Undone

Undoing it. Will I ever be rid of all of it?

I don't think that should be the focus.

In the process, in the change, in the growth,

I had to face myself. 

And in so doing, lost "my place."

And now that I stand between these two hills,

and watch friends on either side declare they will die there,

I don't want to move despite the pulling from them.

I no longer want to fit in. I want to belong.

But neutrality has consequences too.

For if they see my lack of enthusiasm against the other sect,

They will brand me a flake or worse a traitor.

Why can there not be peace?

Are humans really that intent on always being right?

Light, Life, and Love are my foundation.

I'm undoing the need to be right.

Because the "right" way was mixed up with "sideways."

Two steps forward, on step back.

Sideways and slantways and upside down.

No wonder when I dreamed I couldn't figure out which way was up.

Where is the line between opinions and beliefs?

The difference between old truth and new?

I did not come to save the awakened ones.

I'm here to help the sleepwalkers.

And they are in both camps.

I didn't see it before, but I do now.

Zombies on one side, Zealots on the other.

And I stand in a valley of bones.

We need a revival. A message from on high.

A unmistakable voice to bring us all to our knees then raise us to our feet.

Bring the Zombies to life and chastise the Zealots.

Show them all the Peace That Passes Understanding.

Show them the downfall of the self-righteous.

Undoing the desire to be right.

Undoing the need to be correct.

I humble myself. I know nothing.

I live to serve Life and its Author.

Omnipotent One, give me the voice to awake the sleepers,

the heart to love them all, and the humility to call Your Name.

I am Undone.

Happy Birthday Finn

Happy birthday Finn.

My little baby boy.

What a crazy year it's been.

A year ago I pushed you out of my body and out into the big big world. You were so tiny, so helpless. But you were mine. My own little one. And look at you now.

Starting to walk (with some help). Starting to talk (is that Klingon or Ewok?).

Eating everything within reach (and yet throwing it on the floor too).

When you were born you were oh so little and wow how you grew!

My love for you grew like a bubble inside me when I found out you were there and how it fills me up even now. It has changed, grown with you, smiled with you, cried with you.

My baby has become a toddler, and soon one year will become two.

I cannot wait to see the future you!

To see you walk on your own, hear you speak words.

Then the walking becomes running, words to sentences.

I loved you this past year, watching you go from a little wrinkly toothpick of a newborn to a smiley, chill three month old, then trying new food six month old, to chunky, toothy, giggly nine month old and now my beautiful bubbly wobbly one year old.

I don't feel like I have much more to say. I say it all to you while you're awake so trying to say more while you aren't here to listen is hard. But I write this to you in the hopes that one day you'll get to read it (and maybe cherish it).

I love being your mom, even in the hard moments. But those hard moments remind me that we're both human - you just barely begun with so much in store and me at 26 and still learning. I'm so happy to be your mom and you my dear baby (sorry, toddler).

Even when words fail me, I will always say this: I love you. Always.

Wasn't Supposed To

I wasn't supposed to date people of other religions

I wasn't supposed to have sex before marriage

I wasn't supposed to like it

I wasn't supposed to get pregnant

I wasn't supposed to get married to him

But here I am

And I couldn't be happier.

I wasn't supposed to be a "drama queen"

I wasn't supposed to be rebellious

I wasn't supposed to choose my own path

I wasn't supposed to be impatient

I wasn't supposed to "throw my life away"

Then how come

I feel like I'm fulfilling a part of my purpose?

I'm breaking the cycle

In bad ways and good ways

I will not be like you - who made me believe

That I had to be a certain way

The woman I am today

Is so much stronger and more aware

I'm now a mother

A mama bear

And I will defend my life and my child

I wasn't supposed to be a matriarch

I wasn't supposed to be so assertive

I wasn't supposed to stand in front

I wasn't supposed to call the shots

I wasn't supposed to change the narrative

But here I am

And I choose respect over fear

I'm breaking the cycle

In bad ways and good ways

I will not be like you - who made me believe

That I had to be a certain way

The woman I am today

Is so much kinder and less naïve

I'm now a mother

A she-wolf

And I will defend my life and my child

Moving My Home

     I hate moving. It's a pain. So much work and and time and mental and emotional energy go into moving. 

