big things?
How about adding functioning to that?
Don't you dare look down on me,
because my development and growth is slow,
and I have a moment of difficulty giving you extra grace when you fall short.
I don't mean to.
I have no intention on being harsh,
especially seeing as how I have no grounds to do so.
I treat you as I treat myself
and my life is just as difficult as yours
even when it doesn't seem that way to you on the outside.
Just because my battles are unseen
does not mean they are nonexistent.
Sometimes all I can do is breathe.
This is my untold story.
Please understand this does not make me stronger than you,
more special than you, nor any less than you.
We all have our battles.
I know your days are hard too.
So why can we not walk together?
Support each other when we struggle?
I cannot push people away when they lean on me,
please do not push me away when I lean on you.
I have been rejected, hurt, left behind so many times.
Please, please, please do not do the same.
Help me reach out to the hurting, to those rejected and left behind.
Let's be different.
When you have a mind like mine,
sometimes you just got to live.
When you have a heart like mine,
all you see are others trying to live.
Will you not reach out with me?

Let Me Linger (a poem)

Let me linger here.
Let me stay a little longer.
I feel the world spinning on, time passing like an afternoon breeze.
Let me memorize you, searing the moment into my mind.
Altogether too soon, you'll be gone from me.
What is fresh now will dim so quickly,
once this time has passed.
Let me linger here.
Let me touch your face, you heart, one last time.
I let you in, I let you change a part of my life,
Your voice impacts me still.
You inspire me and torment me to grow.
But it's time you left, I cannot keep you here.
Time withers beyond my grasp.
Were you mine I could beg you to stay with me.
But the spark you shared with me is not meant for me alone.
How I wish I could be safe, always,
here, with you by my side.
Let me linger where you are.
Let me breathe in your presence.
I see everything you've done for me, for others.
I've watched you in admiration as you selflessly gave.
Do you not see how precious you are?
Why I name you of so much worth?
Your uniqueness draws me to you.
Your gentleness combined with strength sets you apart.
What I would give to ensure you remain,
keeping you close enough to hold.
But even now you're not that near.
You came close enough to touch me,
yet when I reach out to pull you in, you're far away.
Comet among the stars, here for a time, then gone.
If I cannot make you stay, though I wish you would stay,
I ought to muster the courage to ask you to return.
But before you leave,
Let me linger.
Feel your touch once again,
Hear your music one last time.
I will not cling to you,
I will not keep you beside me,
I will not demand your loyalty only to me,
only let me see your face once more.
Let me linger,
in joy, in peace.
Let me smile,
laugh, dance.
One more time.
I shall try to only let the tears come
once you're gone from view.
But please, don't walk away so fast.
Don't push me away.
Don't keep me at a distance.
Don't hurt me like others have before.
You have proven yourself different, better.
You rely on the God I love.
That is why I hold you so precious.
I have seen the Spirit guide you.
The Spirit that I pursue.
A tiny portion, like a puzzle piece, within you,
I have seen it, and I have loved it.
Yet your time here is drawing to a close.
Go, show the world what I have seen in you.
But I am human, and remain wanting more.
So I ask for a little bit more for myself before the end.
Please, while you're here,
let me linger.

