Words say so much. I don't mean to state the obvious, although I think it would make an awesome title for a novel. Our words truly do reveal so much about it. We have been discussing the power of words in my English class this week and last week. Most of us are taught to watch what we say to others, how to be polite, and to be considerate. What about the internal dialogue that pours through our minds daily? Those are words that we use carelessly and without a second thought. It is so easy for me to speak down to myself in my thoughts. What does that do to me? It tears me down, word by word and thought by thought. It does the same to you.
Our internal dialogue can eat at us like cancer. It has the power to tear people down or to build them up. Our thoughts eventually become actions and if not actions, they become part of our heart and soul. Freedom doesn't always lie in "freedom of speech", but in the freedom of letting old thought patterns die. This isn't anything new and profound, but it's something that all of us hear and then ignore. Why is it that the life-transforming lessons are the ones that go forgotten; we can recite every word to our favorite movie or take YouTube tutorials on french braiding and take it with us to our grave? I will probably wake up in the morning and find the old familiar thoughts dictating my day, self-image, and self-esteem. I will have to read this blog again to remind myself of a lesson that I tried to teach, but didn't learn myself. Maybe choosing to love ourselves as we are and learning to use our words to build up rather than tear down is a lesson we will continually learn. In that case, enroll me in next semester, too.
21 February 2012
12 February 2012
When the Soul Stops Breathing
Calm and cool
water runs
down her hands
her heart is burning
Faster than the winds blow
She cries; yells
Letting go
Down she falls through the night
Faster
Chasing light
Her eyes hollow
her voice pierces crystal
Stars chase
To her feet; lay still
Hope shattered in her hands
scarred the surface deep
Nothing left to gain
no emerald treasure to seek
Shadows dance upon her memory
bidding her to dance
Upon the icy surface
of a second chance
Beckoning her and breaking her
she cries
memories burnt; seething
empty heart and worn hands
Her soul stops breathing
water runs
down her hands
her heart is burning
Faster than the winds blow
She cries; yells
Letting go
Down she falls through the night
Faster
Chasing light
Her eyes hollow
her voice pierces crystal
Stars chase
To her feet; lay still
Hope shattered in her hands
scarred the surface deep
Nothing left to gain
no emerald treasure to seek
Shadows dance upon her memory
bidding her to dance
Upon the icy surface
of a second chance
Beckoning her and breaking her
she cries
memories burnt; seething
empty heart and worn hands
Her soul stops breathing
08 February 2012
God at the kitchen table
Matt and I had a mini getaway over the weekend. We drove down to VA Beach to spend the Super Bowl with family and friends (nothing like Pats vs. Giants and an aged Madonna to bring people together). I have been on a strange spiritual journey over the past few years and it's only escalated with every horrible thing that has happened. It's been a tough two years for Matt and I which is really an understatement. I have often felt that we've been standing in the middle of a horrific thunderstorm with no shelter and only each other to hold on to. I haven't neglected to think of God in those situations. I've thought about him a lot actually and each time that I have, I've walked away with more questions than answers.
Matt and I have had conversations that always begin and end the same. One of us asks the other one where God was in a certain event. The other one will say they don't know, but maybe God will give us peace. We circle around theological debates and unanswered prayers and then the subject falls flat and goes into the recap of that day or what's for dinner. Vocalizing things has always been a comfort to me, but it seems like I haven't been able to talk enough these past two years. Somewhere between my dad dying, my health issues, Matt's biological mother dying and me going through a dark and scary depression-- I lost the energy to ask questions and simply retired to sitting quietly. What more was there to say? Cynicism took place of lost passion. Fear took place of peace. When even God himself seems to keep silent, there was no reason for me to talk anymore.
Saturday night, I was sitting at our friends' kitchen table laughing until my sides hurt. We were all having a great time and Matt brought up the fact that I had some questions about the Holy Spirit. Matt and I had recently been talking about the church environment I was raised in and the questions that I had about speaking in tongues, healing, and all aspects of the Holy Spirit. Our conversation went a little like this:
Me: "So, why do people feel like they have to flop around like a fish on the floor?"
Matt: "What?"
Me: "The Holy Spirit thing. People flop around. I mean, really?"
Matt: "So, you don't believe God can do those things?"
Me: "You mean do I think God can make people flop around like fish? I guess, but...geez...why would he want to? He made fish for a reason."
Matt: "I'm not sure what to say about that."
Me: "Just say I don't have to flop around like a fish to experience God."
Matt: "I hope God makes you flop around like a fish."
That was the extent of our conversation because I didn't like for it to go much deeper than that. I had experienced the Holy Spirit, but never in the physical manifestations that others seemed to. It was very confusing not to mention uncomfortable to me. Our friends listened closely to my questions and severe undertone of judgement.