     I've done it three times now. And every time I've felt a little more disorganized and left feeling like I've left a piece of myself behind. I lived in my childhood home for 19 years and then every place after that 2 years each. Every time was hard, but necessary for one reason or another. And now I know in my heart it's time to move again.

     If it was just me, I'd up and leave. Start over. Clean slate. But I can't. Not quickly anyway. Not that easy with a spouse that's not so sure he wants to move and a young kid in tow.

     But I don't have much left where I live. Yes, I have a brother and parents who live in the state, making get togethers quite nice and convenient. But family can be traveled to, visited on occasion instead of every week. And yet, I am left feeling sad and alone. I blame Covid, but I also know that it's been there in the back of my brain for years.

     The truth - my friends are gone. Those who were good friends that I took for granted have moved and moved on. Those who I thought were my friends have shown their true colors. And I am left wondering why and if it was my fault even though it was not. The fault of mine was not keeping in touch with those who cared about my friendship.

     My landlady is moving within a year. It is unknown what she will do with her house. There had been a thought of possibly buying the house from her. But I don't want the house. Not really. Don't get me wrong, it'd be nice, but in truth I don't want it.

     I want to leave. Badly.

     I want to get out of the state I live in right now. I want to say good-bye to all the bad and sad memories I associate with being here still. I didn't go to college out of state. I didn't travel after graduation - for pleasure or mission or anything. I'm still here. And I hate that I'm still here. Everyone around me has changed and I feel like I have not. I feel like I'm missing out on...something. I'm missing a puzzle piece.

     But for now, I sit. And talk with my hubby, hoping he'll see my side. For now, I wait. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for that nudge in the right direction. God has always had a hand in the changes of my life. So for now, I sit. And wait. And listen.

P.S. I know I promised an update on my husband and kid. Dear reader have no fear my baby (7 months old as of the publishing of this post!) is doing wonderfully and growing so fast and my hubby continues to be the sweetest, kindest, and most supportive lover I could ask for. I will post in more detail in the future. I will try to write more frequently, but maybe I'll be moving soon. Maybe. Stay tuned.

Update On My Life

Whew! It's been crazy!

Well, my son is two months old now (8 weeks, not two months to the day - that's next week). Needless to say, I've been a little overwhelmed with it all.

October 6th, I went to my OB appointment, got diagnosed with preeclampsia, and was induced later that day. My kiddo was born at 38 weeks - early but not too early.

Labor was long due to it being an early induction - nearly 23 hours but I will say it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Painful? Yes. But the pain had purpose behind it so it was easier to endure than I feared it would be. About 12 hours into labor I asked for an epidural just because I knew labor was going to be some time longer and I wanted to sleep to have energy to push once my baby was crowning. The staff during my labor and delivery were wonderful and when it came time to push, it happened so fast.

And suddenly he was on my chest. He was small, but he was perfect. My little, beautiful baby.

What more can I tell you? The first few days were rough - the hospital wanted him in the nursery under these blue lights (think they were called bilirubin lights) for his jaundice and all I wanted was to go home and for him to never leave my side so that was heartbreaking for me. Also what was hard was them taking to many blood draws from his tiny body. It left me very upset and untrusting of others  which I am still struggling with to this day. 

After that it was figuring out this little human. His needs, his growth. My world revolved around him. So small, so helpless, but he was mine. The love I had for him while pregnant grew exponentially once he was born. I had an idea how intense my love would be, but I didn't know for sure until it happened. 

So now my days are filled with diaper changes, feedings, and naps. For me on most days I'm running on fumes from being so sleep deprived, my jaw is in pain from bruxism at night (clenching my jaw from stress in my sleep), and my hormones only just recently have settled down from pregnancy. 

