I was reading my homework tonight - which lines up very neatly with everything else that God has been telling me literally through writing - and I realized that I've been fighting a losing battle here simply because I've been fighting with my head down. How can someone possibly fight when they're not facing what is attacking them? So, I have had enough! Every time it seems that something really amazing is happening in my life - like the new job God graciously provided - I am instantly besieged without even having time to delight in the last victory! And then I feel like all I have to say to people that I care about and deeply respect is to request prayer for the crappy stuff and then feel guilty for always being gloomy and not having more encouraging things to say. Enough is enough, I am putting my foot down! As my aunt is always quoting, 'Greater is He that is in me than he who is in the world.' and she is SO RIGHT! So it's time I start believing it and acting like it! If satan wants a battle, I am going to bring the battle to him instead of waiting for his inevitable attacks! And it's not going to be with my head down in a complete lack of confidence which is ridiculously easy to defeat, it's going to be with my head held high in confidence for the One who goes into battle before me! I am an adamant believer in spiritual warfare and that it is not emphasized nearly enough in the modern church and yet I seem to have such difficulty to combat it in my own personal life. So, enough is enough! I'm tired of being held back in defeat by my own lousy insecurities and weaknesses! And no more whining to my friends, even when things are tough! They have problems enough of their own and don't need to hear about more. Who wants to hear someone whine all the time anyway?! They deserve a lot better than that, and so do I.
I just thought I better get that out in writing, both so that I can fully retain what I've just said and so that there is a written record of it!
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Over-freaking-whelmed
My
stomach feels like it has been pummeled to jelly
By
fear, by pressure, by stress over time
My
mind feels both numb and humming with suppressed activity
Overworked
my mind with far too many insistent things
Urgent
matters that cannot wait
All
urgent
All
immediate
All
things that only I can attend to
All
clamoring at once for my attention
And
I, only one, cannot corral so great a stampede
I
am trampled by my own over-active mind
By
too many responsibilities that are too great to ignore
And
me, being only one, am drowning in the onslaught
Overwhelmed
by life and its vast, great sea I constantly struggle to stay afloat
It
does cross through my tattered brain that an exhausted mind,
With
its battered and bleeding soul in tow,
May
perish in chains
In
screams and much battering of padded walls
And no one to call to account for this overwhelming tidy but
Of course
Myself... *sigh*
Monday, September 7, 2015
Warrior's Repose
(finishing later tonight)
Rolling smoke across this field where battle so recently fought
The ground scarred and torn as the lifeless soldiers that lay
So many autumn leaves in the cold February of their day
Locked in the long winter that came far, far too soon
Who weeps for these in their souls, a part of them weeps alone
For grief cannot share its most personal and poignant power.
Different is her face for every mourning soul
Yet the same staring gaze of despair.
Shock melts into hurt, hurt into anger into tears into... more hurt
And over and over the cycle returning
The fall leaves once again flipping end over end in the long winter's icy breath
(will work on later tonight)
'Till The Thunder Sounds No More'
Author's Note: When I was a little girl, exactly 2 months and 4 days before my 5th birthday, the axis to my world crumbled and an amazingly Godly man named Ronald 'Ronnie' Rosenberry passed from this earth and into the arm's of God. I called him 'Daddy'. The months before his passing, I alone of my 3 siblings was young enough to be around the house for the duration of his battle with cancer. I saw him suffer and I longed to bring him comfort and to relieve the pain I saw in his eyes when he looked at me and was tormented by the knowledge that me and my sister and brother would be growing up without him. I remember going to the grocery store with my mother as she was forced to pick out what she felt to be the most 'tasty' looking baby-food for him to eat because with the food tube in his throat due to the esophogial cancer he could no longer eat solid or even ground-up food. I remember asking him one day towards the end as I had so many times before, 'Daddy, will you read to me?' He could not answer me through emotion. You see, at this point, he was so weak that he could barely talk and certainly didn't have the energy to read me a story any longer. My mother had to try and explain to me that daddy couldn't read to me that day because he was too sick. She kindly offered to read for me in his stead, but I declined. It was kind of her to offer, but it just wouldn't have been the same.