Then, our friend Jonathan said that he would like to pray with me. oh great, this is going to be awkward., I thought. I closed my eyes and as I did, the whole room seemed to have a hush over it. The TV was on in the background and people were talking, but the room seemed to close off sound like it was vacuum sealed shut. Jonathan asked me to think of somewhere that I felt safest. Immediately I thought of an abandoned beach. It was an overcast day, but warm and the tide swept over my feet as I stood and looked out at the vast ocean. I could smell the salty air and feel it as I inhaled slowly. There was only one problem- I was safe, but I was so devastated. The amount of sorrow that I felt as I sat there with my eyes closed was indescribable. Jonathan asked me to imagine God there with me. I don't want him here., I thought. Before I could imagine God away from the situation, he was there standing next to me on the beach.
I felt so small and so unimportant standing next to God. I stood there and cried as I imagined what he must think of me. He must think I'm such a mess. I'm weak. I'm unworthy. I'm so small. God didn't speak to me, but he looked at me-- he starred into my eyes. His eyes were gray with the slightest hint of blue, but they were so deep. His eyes held so much emotion, they seemed to hold all of creation. I saw my reflection in his eyes and as I looked at myself, I saw his love for me. His eyes said that I was important, I was loved. He told me that I was small so that I could know his greatness. God told me that he would never leave me like my dad had. He wouldn't hurt me like others had. In that moment I felt more peace than I have in my entire life. The world was shut out and there was no obligation to invite it in. I was with God and he was with me--just us.
I left a lot at that kitchen table. I got a fresh start that I hadn't anticipated. Prophecies were given over my life that night- things that people would have had no way of knowing. I trust that all of it was true and I will continue to. I have nothing to lose, but all of God to gain. If God speaks to you and you flop around like a fish- go for it. I know the power that compels you now.
Matt and I have had conversations that always begin and end the same. One of us asks the other one where God was in a certain event. The other one will say they don't know, but maybe God will give us peace. We circle around theological debates and unanswered prayers and then the subject falls flat and goes into the recap of that day or what's for dinner. Vocalizing things has always been a comfort to me, but it seems like I haven't been able to talk enough these past two years. Somewhere between my dad dying, my health issues, Matt's biological mother dying and me going through a dark and scary depression-- I lost the energy to ask questions and simply retired to sitting quietly. What more was there to say? Cynicism took place of lost passion. Fear took place of peace. When even God himself seems to keep silent, there was no reason for me to talk anymore.
Saturday night, I was sitting at our friends' kitchen table laughing until my sides hurt. We were all having a great time and Matt brought up the fact that I had some questions about the Holy Spirit. Matt and I had recently been talking about the church environment I was raised in and the questions that I had about speaking in tongues, healing, and all aspects of the Holy Spirit. Our conversation went a little like this:
Me: "So, why do people feel like they have to flop around like a fish on the floor?"
Matt: "What?"
Me: "The Holy Spirit thing. People flop around. I mean, really?"
Matt: "So, you don't believe God can do those things?"
Me: "You mean do I think God can make people flop around like fish? I guess, but...geez...why would he want to? He made fish for a reason."
Matt: "I'm not sure what to say about that."
Me: "Just say I don't have to flop around like a fish to experience God."
Matt: "I hope God makes you flop around like a fish."
That was the extent of our conversation because I didn't like for it to go much deeper than that. I had experienced the Holy Spirit, but never in the physical manifestations that others seemed to. It was very confusing not to mention uncomfortable to me. Our friends listened closely to my questions and severe undertone of judgement.
Then, our friend Jonathan said that he would like to pray with me. oh great, this is going to be awkward., I thought. I closed my eyes and as I did, the whole room seemed to have a hush over it. The TV was on in the background and people were talking, but the room seemed to close off sound like it was vacuum sealed shut. Jonathan asked me to think of somewhere that I felt safest. Immediately I thought of an abandoned beach. It was an overcast day, but warm and the tide swept over my feet as I stood and looked out at the vast ocean. I could smell the salty air and feel it as I inhaled slowly. There was only one problem- I was safe, but I was so devastated. The amount of sorrow that I felt as I sat there with my eyes closed was indescribable. Jonathan asked me to imagine God there with me. I don't want him here., I thought. Before I could imagine God away from the situation, he was there standing next to me on the beach.
I felt so small and so unimportant standing next to God. I stood there and cried as I imagined what he must think of me. He must think I'm such a mess. I'm weak. I'm unworthy. I'm so small. God didn't speak to me, but he looked at me-- he starred into my eyes. His eyes were gray with the slightest hint of blue, but they were so deep. His eyes held so much emotion, they seemed to hold all of creation. I saw my reflection in his eyes and as I looked at myself, I saw his love for me. His eyes said that I was important, I was loved. He told me that I was small so that I could know his greatness. God told me that he would never leave me like my dad had. He wouldn't hurt me like others had. In that moment I felt more peace than I have in my entire life. The world was shut out and there was no obligation to invite it in. I was with God and he was with me--just us.