I am learning to be patient with a human who is not yet old enough to understand the concept of waiting. I am not a patient person, so this has been quite the challenge. I am also learning to know when to rely on my partner when I'm at my wits end and when to be the strong one for him when he is stressed. 

But something I have found so crazy - I have never been happier. Even with my not-so-pleasant pregnancy, the stress of being responsible for another human, and not having a clue what my life will be like in the future. Yet I know this is where I am meant to be. 

It may sound insane, but it's true. For most of my life I was constantly praying to God: "Who am I? Where am I going? What am I supposed to do with my life?" I felt listless, like a wanderer with no path. But when I found out I was pregnant, everything changed.

In that moment, I was scared but determined. And I chose to love my baby. That's why I love him now. Not from any chemical, biological bond between mother and child. It only serves to reinforce what was already there: Love. Pure, unflinching, unapologetic Love. A gift given me by God. A love for life and humanity. A love I had everywhere I went - social life, work, home. I still remember the names and faces of those I served - those I served out of the Love that lives within me. Friends, neighbors, coworkers, customers. My life was dedicated to living out Love. Despite my mistakes. Despite my unworthiness. Despite flaws in myself and others, the Love pushed me forward. And it compelled me to choose the life of my kid over my fear of pregnancy and fear of commitment. In that moment, I chose Love, and eight months later in the moment that he was placed on my chest and he looked up at me, that Love rewarded my choice with a mother's love and joy.

And now my new journey begins.

Pregnancy - my personal scoop

 For those of you who know me, you know that I had it in my heart to adopt. I still want to. I want my son to have a sibling. But not biologically. I had no desire to ever experience pregnancy. But, here I am, 30 days away from due date, feeling every little wiggle, stretch, and hiccup of my baby and looking forward to meeting him and holding him for the first time. I am filled with excitement and anticipation, eagerly waiting for that day.

But let me tell you, at least for me, pregnancy sucks. I've been told a lot of women who want to be mothers love pregnancy and the process of growing a whole new human inside themselves. They get that "glow" and the attention and the gifts. Yes, I agree it's incredible that so much happens in the course of nine months and the formation of a human infant is an outright miracle, but it puts a toll on the body and the mind.

Not to scare any of you out there who want to be parents, but pregnancy is rough for a good many if not most who experience it. There are so many many things that can go wrong at any time just because of how complicated growing and nourishing such an intricate body is every single time. And no one can predict how a pregnancy will go. It's different from person to person and pregnancy to pregnancy.

What's insane to me is how many mothers don't seem to remember the difficulties of their pregnancies after labor. From my own research and asking mothers, it seems to me that the rush of hormones involved in giving birth and the love they feel for their newborn almost erases everything they went through beforehand.

So, with that in mind, I'm putting down everything I have experienced in pregnancy before I give birth so that you, dear reader get ALL the "symptoms" as they are called before I forget them. Not just so that you are aware of what I went through, but so that I am reminded of my experience and my resolve not to do it again.

Understand that this is only what I have gone through. I am one person, not a guarantee that anyone else will experience the same. I did my research, I asked my questions of my doctor and mothers in my life. I know what was normal, what was common, what to look out for or be concerned about. From what I can tell, I am average in a lot of areas. Some have experienced better, some far worse.

But there's a list. And it's a lot of little things. Let me break it down for you.

First trimester (from conception to 13 weeks gestation):

Keep in mind that most women are unaware of their own pregnancy for nearly the first half of the first trimester if they conceive the "old fashioned" way instead of in vitro fertilization (IVF) or anything like that. Whether or not one is trying to get pregnant, there isn't much to show for it in the first little bit. Some women experience "implantation bleeding" which can be like a light period or they can not be aware at all as was my case. I knew relatively quickly that I was pregnant though due to having a regular menstruation cycle. At somewhere between 4 and 5 weeks pregnant (and a week of waiting for a period to never show up), I took a test to confirm it.

