Good Art (Poem)

Good Art (Poem)

There is no wasted love.

There is no great unknown. 

Rather, there are things we know too well, but are just too scared to uncover.

There is no holy grail, there’s no fairy tail that is too romantic. There’s love for sure, and there’s buried treasure, but it’s mostly buried within us and is found when our hearts are untethered.

There’s longing in a fairy story that’s far beyond the tails and glory. It’s truth deeper and truer then our own stories hold, because the things otherwise unseen are pictured in the form of battles and fantasy. 

I can’t quite put my finger on the reason we feel so complete or incomplete or hopeful of something sweeter than these black top streets. The stories point to something, like the pain in my knees and the thoughts weighing heavy on my chest both have credence.

I know I’ve seen and felt things, heard and known things I had no business knowing. I know I’ve felt love and been loved by a being much grander than human, outside of a scope we can see. I know it might all sound crazy and more like delusion, but in the end, i have resolution. In the midst of calamity, we find camaraderie, within peace and anxiety and somewhere between joy and tragedy there’s a constant that has followed through history. 

The earth has seen him and he’s seen the void before the earth’s beginning. His wisdom is unknowable and untamed, yet consistent all the same. He’s a story teller through and through, a creative; no, the creative; Creativity himself. I can not explain each stroke of his pen or why he penned me in. I can’t explain the earthquakes or tragedy amidst the innocent. I can’t fathom how this universe once wasn’t and now is or all the  dimension, but I can tell you this.  

When he said he loved me, for a while I didn’t believe him. In my mind I heard him say it, I believed it was just my mind, that I was perpetuating a lie I’d heard all my life. 

But when you know, you know it. It took weeks, months, before I’d believed him. The way I’ve lived since sure has been different, but what I did in secret didn’t say I loved him. Kindness covered over my selfishness, and I didn’t care what God saw from his perspective, as long as his Christians thought I was “it”. 

But there’s a difference between speaking and living it. My heart’s a mess without Jesus at the helm. No counterfeit can stand up to the  genuine, even if no one else can tell. 

But with my senses back on track, if it be good music or a movie or a painting, a bird singing, bees racing or a sunset that’s slowly fading, good art points to something, points to someone, points to the hope beyond me and you. It’s real, even if you don’t believe it, and if you conclude the truth, there’s no turning back, there’s only through.

Through the lense of questioning or blaming, It’s all a prism we find ourselves looking through when we try to fathom all truth.

In practicality, I’d rather be safe than sorry, to choose to trust a grander story that holds weight in history. To give everything for a treasure that’s forever.

It is the most logical and most unnerving thing to give up total autonomy to a being we can not see, but for what I’ve seen, it’s worth the risk. 

*end scene*

Stop, slow, know (Poem)

Stop, slow, know (Poem)

to myself

Stop, Just stop. 
There’s something I can’t begin to explain.
It’s a shame. 
It’s something that is foreign to my joyful ways.
And when it comes, it want’s to stay. 
It finds a way to sabotage 
any dreams out in the stars 
and pulls them down to earth, 
but that’s not all.
I’ve given it a key into my vault. 
I’ve given it the gavel and the judges’ stand, 
and it uses that power to beat my foundation down to sand. 

And I stop, just have to stop, 
because there’s a lot of things I can’t explain, 
like why there’s Grace. 
It’s far more foreign to my melancholy ways.  
And when it comes, it comes in waves. 
It lifts me from the pit and reminds my brain 
that the dreams out in the stars 
that are oh so near my heart
are not so lost at all. 
That with all the noise around me, 
I didn’t hear the call. 
I started to forget the voice of the one who formed it all
and formed my heart. 

Fear tries to linger in my heart beat 
and pain tries to settle in my chest. 
When I start to uncluttered all my schedule,
I start to remember who I am.

That I am not a sum of all my pleasures, 
and stuff doesn’t fulfill my souls demands. 
There is still a good composer 
who can bring the tempo slower.

There’s freeing in breathing, 
there’s joy in winding in.
There’s peace in the knowing
that we are beloved by him.