I left a lot at that kitchen table. I got a fresh start that I hadn't anticipated. Prophecies were given over my life that night- things that people would have had no way of knowing. I trust that all of it was true and I will continue to. I have nothing to lose, but all of God to gain. If God speaks to you and you flop around like a fish- go for it. I know the power that compels you now.
03 February 2012
I am Beautiful
She clenched the pearls tightly in her right hand and rubbed them like a worry stone. Her fingers moved over the smooth surface as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked exhausted. They were outlined by black circles and a furrowed brow. She widened her eyes and lifted her eyebrows. No, she still looked tired. Her makeup bag was opened on the tile bathroom counter. She laid the pearls down and rummaged through the polka dotted bag, lightly touching the contents with her dry hands. There were three lip glosses she had forgotten she had, a foundation that was too pale, and an old tube of mascara. The sun filtered through the small bathroom window and illuminated the top left corner of the mirror, casting a small glimmer of light onto her face.
She sighed and leaned into the counter with her full body weight and examined her face closer. Her fingers ran from the corners of her eyes and then, down around her mouth. Dry lips and the beginning of wrinkles were the best things she could find. The worst things were those horrible black circles. She glanced back at the makeup bag that had gone untouched for three, maybe four months. She turned the hot water on and examined her face up-close once more while she waited for the water to get warmer. She bent over and splashed the warm water on her face, massaging it in deeply. The salt from her tears mixed with the fresh water and she sat on the small black chair in the corner of the bathroom. The spring breeze danced behind the curtain, lifting it up and escaping onto her face.
The fresh air embraced her and blew against her red cotton shirt. She looked up and saw the pearls lying on top of the makeup bag, with the small bit of sun soaking them in warm yellow. She had always preferred pearls to diamonds and daisies to roses. She was, in every sense of the word, simple-- at least in her own opinion. A simple tired girl. A simply tired girl. She couldn't decide which fit her best. The jasmine shampoo from her shower still lingered in the air and she realized that jasmine was no "simple" scent to choose, but one that was exotic and bold like she wished to be. The wet cream colored towel laid bunched up on the floor along with the clothes she had changed out of.
Birds sang outside and she sat there taking in their song of spring. She regained her composure, stood again at the mirror and looked into her own green eyes. She set the makeup bag aside,but put the pearls on- letting them fall between her breasts. She lifted her wet hair off of her shoulders and pulled it back in a ponytail. The pearls looked like porcelain white teeth against red lips as they lay against her shirt. Tomorrow would bring another shower, more doubts and tired eyes, but that was tomorrow.
I am simply beautiful.
The sun kissed her cheek as the breeze blew the curtain away from the window once more.
She sighed and leaned into the counter with her full body weight and examined her face closer. Her fingers ran from the corners of her eyes and then, down around her mouth. Dry lips and the beginning of wrinkles were the best things she could find. The worst things were those horrible black circles. She glanced back at the makeup bag that had gone untouched for three, maybe four months. She turned the hot water on and examined her face up-close once more while she waited for the water to get warmer. She bent over and splashed the warm water on her face, massaging it in deeply. The salt from her tears mixed with the fresh water and she sat on the small black chair in the corner of the bathroom. The spring breeze danced behind the curtain, lifting it up and escaping onto her face.
The fresh air embraced her and blew against her red cotton shirt. She looked up and saw the pearls lying on top of the makeup bag, with the small bit of sun soaking them in warm yellow. She had always preferred pearls to diamonds and daisies to roses. She was, in every sense of the word, simple-- at least in her own opinion. A simple tired girl. A simply tired girl. She couldn't decide which fit her best. The jasmine shampoo from her shower still lingered in the air and she realized that jasmine was no "simple" scent to choose, but one that was exotic and bold like she wished to be. The wet cream colored towel laid bunched up on the floor along with the clothes she had changed out of.
Birds sang outside and she sat there taking in their song of spring. She regained her composure, stood again at the mirror and looked into her own green eyes. She set the makeup bag aside,but put the pearls on- letting them fall between her breasts. She lifted her wet hair off of her shoulders and pulled it back in a ponytail. The pearls looked like porcelain white teeth against red lips as they lay against her shirt. Tomorrow would bring another shower, more doubts and tired eyes, but that was tomorrow.
I am simply beautiful.
The sun kissed her cheek as the breeze blew the curtain away from the window once more.
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