In that last year or so of his life, before he grew so weak he could no longer read to us, he liked to sit at the piano and play and sing. I don't remember what his voice sounded like, 31 years has dimmed that particular memory into a yellowed photograph too dim to discern. But my mother says while he could hold a tune, he had a little too much vibrato in his voice to make it truly pretty - which she has said very lovingly. Like many things in his life, I believe it was his gentle, Christ-filled spirit that made it beautiful. I do, however, remember that one of the songs he sang during that time was a song by an old gospel singer/song-writer named Mosie Lister. http://www.popularhymns.com/till_the_storm_passes_by.php called 'Till The Storm Passes By'. Throughout my life riding the many hills, turns, loops, and spins of its roller-coaster ride, I have never forgotten that song or how, shortly after my dad's passing, my older brother (11 yrs. old at the time)sang the song in church in our father's memory. (My brother, incidentally, has grown into a man much like my father was before him. He's got a huge heart, he's incredibly compassionate, He loves the Lord, is patient and protective with his children, and he loves to sing. So do I, for that matter.) Perhaps because of the very strong association the song has with my father and the emotions that link that to a father's love, protection, and even sorrow for his children, there are points in my life where I still listen to this song to feel the comfort it brings. Sometimes, after a very difficult day or frame of time, it is a song that I hear replaying in my mind like a lullaby until I finally fall asleep. Last night was one such night... (won't tell the weekend's story here)
In that last year or so of his life, before he grew so weak he could no longer read to us, he liked to sit at the piano and play and sing. I don't remember what his voice sounded like, 31 years has dimmed that particular memory into a yellowed photograph too dim to discern. But my mother says while he could hold a tune, he had a little too much vibrato in his voice to make it truly pretty - which she has said very lovingly. Like many things in his life, I believe it was his gentle, Christ-filled spirit that made it beautiful. I do, however, remember that one of the songs he sang during that time was a song by an old gospel singer/song-writer named Mosie Lister. http://www.popularhymns.com/till_the_storm_passes_by.php called 'Till The Storm Passes By'. Throughout my life riding the many hills, turns, loops, and spins of its roller-coaster ride, I have never forgotten that song or how, shortly after my dad's passing, my older brother (11 yrs. old at the time)sang the song in church in our father's memory. (My brother, incidentally, has grown into a man much like my father was before him. He's got a huge heart, he's incredibly compassionate, He loves the Lord, is patient and protective with his children, and he loves to sing. So do I, for that matter.) Perhaps because of the very strong association the song has with my father and the emotions that link that to a father's love, protection, and even sorrow for his children, there are points in my life where I still listen to this song to feel the comfort it brings. Sometimes, after a very difficult day or frame of time, it is a song that I hear replaying in my mind like a lullaby until I finally fall asleep. Last night was one such night... (won't tell the weekend's story here)
Till The Storm Passes By
In the dark of the midnight,
Have I oft hid my face;
While the storm howls above me,
And there's no hiding place;
'Mid the crash of the thunder,
Precious Lord, hear my cry;
"Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by."
'Til the storm passes over,
'Til the thunder sounds no more;
'Til the clouds roll forever from the sky,
Hold me fast, let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
Many times Satan whispers,
"There is no need to try;
For there's no end of sorrow,
There's no hope by and by";
But I know Thou art with me,
And tomorrow I'll rise;
Where the storms never darken the skies.
'Til the storm passes over,
'Til the thunder sounds no more;
'Til the clouds roll forever from the sky,
Hold me fast, let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
When the long night has ended,
And the storms come no more,
Let me stand in Thy presence.
On that bright, peaceful shore.
In that land where the tempest
Never comes, Lord may I
Dwell with Thee when the storm passes by.
'Til the storm passes over,
'Til the thunder sounds no more;
'Til the clouds roll forever from the sky,
Hold me fast, let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
Hold me fast, Let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
'Til the storm passes by.
Have I oft hid my face;
While the storm howls above me,
And there's no hiding place;
'Mid the crash of the thunder,
Precious Lord, hear my cry;
"Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by."
'Til the storm passes over,
'Til the thunder sounds no more;
'Til the clouds roll forever from the sky,
Hold me fast, let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
Many times Satan whispers,
"There is no need to try;
For there's no end of sorrow,
There's no hope by and by";
But I know Thou art with me,
And tomorrow I'll rise;
Where the storms never darken the skies.
'Til the storm passes over,
'Til the thunder sounds no more;
'Til the clouds roll forever from the sky,
Hold me fast, let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
When the long night has ended,
And the storms come no more,
Let me stand in Thy presence.
On that bright, peaceful shore.
In that land where the tempest
Never comes, Lord may I
Dwell with Thee when the storm passes by.
'Til the storm passes over,
'Til the thunder sounds no more;
'Til the clouds roll forever from the sky,
Hold me fast, let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
Hold me fast, Let me stand,
In the hollow of Thy hand;
Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by.
'Til the storm passes by.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Coping Foolish
Author's Note: Random picture-prompt write. Saw this picture and it just instantly and easily inspired. Honestly, I don't see this poem as necessarily Nihilistic. Edgy maybe, the kind of darkly prosaic edgy that is part of me... but cathartic and useful in its own way. I believe this poem is meant to portray the self-damaging coping mechanisms that we humans often create to cope with destructive situations - or at least, that children do when placed into inappropriate and futile situations. Children of abuse - that's what my siblings and I were, and its a situation that far too many kids find themselves in at one time or another anymore. It IS sad...
Additional Note: Yes, the pictured seeds are, in fact, poke-weed seeds (I googled a shiny black seed to compare my crows eyes to and it popped up. And yes, the crimson juice shown from the berry seeds IS poisonous. Just thought it was cool and darkly appropriate.