The Sighs of A Cheshire

I would have you hear my voice,
I would not have you pity that I am mute.
I want you to know my story,
please still listen while I struggle to communicate.
I would have you share your past,
and not turn away from my deafness.
I would have you know my mind,
please don't try to fix my insanity.
I would have you show your feelings,
and not have you be offended by mine.
Come near, look behind my smile.
Why do you let me rave,
only to walk away?
Oh but such are humans,
paradoxical in nature.
We seek likeness, not difference.
We desire continuity,
but forget our own missteps.
We judge, misguide, struggle.
We hide, we lie, we lash out.
Masquerade.
Moving in the dance.
I tire of it.
I am weary of wearing a mask.
But a portion of myself is dark indeed.
An operatic Phantom sings a lullaby.
Not all of me is darkness,
the spark of faith that keeps me alight, alive, remains.
But time and again my mind has betrayed me.
The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
I am so weak.
Frail, and a fool.
Quite mad, in need of assurance, support.
I cannot walk this path alone.
But I am frightened. So frightened.
I have been hurt before, by those I trusted deeply.
I shared my mind, showed my madness,
and they turned from me,
told me they never cared to begin with.
I think I might be better off in Wonderland.
But that is not where I am meant to be.
I cannot stay for long in this insanity.
I've been here far too long.
But I see no end, just more tunnel.
Someone pull me from the Matrix,
show me how to live without a spoon.
No time-turner could save me from myself,
no magic spell could free me from my own cage.
Do you not see it?
The pain behind my smile?
The scars under the paint?
Do you not hear it?
The screams behind my laughter?
The sobs beneath the flirting?
Music box, wound too tight.
Porcelain doll, with a brain of tin.
I've been shattered so many times.
You can see where I've been put back together.
And I'm still wrong.
But still they come to dance.
So I dress myself in pretty paint and lace.
I play the part.
Masquerade.
The fact that anybody would choose me when I show myself
is beyond my grasp.
So I don't let them see.
Until it's too late.
And then I shatter once more.
One alone has picked up my pieces.
One alone has believed in the Mad Hatter's daughter.
One alone took my hand.
But because I cannot see Him,
cannot feel Him,
sometimes I doubt,
and wonder if I'm just simply crazy.
That what comes to me is all in my head,
and there are no visions from Him,
directions from Him,
empathy towards His children.
Or is it because I am insane that I can have these things?
I am not sure.
But still the spark of faith remains.
He kept me alive when I had nothing left.
So be it insanity, or be it a God who loves me,
I will cling to hope.
I hold onto the Lord,
even when I feel invisible,
even when I wander away,
even when I am betrayed.
The wisdom of God seems foolish to Mankind.
But I am a fool indeed.
God is my anchor.
Despite whatever you make think or feel about me,
I know that it is my madness that keeps me needing God before all else.

Starlight

Starlight.
My new name.
No longer am I "Little One."
Starlight.
Just a little star.
But a little star that shines on the shooting stars passing on by.
Starlight.
Just a little star.
Oftentimes feeling lonely,
oftentimes wishing to shine brighter.
But I'm not meant to flash and die.
I have been declared faithful, my loyalty spoken of.
I am undeserving, but I will continue to send out my light.
I will burn true,
touching the passing stars to send them off with blessing.
My light comes from the Lord.
I will not be dimmed.
Starlight.
One little star.
Needed in this galaxy.
Thank you Lord for naming me.
I might be a little star,
burning, small and steady,
but that is who I am:
Starlight.

Their True Heart (poems; part 9)

Here the speaker shifts from prayer to God and addresses fellow followers of God.

Part 9: Exhortation


Look up, look around.
They are in need of life.
You have it.
God chose you, you chose Him back.
Listen.
Hear the heart of the people, needing the heartbeat of God.
He has been preparing you to move.
O sail, the Wind has come.
You were torn and tattered, but He made you new.
Will you deny Him now,
and refuse to face the sea?
Look up, look around.
They are waiting, searching, some unaware.
You carry the key.
The Name of God.
His Spirit goes with you.
Reach out.
Stretch out your hand to them,
though there is danger, though there is fear.
Shout "Amen!" - so let it be!
He is enough.
He is not safe, but He is mighty, He is good.
And He will not abandon you.
Do not abandon them, else you abandon Him.

Their True Heart (poems; part 8)

Part 8: Realization


And You were dead.
I grew up knowing that,
being told that it meant so much.
I was raised on the idea of Your death meant my life,
Your death the ultimate sacrifice.
And Your resurrection the proof of a promise complete from You.
But You did die.
A terrible, gruesome, painful death.
You were ridiculed, cursed, accused.
You were tried though innocent,
hated though You brought so much hope and healing and truth.
Yet I betrayed You.
I failed to listen, to act on Your words.
I chose people, relationships, things I own, work, even my life,
over You.
You were dead.
God, forced to die.
To save me from myself, from others,
from a purposeless life and destruction.
Murdered, slowly, publicly.
The violence of humanity placed on You.
So You could restore it to glory.
How undeserving we are of You.
This is our God.