The first symptom of pregnancy for me was easy: no period. 

Then I got sick. This symptom has been dubbed "morning sickness" though for me it was just as likely to happen at night as well as in the morning. Basically just pure nausea. I only threw up a few times in the first trimester and early second trimester, but the urge to upchuck, especially while I was eating, was frequent.

Then there was food aversions. Meals and foods I normally liked or would have no problem eating became almost guaranteed vomit inducers. Chew-able antacids became essential to consuming most meals. Thankfully the few times I did throw up were because the food was a little undercooked, which leaves me to believe that my body was just being protective. 

I couldn't eat eggs anymore. And having used to eat eggs nearly every morning, that caused a big change in my meals. Spicy food was out the window. I strangely didn't want to eat the skin on apples, so my hubby would cut the skin off for me. There was something else that I like that for a while I didn't want to look at let alone eat, but I can't recall what it was at the moment.

My emotions were out of whack. Due to rising hormones, I was more prone to suddenly change moods than normal.

I started to show (as in belly poking out just a little) late March (at around 10 weeks I think?).

Second trimester (weeks 14-27):

The nausea continued into the early portion of the second trimester. My aversions remained, but then came cravings.

Sometimes I wanted sweet foods, fluctuating from craving mint chocolate patties to peanut butter cups to cookies to brownies. Almost always chocolate.

Sometimes I wanted Doritos.

For the span of a few weeks all I craved was sour candy.

Then my bones hurt. And all I craved (and still do) was calcium rich foods. Lots and lots of dairy - milk, cheese, ice cream, you name it.

I started to gain weight, as everyone does during pregnancy. And was within the parameters set by my doctor, so we weren't concerned about it.

Pregnancy brain! Yes, it's a thing. Constantly forgetting things making me feel like a goldfish.

Stretch marks began to show up on my hips and the front of my belly. At my request, my husband started rubbing "belly butter" on my stretch marks to help moisturize my skin and lessen the itchiness that comes with a rapidly expanding belly.

Third trimester (weeks 28-currently 35 weeks 5 days):

Achy joints. Achy muscles. Always tired.

Congestion. Not from a cold, but rather from increased blood flow well everywhere.

The cravings have lessened, but heartburn is common just because my stomach doesn't have much room left.

Swollen body - mostly puffy feet and hands and a little in my face. Basically water retention leading to edema (the fancy word for swollen ankles). Shoes are tight and can't wear rings.

Higher blood pressure. Not hypertension yet, but doctor is wary.

Clumsiness. Expanding belly and heavier baby leading to a change in center of gravity and the hormone relaxin loosening the joints in my hands making dropping things a frequent occurrence.

Body dysmorphia. Big time. I look in the mirror and sigh. All these outward changes in my body making me unrecognizable to myself. Really hoping I go back to my pre-pregnancy body or at least close to it.

Well, I think that's everything. Probably forgot something anyway. Thanks pregnant brain! I hope some of you found this enlightening and informative. Please remember I'm not trying to dissuade anyone from having kids. Choosing to be a family is a massive decision that should not be taken lightly. However, having kids is an awesome responsibility, and I look forward to the years to come.

And maybe one day my own kid will read this post and know what I went through to bring him to the world and not take his momma for granted.

Prayers Unspoken

God of ancient Mystery
Lord of the Oldest Magic
Your eyes see beyond space and time
The great expanse cannot hold you
Yet you can dwell in the smallest of souls
Your Spirit cannot be bound
You come and go where You please
None can predict Your path
Unless You will it so
You shine in the darkest of places
You show Your hand in the worst of times
Your smile adorns the faces of the unworthy
You speak even when no one listens
And You answer prayers unspoken

Creator, Sustainer
The very breath I breathe is Yours
You never rest, ever watching
You sing over us as we sleep
Waiting the day You call us Home
You take every bad choice and twisted event
And work it into Your plan
Ever faithful, even when we fail
Ever whispering, even when we turn away
You hear the thoughts of people
Before they even think
You hear their voices
Before they can even speak
You see a breaking heart
And know what that one needs
You hear a bleeding soul
And know what to give them
Before they even ask