Additional Note 2: I included a Footnotes/Glossary section at the bottom of this in case people get annoyed at the phrasing. I've been told that happens sometimes in my writing because the language/vocabulary and convoluted thought trails are too complicated. :S Sorry non-poetically minded readers should you be there. *cough* Ken! *cough* :)
The cackling crows reflection
It pecks and scratches at the white face of the moon
In her far-off screen of night, her late-night movie in the sky
So fair and distant and lovely
Too removed to feel this distant beat of wings against the breeze
The flutter against her shared sky
To hear the laughter that wants to be tears
The tears that wants to be laughter
The feeble try that the heart longs to live, fights not to die
So the ebony-feathered nomad mocks itself
Cackles like a mad raven who cannot help but see its own folly
And mourns the passing dream that appears so remote
To all but its beady staring eyes
Little poke-weed seed eyes that stare until they bleed wine
Into some forgotten whisper, on some forgotten day, some fragment of memory
That poisons the life-blood in its veins just enough to sicken, but never to completely kill
Such a lovely disguise the venom makes, its crimson-purple screen
A sweet and tart facade for grief's addictive, maleficent hold
What duty behind those shining beetle eyes?
To be the tragic hero of some Shakespearean tale?
To garner pity from the old souls alone who may spy it?
A requiem for some long-lost dream?
Or to laugh at yourself as the rainbow-sheened jester from some megalomaniacal(1) court
Not of your making
A court made for fools such as I, and such as you
The bandied joke of a ribald(2) monarch in palace of marble and stone
Vain, he calls you, vain
That you stare at your own reflection, your own misery
And you laugh in your own weeping face
'Die all, die merrily' as the saying goes
'Cry all, cry merrily'
Live, breathe, and die alone
Or join the hysterical laughter of the deliriously insane
Dig pits for yourself as they do in each other's company
Fall into snare's made by your own hands
No
No longer the insane monarch's stooge you shatter that grim effacing image
Shatter the glass surface of a mirror marked desolation
Scatter the ripples of the past
And fly free - FREE - to the bell-tower to sing
Sing triumphantly of your glorious, liberating flight
Beat the wings so long encased in inevitability's stone
Of 'expected's' steel patterns, those electric wire wrappings
Snap them as you cry out in refusal and rise!
Rise to the dawn and awaken!
Awaken from your long nights repose and breathe deeply for the first time...
Breathe... *thud-thud* Breathe...! *thud-thud*
Breathe! Then release your long-stilled voice in a new and verdant cry
Sing again!
Of a victory to shame the years of defeat
Allow the flush of pride to pale shame's fleeing shadows
And embrace the grace of the sun's first rise
Footnotes/Glossary (dictionary.com): - Since I have been told more than once by a friend that my vocabulary can make my poetry difficult to comprehend. It takes contemplation to understand anyway. *shrug* It doesn't to me, it just kind of comes out automatically and makes sense. If someone else had written it and I was trying to understand, I would be equally mentally pressed to figure it out, but for some reason it is just as easy as breathing to let it come out of my mind when I'm not really thinking about it. I wish everything were so easy. :p
(1) ~Ribald - (adjective)
1. vulgar or indecent in speech, language, etc.; coarsely mocking,abusive, or irreverent; scurrilous.
(2) ~Megalomaniacal - (noun) - Heard this word in an X-Files episode (Scully used it in reference to Mulder reminding her of Captain Ahab in Moby Dick)in high school and fell in love with it. Not the meaning - just the word itself and how it sounds. It sounds elegant and farcical at the same time.
1. Psychiatry. a symptom of mental illness marked by delusions of greatness, wealth, etc.
2. an obsession with doing extravagant or grand things.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Forgotten 1
Author's Note: Oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've written any poetry that I can't do it any more. So - my verbal vomit for the day. Not even sure where it came from, things are actually really looking up right now... *shrug* - I think this must be some residual emotion from some time ago. Not directed towards anyone I know now personally.
You don't know me
As daylight fades, as it fades
Time drains your heart of empathy
Melts the sky to different shades
And it is over when its over
It was a dream that could not stay
Another heart-ache for tomorrow
Or for another day
As my memory fades
No time left for you to say...
'Goodbye'
As we go our separate ways
You go on and I'm the same
Same broken heart, a different day
What never was and could not be
Time digs its shallow grave
It was like finding what I'd lost
And losing it again
A figment of a dream
Over before it really began
I took my heart and wore it out
I could scream and I could shout
But it was easier to cry
I ran myself out of tears
For countless moments, forgotten years
Misplaced trust and frozen fears
To surrender to what should have been
But could never be
You could never have known my pain
And still left me here this way
The story you had written
Shouldn't end up that way
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
You Meet Me Here
kind of spontaneously started this this morning while getting ready for work... i'll have to work on it later throughout the day. have to go now.
You meet me here
As the daylight fades
And the world has ceased its rumbling for the day
The thoughts and dreams
Still whirl through my mind
All I am and all I ever was
Haunts me through a magnified glass
Today's struggles, the constant worries
Play a battery inside my head
Haunts me through a magnified glass
Today's struggles, the constant worries
Play a battery inside my head
You meet me here
Your still voice calming the clamarous din
Taking the wrinkled clothes of chaos
And smoothing it into peace
Friday, July 3, 2015
new quote
'thank you Jesus for understanding who i was yesterday, for meeting me in love where i am today, and for viewing me as i one day will be by your grace.'