Their True Heart (poems; part 7)

Part 7: Take This From Me


Lord I need you in order to do this.
I need to know how to accept it.
How can I accept being invisible?
I can't take going two hours in a group without being seen.
How am I to do this?
I believe, Lord help my unbelief.
I can't do this without you.
Take this from me.
My desire to be known, loved, recognized,
has taken over my life.
I keep saying I give it up,
but then nearly right after
I am tested and I fail.
I end up feeling hurt when I don't get what I want.
But I'm too afraid to ask for what I want.
How am I to cut between my wants
and my deeper desires?
Or do my wants come from them to begin with?
Take this from me.
I am conflicted.
Is this my thorn?
Am I never to be rid of this?
Lord I need you.
Help me to surrender.

Their True Heart (poems; part 6)

Part 6: Breaking Point


You told me to give myself up.
To give up my desire for acceptance,
for love, for recognition.
You asked if I never received those things again,
would I still choose You?
My faith was brought into question.
Doubt and unbelief and fear rose in my soul.
I asked myself, can I do this?
And I sat, in pain and uncertainty.
I knew that I would fail.
I knew of my humanity and sin.
I knew that I would stumble and seek those things.
I knew if I never received those things again,
I would break.
You never said that this would happen,
if anything You would multiply anything taken away.
You simply asked me to give it to You.
All of it.
Even if the things of this life that I desire most
were locked away from me forever,
would I still follow You?
Yes.
Yes, I give it to You.
All of it.
You chose me, You recognized me,
You accepted me, You loved me.
Be all I need and be my one overwhelming desire.

Their True Heart (poems; part 5)

Part 5: Doubt


Can I do this?
Can I do what you want me to do,
say what needs to be said,
without recognition?
Without the sense of accomplishment
or feeling good?
You gave me recognition this week
for doing your will,
but now you ask me to do it again
and for the rest of my life,
without expecting anything in return.
No reciprocity.
Can I do this?
So much is holding me back.
I am human.
I am weak.
I am not enough.
But you declare me enough.
I can't do this without you God.

Their True Heart (poems; part 4)

Part 4: Give Me You


My heart is worn.
The tide surges, flows back, returns again.
Relief is brief.
My spiritual high was not enough to sustain.
Things will never be the same
and yet old habits refuse to die.
The hope in my heart from the night before
even now begins to fade.
Where are you Lord?
What are you about to do?
Like an incoming storm,
I feel your presence in the air.
You used me powerfully
day after day
this whole week,
but my desire for recognition continues.
Remind me that the things done in secret,
the things only you see,
are the things that truly matter.
Lord take this heart, this life,
and give me You.
Take all of me.
Give me a heart that loves unconditionally,
A mind aimed at pleasing you and only you,
A soul unwavering from your will,
Strength that does not fail.
Give me ears that listen only to your voice,
Eyes that see you move.
Give me a mouth that speaks your words,
Hands that do your bidding.

Their True Heart (poems; part 3)

Part 3: A Moment of Power, a Moment of Praise


You have shown me your hand.
You have revealed your mysterious power.
Lord I am humbled and honored.
That you would choose to use me -
that the words you speak through me
would change a life.
I felt you, I knew you in that moment
in a way I never had before.
I praise you.
You are so true, so powerful, so loving.
If you decide to continue to use me in this way,
I will be more than happy, I will be whole.
I struggled with discontentment.
I needed more of you.
I have realized,
that only when I put aside all of me,
my life, my dreams, my desires,
my shortcomings, my worries, my troubles,
then You begin to move.
Only when I put me aside,
gave up everything I was depending on,
did you show up and change everything.
You have revealed yourself to me in a new way,
You are my everything.