There’s hope in the growing
and wonder in what hasn’t been.
In release, there’s knowing 
That he has the better plan.

Rise (Poem)

Rise (Poem)

This morning, I rise up from my bed, trying to seperate the things I learned in my dreams from reality.

Rising next is my phone screen. Within the Happy Easter posts are adds that I try to separate inside my psyche. Next to rise is my questioning. Wondering if I am enough or if indeed my daily “yes” to Christ is enough. I try to separate truth and insecurity.

My fork rises at the breakfast table. I wrestle with the need to photograph the serenity with family or to simply be.

The remote rises this year to tune into church with my friends that aren’t around me. I separate the urge to distract myself or sit back and the desire to truly praise and engage.

My heart sinks in humility as the elements of communion rise to my mouth. I separate the feelings of unworthiness from the truth that in Him, I am fully known and fully loved.

He has risen. And I have not purely separated out everything that’s truth and fantasy, but this one truth I know is that He has risen indeed.

Emotions rise within as I contemplate how his sacrifice unites what sin tried to eternally separate.

And when the son of man was raised up on that cross, and every joint was separated, Jesus’ love had not.

He raised his voice to the Father a few times that Good Friday before his soul would separate from his broken body, But when he rose again, he would speak again. In speculation, some doubted. Separately, the 500 plus people who had seen him surely could not.

And I rise in resolve that my belief in him is not simply because of a story or a tradition, but because, in the words of Job, “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you;”

He is risen and with this I know; that the separation I feel is only in my own self condemnation. I come humbly now in simple adoration, remembering that the whole reason he came was so we could be with him. He wants me and he wants you; fully one with him.

And so, I rise.

Distanc ing (Poem)

Distanc      ing (Poem)

Fragile is my heart that longs for touch, that longs for something it can see. 

Fragile are my thoughts as they fail to remember the good I’ve seen.

Fragile is my body that is too week to lift the sorrow inside of me.

The weight is too great, the pain is too deep.

I lay in my bed, but I cannot sleep.

I speak of vulnerability, with glass walls built all around me. 

I Feel alone, but I cannot be.

My friends are here, but I’m distancing.

My God is here, but I’m not listening. 

*one day into social distancing* 

I’d been so busy I couldn’t think.

The pressures off, now my mind can think. 

Mixed feelings, but I’m thankful that I now can think.

There’s things important I’ve distanced myself from,

Things in my room I can’t escape,

Things in my mind I can’t erase. 

It’s more than sin, it’s more than rhythms.

It’s more then the closets and skeletons in them. 

It’s more then heath and wellness and wisdom.

For the depths I reached weren’t dug in a day, 

The selfish and pure motives weren’t traded for in one exchange.

The joy did not up and fly away.

Alone. 

Here. 

Safe. 

What will I do in the weeks to come?

will I get off my phone?

Will I grow and become?

I will distance myself from my vices that drown me.

I will dream larger, though my surroundings confine me.

I will draw near to the One who found me.

I will not be alone.

I am not alone. 

We are not alone. 

Loved Regardless (Poem)

Loved Regardless (Poem)

It’s one thing to be alone, but it’s another thing to feel like there’s no hope; like no matter what you do, no matter where you are, you’ll never find home.

It’s one thing to have someone by your side, but it’s another thing to know that no matter what you do, they will be closer then your body can stand, but closer then your heart could ever ask them to.

It’s one thing to love, but it’s another thing to know that a person would go to hell and back if it meant saving you.

It’s one thing to be betrayed, but it’s another thing to be back stabbed by the one by whom’s arms you felt most safe.

It’s one thing to feel, but it’s another thing to know.

It’s one thing to learn, but it’s another thing to grow.

It’s one thing to be ok, and yet another to feel safe when everything around breaks. To have peace when everything is great. To be still and take time when the grind brings results in the best ways.

It’s one thing to feel and another one to be led by what we feel, regardless of what is real.

In the wondering, take each step in the footprints ahead led by the hand of the one who made yours. Walk in step with the ones you love, but hold fast to the one who’s breath is in your lungs.