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
rarely have i seen so true a statement - irony is the word (alright, I take it back)
Oh dear. Just for the record, I was upset when I posted this. I'm fine. It is NOT always true that art comes from unhappiness. Sometimes the most beautiful art in the world comes from joy, contentment, and peace. This was just a reflection of what I was feeling at the time.
someday if i ever have spare money... this would be perfect
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
For You
For anyone who has ever needed to hear, "I'm proud of you."...
For anyone who wanted to be told, "You are beautiful."...
For anyone who has needed it said, "You did a great job!"...
For anyone who has needed a champion and a protector...
Anyone who has been lost...
Anyone who needed comforted...
For anyone who has been told they're not enough...
Anyone who needed a teacher, a role-model...
For anyone who has needed wisdom and advice...
Anyone who has dared to dream big...
Anyone who has had their dreams shattered...
For anyone who has been searching...
And anyone who has found what they thought they wanted, and realized it wasn't what they really wanted at all...
For anyone who has thirsted for more...
And hungered for peace...
Anyone who has needed acknowledged for their sacrifices...
Anyone who needs appreciated...
For anyone who is without hope...
For anyone who needs mercy...
Anyone who needs forgiveness...
Anyone who is a slave to themselves or others...
For anyone who longs for freedom...
For those who seek truth...
Those who deserve justice...
And those who are afraid in their corner....
"I AM."
~God
Thursday, May 28, 2015
The (occassionally) Forced Discipline of Writing/Journaling
I am physically forcing myself to sit down and write for God's sake - and I'm not swearing, I actually mean that pretty literally. It's been a long time since I DID write down my feelings and thoughts in an open manner and I think that is a bad sign too. Writing/journaling has always been cathartic for me and I think in some sort of feeble attempt to not dwell on the negative or stress over it, I haven't been doing it as much. Great, so I haven't been using a natural, God-given antidote for the poison so that I don't have to think about it so much. Well that's stupid!! *major face palm* Foolish me. :p~~~
So often I find myself virtually screaming at God, "Please! No more! If You really know my limitations, then You know I can't take any more difficulty! Please, just for once, can't you make things easy?" Well....when did He ever promise that things would be easy? In fact, He promised the opposite! So I whine and moan about how hard my life is and He gives me countless reminders that He disciples those that He LOVES. He disciples those who He has BIG plans for. He disciplines those that He wants to GROW! And really, in some sense, aren't all the difficulties associated with being a single-mom in some way my fault anyway?? I made a lot of mistakes. I have repented for those sins and I know He has forgiven them. But the consequences will always remain. That doesn't mean that He won't, and hasn't already, redeemed things in my life. He has performed miracle after miracle in my life. Actually, the fact that I'm still alive at all, after all the dark paths my life took in past years and all the natural health emergencies in the more recent years, is a miracle in and of itself. Sometimes in getting so tangled up in 'life' and my own anxieties I forget those beautiful miracles that He has provided over and over again... I never intend it, but it happens a lot more than I care to think about...
The reason I began this... 'blog/journal/message' with forcing myself to sit down and write "for God's sake" is because when I allow myself to get into a state where I cannot function normally, I'm of absolutely no use to God - at least not in the way He means for me to be. Whether what I have been feeling lately is a result of unbalanced hormones (and quite honestly, I really do think that's a significant part of it, for a short while I had to take some lower-dose left-over pills for my thyroid because I couldn't afford the refill until end of last week - not good) or just... a deep sense of anxiety that I have always and WILL always struggle with, that's not the point. The point is my response to the anxiety and to all the struggles and pressures that life throws at me. If I really love God - and truly, deeply, honestly, I DO love Him very much, and if I also love my son - well... next to God, he is my deepest beloved - then I need to be more careful about taking care of myself (even if that means additional medication) and that includes finding a way to trust and function even when hormones or life-circumstances are in direct opposition to the peace that Jesus brings. That's why His peace is SO amazing and gracious and merciful; because His peace is nothing like what the world gives. And also because He gives so much more than we will ever comprehend or deserve in this life.
And honestly, some very strong spiritual warfare battling on my part (with the help of my dearly loved and appreciated friends who I will forever feel blessed to know) will not hurt at all. That's what prayer is. It's the unfathomable strength that makes wielding the sword of the Spirit possible, the power that flows into our spiritual muscles that gives our muscles momentum. I believe very deeply that spiritual warfare is not only very real and under-acknowledged, but MUST be engaged in every day to ward off attacks and defeats. A Christian can't function in a healthy way unless they are prepared and willing to fight. So... why the heck haven't I been putting it into practice more?