I failed You Lord
I made a choice
I turned from You
To pursue my own way
And yet You were there, waiting
You knew what I would do
And still You did not abandon me
Who am I to be given yet another chance
When others are only given one
Perhaps in Your plan
You knew this day would come
Even as life within me pulses
Life of questioned beginnings
You see what is yet to come
And You call it blessed

Had I been told long ago
This day would come
I would have laughed
"That is not for me"
But You saw it coming
So You made a plan to turn it around
Make it good
Make something beautiful grow from a mess
As the Phoenix rose from the Ashes of Humanity
2000 years ago
You saw the choice I would make yet said
"I Forgive"
So I could stand before You
Yet still I fall to my knees
Because I acknowledge who You Are

The smallest of yells
The loudest of whispers
The cries of joy of the animals
The forming of the earth
You are there
In the snowflakes and the magma
In the leaves and the stars
In the wind and the waves
In the ocean and the sky
You are there
And when I am breaking
You are there
You wrap me up
In an indescribable embrace
You speak with several voices
Yet Your Will is One

How could I have chosen myself over You
You who made the mouths of Humans
Who dare to utter words against You
Perhaps because I am yet Human too
So why did You create Humanity
If You knew this would be so
Perhaps because You knew
About me
And that I would need You
That I would need Someone
To answer prayers unspoken

Did ya miss me?

     Hello Reader. It's been awhile since I've written here.
     Life has changed so much since my last post, and especially in this past year.
     I am newly married (a story I plan to share with you soon) and growing a miracle inside myself (having a baby ya'll!), currently dealing with the whole Coronavirus pandemic, and the election nastiness (I'll say nothing more on that!), and the protests, and man this year is a mixed bag for me.
     But to focus on the good - at least in my little space, my little piece of life.
     When I turn my eyes away from everything going on outside (yes, I am one of the lucky ones who can afford staying at home during this pandemic), and look in the mirror, I see someone who has so much to be thankful for and happy about.
     I am safe. I am healthy. I have a great place with fantastic rent. I have no want for comforts. I can eat whatever I want (for the most part) whenever I want. I have a lot of things to occupy my time. I've got it good. This isn't me trying to brag, this is me being so grateful for what I have.
     My husband (eeee! That word!) is a fantastic, kind, caring, funny man who kisses me lovingly before heading to work every day (and yes he's staying safe too). He takes me and my craziness in stride, accepts me for who I am and loves me in spite of me. We look forward to finally meeting our kid and grow our family.
     It's when I look at Facebook and the world outside that I get overwhelmed, upset and depressed. But within the walls of my home, life is good. Sure, I don't have the social life I had before. Yes, my husband and I don't go out dancing currently (believe you me we will again someday!). Yeah, it's hard to stay in contact with friends (mostly that's on me - I'm terrible with long distance). But I have hope that one day I can step out and go have brunch or dessert with friends (old and new!), talking about the days before and spouses and kids and what lies ahead.
     I'll say that though being an adult is hard and rough and frustrating, there is much to enjoy. I've wanted to be a wife and a mother for a long time, but I didn't think it would be the way it is. But I am so glad the way things have turned out. It may not be how anyone planned it, and I am certainly not the woman my parents wanted me to be, but I could not be happier.
     I think this is where I'll leave it for now, but I'm glad to have written again. Hope to put more down in the near future so I can see you again soon!