Feel the love, feel the pain, feel alone, feel framed, but breath free. Know you are seen. Know that if home never finds you or finds you empty, that there’s a being who weeps for you with tears unseen. He felt the things you feel today, he’s gone through them in different times, in different ways. He holds you closer then you can feel, but he hold you. Don’t give up. He’s here.

Anxiety Attach (poem)

Anxiety Attach (poem)

My heart is in my stomach. I’ve got lead in my veins. I step in the shower and try to scrub away all the painful thoughts. Scrub my head so hard my scalp is raw. Rub my body down until my arms are sore. Let the water rain down my face and I don’t even mind. Sit down, I’m panicking, elbow on my knees, I can’t even weep. Turn the water off. Dry my body off. Send a message, short and to the point, try to walk in love and not in fear or anger. I get so shaky I can’t stop my legs from breaking my balance. I lay down. Shake more violently, pray to God for some inner peace. Feel so alone and no one can see. Reaching out feels desperate, but I need it. Turn to my notes in my phone to write because it’s easy, but it can’t give me a hug now. It can’t talk me down. It can’t give me council, but it’s half past 1 in the morning and I feel like nothing is working. My heart rate is slowing to normal, my eyes grow heavier and God let’s me know he has me when I feel cold. He has me when I feel old. He has me when I think I should be farther along then I am. He has me when I’m desperately holding onto all that I know. He’s always faithful, always stable. He is The rock on which I stand.

Questioning Alone (Poem)

Questioning Alone (Poem)

*I wrote this because I needed to. I share it to remind you when you feel alone, you can know (if only in your head) that you’re not.

Lord, why do I feel like I’m all alone; like the progress I’ve made was all for not? Why do I strive and fail? Why do all of my ambitions feel fruitless? I’m walking up stream. A moment passes when I feel I’ve prospered, but I find my foot crushed by a stone. One moment, I feel I’ve made headway and the next, I am knocked down. I float down stream. There is no trace left in the ground beneath me to prove I’d gone anywhere. Do the trees have eyes to back me up? Do the mountain peaks stand up in my defense to vouch when I’m seen striving in the place I’ve already been for seasons that have come and went?

Why does it feel like I stand alone? I feel that I’m following the plans set before me and when I’m doing well people notice me, but they do not join me. When I’m starving and isolated and even in my dreams, don’t find relief, I’m left alone to sink.

In the high times of my life, I find rest in you, Jesus, and joy in the moments I spend with you. In my confident moments, I still hear your voice of pleasure, your peace when everything around me seems to be anywhere from building to crumbling, because I know you are with me. In my joyful days, my humor and laughter is uncontainable. In my persistent days, nothing on earth or beneath can stop me from following through with bringing the wonder in my mind to the world in the unique way only I could do.

But in my despair, the days I have reason to feel alive, I feel empty. One moment I can hear truth and put on the face I feel people want to see, and the moment I’m alone, my hope leaves as if I hadn’t heard a thing. The things that normally feel rejuvenating feel exhausting and even the littlest lie from any of my enemies can throw me into a spiral of self loathing. I find myself drained, lying in my underwear in the middle of the day, trying to find motivation through music or the Bible or anything. In the process, I usually find myself asleep.

These aren’t the places I strive to be or the mindsets I ever want to be having. In a few hours or even by the time I’m finished writing, I may have mental clarity. Hope will eventually arise along with energy and redemption of the waisted moments in sin or self pity.

We do not deserve whatever hellish conditions we put ourselves through when we’re held in a chokehold by the devil’s schemes, others lies and selfish tendencies, or the evil we can be to ourselves when our flesh proves to be weak.

Sometimes, I am my own worst enemy, but I will push through, learn what only my weaknesses can teach me, and force myself to bring others in with me that I know have my back. These are the hardest times to do it, but the most crucial times to get through it.

As a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, do not give up or disqualify yourself when your weak. Get reinforcement from one who is willing to be close enough as you reconstruct, build you up, and hold your ground. That’s what I surely need now.