There is a song that is very popular right now, I've recently discovered it myself and while at first I was drawn to the beat and the artist's unique vocal talents, once I started listening to the lyrics, I find it absolutely no coincidence that the discovery has been made right now. No, I did not write it, but it is blessing me very much, so I'm just going to put a YouTube link to it here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xWBuWtC8MY
And, once again, no coincidence this came today: http://faithinthenews.com/5-lies-enemy-tells-christians/
So often I find myself virtually screaming at God, "Please! No more! If You really know my limitations, then You know I can't take any more difficulty! Please, just for once, can't you make things easy?" Well....when did He ever promise that things would be easy? In fact, He promised the opposite! So I whine and moan about how hard my life is and He gives me countless reminders that He disciples those that He LOVES. He disciples those who He has BIG plans for. He disciplines those that He wants to GROW! And really, in some sense, aren't all the difficulties associated with being a single-mom in some way my fault anyway?? I made a lot of mistakes. I have repented for those sins and I know He has forgiven them. But the consequences will always remain. That doesn't mean that He won't, and hasn't already, redeemed things in my life. He has performed miracle after miracle in my life. Actually, the fact that I'm still alive at all, after all the dark paths my life took in past years and all the natural health emergencies in the more recent years, is a miracle in and of itself. Sometimes in getting so tangled up in 'life' and my own anxieties I forget those beautiful miracles that He has provided over and over again... I never intend it, but it happens a lot more than I care to think about...
The reason I began this... 'blog/journal/message' with forcing myself to sit down and write "for God's sake" is because when I allow myself to get into a state where I cannot function normally, I'm of absolutely no use to God - at least not in the way He means for me to be. Whether what I have been feeling lately is a result of unbalanced hormones (and quite honestly, I really do think that's a significant part of it, for a short while I had to take some lower-dose left-over pills for my thyroid because I couldn't afford the refill until end of last week - not good) or just... a deep sense of anxiety that I have always and WILL always struggle with, that's not the point. The point is my response to the anxiety and to all the struggles and pressures that life throws at me. If I really love God - and truly, deeply, honestly, I DO love Him very much, and if I also love my son - well... next to God, he is my deepest beloved - then I need to be more careful about taking care of myself (even if that means additional medication) and that includes finding a way to trust and function even when hormones or life-circumstances are in direct opposition to the peace that Jesus brings. That's why His peace is SO amazing and gracious and merciful; because His peace is nothing like what the world gives. And also because He gives so much more than we will ever comprehend or deserve in this life.
And honestly, some very strong spiritual warfare battling on my part (with the help of my dearly loved and appreciated friends who I will forever feel blessed to know) will not hurt at all. That's what prayer is. It's the unfathomable strength that makes wielding the sword of the Spirit possible, the power that flows into our spiritual muscles that gives our muscles momentum. I believe very deeply that spiritual warfare is not only very real and under-acknowledged, but MUST be engaged in every day to ward off attacks and defeats. A Christian can't function in a healthy way unless they are prepared and willing to fight. So... why the heck haven't I been putting it into practice more?
There is a song that is very popular right now, I've recently discovered it myself and while at first I was drawn to the beat and the artist's unique vocal talents, once I started listening to the lyrics, I find it absolutely no coincidence that the discovery has been made right now. No, I did not write it, but it is blessing me very much, so I'm just going to put a YouTube link to it here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xWBuWtC8MY
And, once again, no coincidence this came today: http://faithinthenews.com/5-lies-enemy-tells-christians/
Friday, May 22, 2015
Poem from Writing Prompt
Note: Wrote this from a writing prompt from an online poetry group. Its been quite a while since I wrote a poem, so I figured it was time and the prompt inspired me. Going back to basic research, I'm working on reading through a poetry book right now. I don't often do that, in fact when my first "reader" asked me if I read a lot of poetry the idea had not really occurred to me. And its always a good idea to take inspiration from the true literary greats.
The smell of sun-baked wood beneath my fingers
Old dust dancing like pixie dust in the last beams of sunlight
As I stand there by the window
Staring out at nothing, staring out at everything
An empty lane in the country stretching out to the great unknown
Old dust dancing like pixie dust in the last beams of sunlight
As I stand there by the window
Staring out at nothing, staring out at everything
An empty lane in the country stretching out to the great unknown
I've no place to go, but everywhere to be
In my dreams, in my deepest dreams
And nowhere to travel where you will not be
Absent, yet forever present in my heart
In my dreams, in my deepest dreams
And nowhere to travel where you will not be
Absent, yet forever present in my heart
I lay a hand against the windowpane as the skies begin to weep
And drop their tears against my hand
Heavy drops that trickle down my palm from the other side of the glass
Distorting their own shadows against my pale skin
Like stars fallen from a smoky sky
A reflection of a summer storm, a reflection of me
And drop their tears against my hand
Heavy drops that trickle down my palm from the other side of the glass
Distorting their own shadows against my pale skin
Like stars fallen from a smoky sky
A reflection of a summer storm, a reflection of me
I lay my cheek against the glass feeling the heat of the day
cool into evening
Cool with the rain's touch on the window's steaming face
Giving voice to its sorrow, giving name to its grief
Cool with the rain's touch on the window's steaming face
Giving voice to its sorrow, giving name to its grief
The thunder rolls a heavy ripple inside the hollows of my chest
Reminds me of that last goodbye
I asked if I should live alone, or if it was easier to die
As parts of me were torn away like a rake through tender grass
And a stranger's face looked back at me from the spotted looking glass
Reminds me of that last goodbye
I asked if I should live alone, or if it was easier to die
As parts of me were torn away like a rake through tender grass
And a stranger's face looked back at me from the spotted looking glass
Forever on and forever yet to be
The song returns ever and onward, echoes back to me
Yesterday's shadow, today's existence that still bleeds
Sadness like the tears of heaven, stars that cannot see
The song returns ever and onward, echoes back to me
Yesterday's shadow, today's existence that still bleeds
Sadness like the tears of heaven, stars that cannot see
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Selfish/Impatient Moment
Note: I had a selfish, impatient and highly frustrated moment today. LoL. So rather than not allow myself to admit it, I decided it might make for an amusing little chorus - somehow I saw it as one of those little songs they have incorporated into a show-tune on Broadway. 'Mama said there'd be days like this', 'I was made for more than this.' :p It's just to be silly. I've been singing to myself all day here in the 'office', or at least when the rangers and hosts weren't stopping in. When I was a kid, I had such grand dreams. I thought I'd be on a stage somewhere singing or on a movie set, or a rich and well-respected author. Haven't gotten there yet - maybe never will - but sometimes its frustrating to look at where I wanted to be back then and realize that I'm....here. :p Here where nothing important happens and where there is very little meaning to the every-day tasks that I do. Briton is worth it though - HE is important. So, I'll just have to stuff it as I always do and be content with where God has placed me. He always has His reasons even if He rarely deigns to communicate to us what they are.