A Prayer in a Restless Time

August 23

Shifting.
Restless.
A depression that brings me to my knees.
O God, I cannot see.
O Lord, I have no peace.
I need you here, my Love of Loves.
Humanity has left me empty,
life leaving me wanting more.
My job is unfulfilling,
my home undesirable.
An ache within goes unanswered,
the stirring unheeded.
Lord are you telling me to move?
Then show me the door you want me to go through.
My pacing only distresses me further.
I need a guiding hand,
so here I am.
Lord hear me from my knees.
Hear the voice that cannot utter.
Holy Spirit, rise in me once more.
Move me.
Set me free to dance in your joy.
Remind me the words etched in my skin,
the scar that declares
"for I know who holds tomorrow."
My life, my journey,
is in your hands.
Where do you want me to be?







Note:
This prayer poem was written about two weeks before I lost my job. I knew things were coming to a close but I didn't know when. 
But I act in faith. God is faithful to provide. I am secure in whatever he has in store for me.

Intercessor

There's an echo in my soul that won't let go
     a sad, sad song that takes its toll.
Would it be that for my heart to die that I'd find peace
     or would chaos reign and my joy to cease?
If only I could see my days
     and tread the path of the righteous way.
But my soul grows still, it will not stir
     my desire fails, I move no more.

     My dreams are more real to me than my waking life. I long for sleep if only to escape the pain. It feels to me that in the land of Nod I live, while reality is the ugly dream without an end. I neglect my body, my friends, worsening the guilt of my chosen isolation; knowing I could turn it around yet having no motivation to do so. I long for companionship, yet despise it. I yearn to see the world yet find the worlds of my mind easier to travel.
     I find temporary solace in the arms of another, momentary happiness in the little things of life, and I still laugh hard and laugh often. I have changed, grown, yet am the same. Even when I feel so close to someone or surrounded by people I trust and care for, I still feel alone. Even as I spread little forget-me-nots around, I don't wish to be remembered. I want to be kept. I only find peace with my God, and yet still pursue the Divine in humanity. Deep calling unto deep, I reach out for the spark of God within the souls around me.
     But even then, the pain returns. For lying below the light are shadows. Humanity is the ultimate paradox: designed with the intention to walk beside the Divine, and yet more demonic than demons. We live with choice, every moment of every day. Shadow or Light, good or ill. Shrouding maliciousness, jealousy, and agendas with good actions; using cruelty and cutting remarks to mask insecurities and fears. We lash out in defense like a cornered animal.
     I was told that those who would hurt me are not truly my friends. "They don't deserve you. Leave 'em." But I do not deserve humanity. Humans are still kind - they still care. Many work in fields to make their little corner of the world a better place, reaching out with hands that want to heal, to help, to support, to serve. The spark of God still remains. If only I lived on a world of absolutes, of the binary of good and evil, it'd be easier. Yes, there are some absolutes, but even in a black and white photograph, there is always so much grey. And I see in colors.

There's a wind passing through the trees
      there's a swelling in the underseas.
Whispers over and behind and around
     sighing for the lost and the found.
If only I could find someone
     who could translate the lullaby's of the One.
But my soul does stir, I know it well
     the voice of the Master commands me "Tell!"

     Yes, thanks to God, I can see what others cannot. The spectrum is broad indeed. And my filter is a reverse prism, condensing everything I see into one beam that comes from the Above. But I am flawed. Sometimes I cannot reconcile what I take in. Sometimes I cannot bring the conversation back round to my God. Sometimes - all too often really - I am at a loss. I am left overwhelmed by the information I try to absorb. The pain becomes unbearable.
     There are times where I, in my human state, feel like my gifts are more of a curse than a blessing. Yes, I see light and shadow, negative and positive equally. And sometimes I focus too much on one over the other. And that's what hurts. Temptations, misinformation, misdirection, lies, and my own personal wants come into play, corrupting the stream. I walk on the earth, among the peoples, among individuals and groups. And I feel them. I see them. X-ray vision of the heart.
     And I cannot understand what I see. Pain and joy...lies and trust...love and apathy...masks and truth...respect and racism...complexes and minimalism...creation and sabotage...pride and hope...generation after generation living out humanity in their own way. If only I could be insane and take pills to make it all fade. But as if I'm a walking antenna, I get struck by lightning. Over and over again. My sight is opened and my soul rendered to shreds.
     Someday, maybe someday, I'll be done with the road of Solomon of Ecclesiastes and finally stop my chorus of "Everything is meaningless, empty!" Or perhaps the path I tread is the path of the Psalmists, pouring out everything until I am dry and still wrung for every last drop of joy and grief. But that will never cease. For even when the music's gone, my voice can still be heard. For my voice is not mine.
     My story is your story. My song is your song. Your life, your breath, God knows. God sees. And when I am allowed by God to see, I too see. I may only see a part of the picture, but I see you. My prayers are for you. I am an intern, apprentice of the great Intercessor. I serve and study under the one who speaks words beyond language and utterance, speaking and sighing and singing to God. Do I understand what is I see or feel? Almost never. Once in a while I do understand, but for the most part, I simply try to obey.

