Wrecked

Wrecked.

Crashed up on Plato's shore.

Tomes of history breaking the surface,

washing up against me,

shredding my skin

like a load of sharks.

Truth.

Everything is relative

or is it?

History seems to think so.

volumes upon volumes

of contrarity and failure

to prove either way.

nothing is ever proved.

what to believe?

confusion pouring down in torrents.

I reach out,

grasping for faith

and find....

Community

One of the things I struggle with the most as a Christian is the feeling that I don't belong, even among believers in the church. I've had problems with this situation for as long as I can remember. This has been brought home to me yet again through my college experiences of searching for a new steady church to attend. Although people are generally friendly, this is as far as it goes--no one ever seems interested in actually developing a friendship or getting to know the real me.

Thinking back, this is exactly what the pastor at my current new church was getting at with his sermon last Sunday: the level of community within the church--moving from "I know your face (and maybe your name)", to "I know you and you know me". This is so vital to church community. If we can't feel like we are accepted even among our brothers and sisters in Christ, then what is the point of fellowship?!

Listening

Reflecting on all of my previous posts, I began wondering, "Why do I have a blog?" I'm not sure if this is a common reason, but I think my major motive is to be heard. Even if I have an unresponsive audience of 1 or 2 random people who just happened to click on my page, I somehow have a secret longing fulfilled. I would say that in my day-to-day life, I don't get listened to very often. It's not that people don't talk to me, or that I don't have friends. I actually have many friends. But no one seems to understand the fine art of listening. Many claim to hear what I say, but even if the sounds are vibrating through their eardrums, they aren't processing them with their hearts. They are quick to cut in with their own stories or advice, rather than just sitting, and letting me spill my heart. I'm afraid I've become rather calloused when people tell me that they want to know me better, or that they're "now ready to listen." I'm used to being ignored. So instead, I write, in the way most comfortable to me, when I can no longer contain the frustration, anger, sadness, pain, or on the rare occasion, joy within me. Of course, I am always willing to share with someone who seems genuine in their interest to hear my thoughts, and I realize that I need to reciprocate, but those lovely circumstance are few and far in between. I know that I have been blessed with a loving mom, who has always listened to me, always been willing to stop doing something important when I needed to talk, never demanded that I listen to her in the same way. Realizing this, I have begun to reciprocate recently, trying to fulfill her need for a listening ear as well. I think the stage where we really transform from being a mere needy infant into a mature adult is when we make the choice to listen, rather than be heard. It's not just a physical change, but also spiritual. When we choose to listen rather than be heard, we become more and more like God, who always listens to our sorrows and joys, our complaints, and rare praise. Maybe this choice of listening to the needs of those around us is merely the beginning of something bigger, developing our ears for the voice of God. Maybe He is simply waiting for us to make the choice to listen--for Him.

Steel

Hard face--
a mask?
Cold heart--
brittle
Shattered in two.
warm
tender
vulnerable.
Looking for love--
afraid to show.
Past hurt
no one cares.
The crust builds up again.
Leaving the impression
of steel.

Heartbreak:

who is there,
that will listen to
and ponder
the thoughts
of my heart?

who exists,
that can dissect
each and every one,
from beginning
to end?

who can understand
the aches,
the longing,
the things my mouth
cannot express?

Heartbreak:
for something
deeper than
a relationship

who can love,
truly love me--
not just in name,
but whose every act
expresses a choice?

Heartbreak:
for something
only Heaven
can provide

who can show me,
that it's okay
to free yourself,
to let go of guilt,
and dance
the song of life?

Heartbreak:
for someone
who breaks all
life's petty rules

who can comfort,
hold me when
life doesn't understand,
who can just sit,
and listen to my tears?

Heartbreak:
for the one
only God
can provide.

Scribbles

There is not a word I could say
not a speech I could write
not a song I could sing
that could express
what you mean to me.
We're family--together--one
in more than the true sense of the word.
Connected by the ethereal--
no one can understand this bond.
You understand me--I, you
and so I find myself,
left scribbling more letters
to distract myself
from the emptiness of the room.
So many thoughts
so much anguish
so much joy overflowing
yet I can not share.
You left--with a piece of me,
that no one else will ever hold.
I treasure your gift--
I embrace it--
present it fully to the light,
letting it illuminate all around,
Always praying,
for your return.

Crystals

Like a mighty oak,
growing tall, sure and strong
hands clasped, lifted high
An axe thrust
meant for the core
but deflected.
Sap pouring out,
oozing through the seams,
soaking through the bark.
Sunshine--
freezing the sap in its tracks.
Crystals of infinite wonder,
honeyed gold,
frozen in time.
The oak still growing.
Ever shooting upward.
Ever reaching up.
Ever stretching.
For God.