I was made for more than this
More than sitting in an office
I was made for more than this
More than selling things, content just to wish
And while dreaming is good
Its not as good as real, not as alive as me
I've been told to be content, to be patient and to wait
From the time I was small, till I knew I'd never be tall
To accept what was and give up on what could be
But I was made for more than this
More than this!
More than this!
Sunday, May 10, 2015
A Word From Him
Patience, darling
There is all the time you need to learn and grow
Ask your questions and I’ll tell you all you need to know
Not everything you want is what you truly need
The tallest trees began as a single, tiny seed
What seems perfect now may not be worth it in the end
Disappointments now are little wounds that I will mend
Don’t forget to smile
And remember once in a while
All that we have come through together thus far
I will not lead you wrong
As much as you like to sing
I will give you a greater song
Sit tight and rest in knowing who I am
Friday, May 1, 2015
'The Order of Libra' - Brainstorm (REMOVED)
NOTE: The more I 'hatched' on this story and the corresponding world, the more complex and detailed it is becoming, so I've made the decision to take it down from the website for reasons of security. If I ever end up using it as a vehicle for publication, I'd hate to see someone steal it. Anyone who I know and trust and would care to read it can ask me and I'd be happy to oblige. Honestly, I haven't been this prolific and inspired on a story idea or world for a VERY long time - probably since High School. Thoughts, ideas, characters, language, and this rich world are just flowing through my brain in a way I dream about it happening. Wouldn't it be amazing if this passion could be used someday not only to reach readers but to make a living? :) I guess there's nothing wrong with dreaming... God, would You be so good as to grant this wish from this Your lowly child?
Note: I have had Fan-Fiction writings from several different sources for many years (LOTR, Star Wars, X-Files,etc.) and currently I am attempting to transfer one such story concept/set of characters to a different, home-made world that I can actually potentially USE for publication. Lately, this is the one I've been most focused on, though I go through periods with each. I often have difficulty with this transformative process because with my writing the very LAST thing I want to do is create something that strongly resembles the story-line or world of someone else. There's such a vast world of fiction in the world now that its hard to be original and write something that no one has ever done before. Also, as prolific of a reader as I am, I am not nearly as far-reaching with my reading abilities as some and, as such, will often have people tell me, 'Oh, that's been done before. It's just like ____.' I don't want that, especially with this because I AM re-adapting the world and several characters from something that is pre-existing. So.... bear with me here, this is a new attempt for me and I plan to do the very best that I can. Also - this IS brain-storming, so there's been very little - if any - editing done to this yet, I'm just trying to get the ideas out as quickly and thoroughly as possible. More will be fleshed out, re-worked, and addressed later.
Most names and titles are taken directly from the Latin, though there are a few other language references I will work in here, probably Greek and Roman.
Note 2: One other thing worth noting. While some of the races, characters, and situations may seem 'juvenile' and geared towards that audience (which there is NOTHING) wrong with, because it is MY brain, there are also going to be some very intense and complicated adult subject matters too that will dominate the main story-line. The 'cute' or 'funny' characters, scenes, and moments are good and I put them in there partly to balance the seriousness of the main subjects and partly just because... well, that's how my mind filters things naturally. So... I do hope to add to and update this on a regular basis. I spent over an hour this morning on the few paragraphs I'm posting now and didn't even TOUCH much of what I've been noodling for the past evening.