The Pain of Love

To fall in love...to taste the drug of the mind.
To crave another person, desire their attention,
To feel your pulse, your breath change tune whenever you think of them.
But like the moon, it has its cycles,
Sometimes bright, full, and in view,
Other times faint or below the horizon.
A mood that changes and flows.
Every new love fresh and you are high once more.
But to love, well, that is different.
To choose to give to another even when there is no high,
To reach out to someone you might not otherwise consider,
Is that not better?
But to love is to be vulnerable.
For there is much risk involved.
When the emotional high fades, one is none the worse for wear.
A sting, and then forgotten.
To move on, grow up, learn, and then to fall in love again,
maybe a little more hesitant, but still desiring to live.
But to love...is to taste pain.
To grieve over and over again.
To know that love is not equal.
Mutual, sometimes, yes. But not equal.
Love is painful.
To sacrifice the freedom of living alone,
sacrifice parts of yourself for the sake of another.
To give up precious time, and emotional strength.
To become rash on decisions and make financial changes.
And whether their intentions are well and good or not,
you will be used.
The child takes, the lover absorbs.
They will lean on you,
and if you truly love,
then you will want to be strong,
to provide,
to continue to give,
to be leaned upon.
And you'll want to lean back - just enough so.
Not to be a burden to them,
but to have them feel needed and wanted.
But the problem with being human,
is that one is always swaying -
leaning or being leaned upon too much.
And fear settles in.
Too far?
Too much?
Too little?
Not enough?
But love does not ask for much in return.
Love is sacrifice.
To really love is a beautiful thing.
But humanity uses and abuses love.
We all do.
I am guilty of it.
And I have felt the effects of the other side of the coin.
I gave, only to have it all taken away.
Ripped from me.
And I loved again, but it was not reciprocated.
To love is to be vulnerable.
To love yet not be loved, or to love and be wronged...is agony.
...but it is worth it.
For it is all we have.
To love -
is to die in order to live.
To love -
is to provide hope for one who has none.
To love -
is to give because you had been given to.
To love -
is to be Somebody for a Nobody.
To love -
is to bleed to provide life.
This is the pain of love.

I Broke the Rules

I broke the rules.
I did a thing.
But I have no guilt, I have no shame.
Is it because I've done this deed before?
Or because I misunderstand the rules?
All my life I've been told one way.
And the Word of Life that I hold dear,
     seems to agree with what they say.
But then why do I have no conviction?
When I hold God's hand, when I yearn for the Truth?
Why do I feel no wrong?
I was given my conscience for a reason.
I've been learning to listen to the Spirit.
Then why does she seem so silent?
Have I grown deaf?
Or is this a thorn in my side?
A sin that will plague my humanness for my life?
Oh God my God, I do not understand.
Lead me in Your way.
Show me what I must do.
So many preach this a heavy sin, but I feel no weight.
Yet I do not feel peace, a sure sign that my steps are not quite right.
Which way do I turn to walk Your path again?
Or have I faltered at all?
My Lord, I do not understand.
I am still sinking into You, regardless of the sides I swing.
So who do I listen to, as deep calls unto deep?
Whose voices are you using to reach me?
I am not alone in this.
Surely You know my worries and fears.
It seems to them that I broke the rules.
So where is the discipline, or the gentle nudge?
Or are you letting me stray so that I'll get lost again?
So that in my despair I'll cry to You? Run to You?
Is this what it takes?
Am I so stubborn to not see the pit before I fall?
Open my eyes.
Open my ears.
Let me hear You.
Let me see You.
I know You're there.
You're still guiding me.
Then tell me why do I not feel the rumble strip,
     warning me of impending danger?
Why do I not feel the Wind pushing me back to You?
Is this sin?
Have I truly taken two steps back?
Become despicable?
A wretch once more?
Tell me this is not true.
I'm not a monster.
I'm made new in You.
So why am I numb to this, according to them?
     They who are Your people?
They are not perfect, but then neither am I.
Is this my imperfection?
Tell me, Perfect One,
     did I break the rules?