Their True Heart (poems; part 2)

Part 2: Here I Am


Here I am God.
I made this choice.
I got caught up in relationships and what I wanted out of them. I went for romance, I clung to my friends. And made mistakes and battled loneliness.
I got focused on work. I needed money so I made it my goal. I wanted the power of wealth so I pursued it. You shut me down.
I made it a point to serve, but shut myself away from receiving.
Here I am God.
All I have left is only things You have provided. No more of me.
Here I am God.
I made this choice.
Like a child I am become dependent on You.
I rely on You.

Their True Heart (poems; part 1)

Part 1: Addressing God


I am happy, and yet unsettled.
I am content, but not satisfied.
If this is from you God, show me how to move.
If this is not, cleanse me with your Spirit.
Show me your hand.
Release your power into me.
Renew me and give me your vision.
My soul's been stirred, but I have no direction.
Grant me your feet
to walk on the tumultuous waters of the living.
Show me your way.
No longer my way, no longer my will.
Make my choices your choices.
I don't want to choose without your having chosen first.
Make the life I am to live exactly what you want it to be.
I am not enough. I have never been enough.
I need you.






     The poetry in this series were written by a Christian, representing some of the spiritual and emotional struggles that come with being someone of that faith. If you have questions or wish to discuss, please feel free to ask or comment below, but be courteous and considerate of other readers. As author of this blog I reserve the right to remove any or all comments.

To Dream

A dream that another dreams.
I feel it.
I see it.
I believe in it.
I absorb it.
But it is not my dream.
And no matter how hard I fight to live out their dreams,
they are not my dreams.
We are made different ways.
Allowed to dream different dreams.
Some dreams are born inside us,
remaining even when we push them aside.
Other dreams are inspired.
But when another's dream is placed upon someone,
forced on,
or accepted through fear, or obligation, or belief,
or even misunderstanding,
That's when the problem starts.
I believed in a good thing.
I wanted a dream for my own.
So I set out to meet the standards I saw before me,
I did what I thought was expected of me.
But it was not enough.
I was living a lie.
To myself. To how God made me.
I had dreamed, but it was not mine.
But how was I to know?
I did not know myself, who I am,
so naturally I pursued another's dream instead of my own.
Got ideas into my head on how to live.
But all I was doing was surviving.
Not living.
In not being true to the person God is forming me into
I was smothering myself, my dreams, and God's design.
But then, I woke up.
I put aside my old way of living,
and began to dream again,
My worries replaced by hope,
the shadows chased away.
I was renewed.
I am starting over.
Although I know the path ahead is narrow
and I am prone to wander off,
and things will be difficult now and again,
I am ready.
I am excited to begin anew.

Everything Ends (a new year's resolution)

Everything ends,
But then there are beginnings.
Everything dies,
But only to step aside for new life.
We endure pain because we carry hope.
Laughter comes quick to those who grieved.
Everything ends,
But it seems we can begin again.
We must let go to start over.
Everything ends,
But we can move on.
Exhale to inhale.
Loss to gain.
How many times did I die, only to find I live again?
Down through the valley to climb the mountain.
Season upon season.
The phoenix, slain by a dagger of ice,
Rose up on high in fury,
Only to slowly die again upon the snow.
Now the flame has returned.
And the determination the fly through the storm has come.
Everything ends.
So I will take the grief, pain, and loss when they come again.
They ended before.
When they return they will end again.
So while I have my joy I will embrace it.
While I have my loved ones I will embrace them.
A time is coming when they will depart.
And I cannot hold them close.
And I will be forced to make new friends, new comrades.
To love again.
Everything ends.
But I do not know when anything will end.
So while I have, while I live, while I belong,
I will breathe.
I will take in every moment.
Before it ends.
While I await when time itself will end,
And the One who once declared that everything ends,
Decrees that nothing shall end ever again,
I will live.
No turning back.
And I will end.
And I will begin again.
Everything ends,
So I will fill every page to the end.