Note: I have had Fan-Fiction writings from several different sources for many years (LOTR, Star Wars, X-Files,etc.) and currently I am attempting to transfer one such story concept/set of characters to a different, home-made world that I can actually potentially USE for publication. Lately, this is the one I've been most focused on, though I go through periods with each. I often have difficulty with this transformative process because with my writing the very LAST thing I want to do is create something that strongly resembles the story-line or world of someone else. There's such a vast world of fiction in the world now that its hard to be original and write something that no one has ever done before. Also, as prolific of a reader as I am, I am not nearly as far-reaching with my reading abilities as some and, as such, will often have people tell me, 'Oh, that's been done before. It's just like ____.' I don't want that, especially with this because I AM re-adapting the world and several characters from something that is pre-existing. So.... bear with me here, this is a new attempt for me and I plan to do the very best that I can. Also - this IS brain-storming, so there's been very little - if any - editing done to this yet, I'm just trying to get the ideas out as quickly and thoroughly as possible. More will be fleshed out, re-worked, and addressed later.
Most names and titles are taken directly from the Latin, though there are a few other language references I will work in here, probably Greek and Roman.
Note 2: One other thing worth noting. While some of the races, characters, and situations may seem 'juvenile' and geared towards that audience (which there is NOTHING) wrong with, because it is MY brain, there are also going to be some very intense and complicated adult subject matters too that will dominate the main story-line. The 'cute' or 'funny' characters, scenes, and moments are good and I put them in there partly to balance the seriousness of the main subjects and partly just because... well, that's how my mind filters things naturally. So... I do hope to add to and update this on a regular basis. I spent over an hour this morning on the few paragraphs I'm posting now and didn't even TOUCH much of what I've been noodling for the past evening.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Pondering Restoration
It has been some time since I wrote anything resembling 'journaling' here on my Blog, but I find myself in strange spirits tonight. I had intended to do a post earlier in the year as the beginning of the year is always a time of reflection for me - for all of the obvious reasons as well as for more personal ones. But I didn't end up doing it. So maybe this is part of what that would have been.
The end of last year just before Christmas, I began to sense that this next year was going to be the ending of what I felt was a very long transition period and the beginning of a restoration of sorts. So far, my guess has proven true. I began a new career path, which while not going as perfectly as I can imagine, is still moving progressively (and somewhat quickly) in the right direction and promises to change things for us and restore - or perhaps ensure for the first time - financial stability. I soon hope to begin a course of study (or several) that will grow me spiritually and certainly enhance my Bible knowledge (thereby restoring some of the knowledge and passion I once had), my relationship with my mother has been in process of being restored in the past few years, and there's been many other things. During the process, my emotions have been up and down like a roller-coaster and as much as I've been trying not to ask too many questions, some questions still leak through, and sometimes I still complain. Isn't it like us, really, to ask God for things and then complain when He begins to grant them because His version doesn't look quite the same as ours? *face palm*
As I was reflecting this evening on my young life (0-18), I began to realize that of all the things God is either in the process of restoring or has granted me now that I did not have as a child, there is one glaring issue that He doesn't really seem to have touched. And I haven't figured out yet if that is because He's saying it isn't time yet, or if it's because it is something that He doesn't really mean for me to have again.... I look at the person that I was in high school... I was always the loner, the recluse, the observer but not participator in all but one thing. Somehow, despite all the insecurities and personality preferences, there was a young women back there who was still capable of standing up in front of groups on a regular basis and performing. In the small church I grew up in, when it came to finding someone for special music, they came to me. During family get-together's for entertainment, they came to me. (and my brother too to be fair, but by the time I was old enough to perform in that way he was already in college and beyond) When my school looked for someone who might possibly go far in district chorus (a competitive singing competition), they looked at me. When the Christian camp I grew up with needed someone to sing for a banquet or conference, they came to me. Shy - little - me.... It was a conundrum even then, I must say. Someone who usually refused to talk when there were more than a few people around (I am the same now) could still manage to go onstage and sing solo, and often... While it makes no sense to me, when I do find myself taking time for personal reflection and enjoyment to sing, it seems to open up a part of me that I usually keep locked up tight. If writing is cathartic and allows me to unburden myself of emotion, the singing is what fills me back up again with the healthy Spirit that didn't have room before.... and it allows me to see things that I could not otherwise see... So I guess --- where did THAT piece of girl go??
Exactly what all or any of that means, I have not decided yet... I suppose I just figured it might be wise to extricate the thoughts from the miasma of my mind and get them out.