Nothing Stays

The Great Irony: Nothing Stays.
Humans are creatures of habit but change is inevitable.
Permanency is a construct - an ideal.
Nothing stays the same forever.
And yet we expect it such.
We yearn for a stability, a comfort, a truth.
But feelings fade, decisions are made.
Jobs change, situations arise.
Accidents, fatal mistakes, and disease occur.
The changes happen
and the adult longs for the good moments to stay.
But
The child wants to grow up.
The teenager seeks after dreams.
The single craves the relationship.
The lover longs for commitment.
The unhappily married desires renewed freedom.
But few consider the consequences.
The ramifications behind every single life choice.
The truth that every human is a hurricane,
leaving disaster in their wake
focused solely on a specific goal
unaware of the lives of others changed forever.
The child loses their naivete and innocence.
The teenager is broken.
The single is tricked again.
The lover is abandoned.
The divorcee affecting the entire family and not just their own life.
And yet, inside every wandering hurricane is an eye.
A heart in the eye of the storm, pursuing another.
Wishing for something endless.
Time becomes but a thought - a way of remembering the past and measuring potential future.
We live a way of life, expecting it to remain the same.
Developing callouses, until we get cut.
Going to work the same way for years, only to end up in a crash.
Diagnosed for a incurable sickness.
Dating someone, loving someone, only to be alone once more.
Living alone only to have to accept a new life into your space.
Fired, moving, evicted, betrayed, dying.
We cannot handle the change.
But change was the only constant here.
What were you expecting?
Gotten too comfortable?
Nothing stays.
Nothing stays, nothing permanent, no one lives forever.
And the suicide rates climb.
Death is not an escape either, my friend.
An ending not the constant to pursue.
For though you think you change nothing for no one else,
Your death will alter the still alive.
Nothing stays.
But we crave the spark of eternity.
I see your spark.
In each and every breathing life.
The darkness, the pain, the past.
The light, the joy, the strength, the hope, the power inside of you.
I see it.
If even for a brief instant.
Like a comet in the night sky, here and gone.
But it was there.
And that is enough for me to have known you for a time.
Although I am saddened yet again.
Although I am not satisfied in life for nothing stays,
the knowledge that the eternal exists is enough to drive me forward.
To see the next spark.
And the next one.
And the next.
Some of you I will know for months, even years.
Others only in passing.
But still I see it.
You don't stay.
Nothing stays.
But you don't have to stay.
I've stopped begging for the change to never come, for my loved ones to stay.
Nothing stays.
But when it's gone, when you go,
you leave behind the memory, the taste, of the spark inside of you.
That tiny bit of life gives me hope and life.
I've stopped focusing on being alone, left behind by the falling stars.
For now I see the galaxies, the stars beyond.
For now I see the shapes of the stones in the River.
For now I see the Eternal in the mortal, Infinity in the finite.
Life in the face of Death.
The promise of the permanent in the fickle.
The ocean in the tide.
I see it.
The Great Irony: Nothing Stays in the Light of Eternity.

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?