The end of last year just before Christmas, I began to sense that this next year was going to be the ending of what I felt was a very long transition period and the beginning of a restoration of sorts. So far, my guess has proven true. I began a new career path, which while not going as perfectly as I can imagine, is still moving progressively (and somewhat quickly) in the right direction and promises to change things for us and restore - or perhaps ensure for the first time - financial stability. I soon hope to begin a course of study (or several) that will grow me spiritually and certainly enhance my Bible knowledge (thereby restoring some of the knowledge and passion I once had), my relationship with my mother has been in process of being restored in the past few years, and there's been many other things. During the process, my emotions have been up and down like a roller-coaster and as much as I've been trying not to ask too many questions, some questions still leak through, and sometimes I still complain. Isn't it like us, really, to ask God for things and then complain when He begins to grant them because His version doesn't look quite the same as ours? *face palm*
As I was reflecting this evening on my young life (0-18), I began to realize that of all the things God is either in the process of restoring or has granted me now that I did not have as a child, there is one glaring issue that He doesn't really seem to have touched. And I haven't figured out yet if that is because He's saying it isn't time yet, or if it's because it is something that He doesn't really mean for me to have again.... I look at the person that I was in high school... I was always the loner, the recluse, the observer but not participator in all but one thing. Somehow, despite all the insecurities and personality preferences, there was a young women back there who was still capable of standing up in front of groups on a regular basis and performing. In the small church I grew up in, when it came to finding someone for special music, they came to me. During family get-together's for entertainment, they came to me. (and my brother too to be fair, but by the time I was old enough to perform in that way he was already in college and beyond) When my school looked for someone who might possibly go far in district chorus (a competitive singing competition), they looked at me. When the Christian camp I grew up with needed someone to sing for a banquet or conference, they came to me. Shy - little - me.... It was a conundrum even then, I must say. Someone who usually refused to talk when there were more than a few people around (I am the same now) could still manage to go onstage and sing solo, and often... While it makes no sense to me, when I do find myself taking time for personal reflection and enjoyment to sing, it seems to open up a part of me that I usually keep locked up tight. If writing is cathartic and allows me to unburden myself of emotion, the singing is what fills me back up again with the healthy Spirit that didn't have room before.... and it allows me to see things that I could not otherwise see... So I guess --- where did THAT piece of girl go??
Exactly what all or any of that means, I have not decided yet... I suppose I just figured it might be wise to extricate the thoughts from the miasma of my mind and get them out.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
'Watching Over Me' (unfinished)
Author's Note:
For those of you that have sensitive hearts, rest assured that despite the sad way this story begins, there IS a happy ending. :) And for those of you who do not know me and might wander into the blog, despite my writing style, which can sometimes seem harsh and in-your-face, please know that I also am one who has a very sensitive heart. It is just that I do not believe in shying away from reality in terms of its emotions and the truth of how cruel it can sometimes be. I won't allow myself to sugar-coat my sins or the sins of others and hide from the facts. And the fact of the matter is that while this story and the portrayal of the characters are fictitious, the witch trials/persecutions were VERY real and are historically documented. Many times women were arrested, tried and/or killed on far less evidence than this story suggests. I am part of the Christian church, but as such I must admit myself to some of the cruelty and abuse countless others have suffered in the name of Christianity. Whether I myself perpetuated these acts or not is beside the point. There are VALID reasons why people feel as they do about Christianity.
My encouragement therefore, to Christians and non-Christians alike is to focus on the historical Christ - the author and originator of our faith - and not weak, all-too-evil prone humanity and remember His example and His love and decide for yourself which you would rather embrace.
That said - not all Christians exemplify the cruelty the people and clergy of Salem did or the church did during the Inquisition or any of the other examples throughout history you might like to relate. In this story, Reverend John Hale and his wife are the example of the radical, infinitely wise Christ and the contrite, forgiving heart He so portrayed when He walked the earth. They are the ones here who, like Christ, offer redemption to a little girl all too scarred by the realities of the world around her. So if you are distrustful or against the Christian church (and I once counted myself among you), I can promise you from personal experience that there ARE places out there who DO exemplify Christ's true message of love, forgiveness, and acceptance. And hey, if you happen to be in the PA area, I can even direct you to a few them. ;)
As always, this is a rough draft and will be further edited with time.
Reverend Frost's voice rang out over the pond's placid waters with all the gentleness of a rapped gavel. "Lilly Shiva you have been accused by members of this community in good standing of the crime of witchcraft. You have thrice denied these allegations, but evidence found at your residence speaks against you in this matter. Your own explanation of said evidence condemns you further." The wind howled past the grim assembled stirring the flat water into rippling sheets and caused men and women alike to hold tight to hat and bonnet. It was the wind before the storm. The small girl watching in horror from the bulrushes on the opposite shore was nearly blown over, but she set her bare feet bravely heedless of the long wheat-blonde hair that flew around her in ribbons.
The condemned stood across the water bound between two deacons her very lovely face pale and pained but surprisingly unafraid. Her eyes scanned the far bank until she found the silver gleam of sunlight off the girl's dancing tendrils and her expression softened. The only difference between her own face and the little face staring back at her from the reeds was the age and the lighter colored hair. Her own honeyed locks were being pinched where they waved down her back by the rope that bound her hands together behind her back. Her thin wrists were discolored by bracelets of bruising. Her legs also were bound and she barely managed to balance herself in the gusting wind. She tried to smile encouragingly to her daughter and there was an immediate angry murmur from the crowd who, having no knowledge of the little girl across the way, assumed she smiled in some perverse sense of pleasure at the mention of her crimes. What else could there possibly be to smile about on such a black occasion?
"Therefore," The reverend continued in a voice of such authority that it instantly silenced the crowd. "As you are unwilling to admit your own guilt in parlaying with Satan or reveal the whereabouts of your child's father so he could give good testimony, you are now bound hand and foot and to be thrown into this the pond on your own land so that we may see for ourselves the truth of your crimes against God as the waters reject your body." He fell silent for a good long moment as though expecting Lilly to protest and plea for her life. She did not. Unwilling to draw more attention to the girl across the water or cause her more fear, she simply lowered her eyes to a blooming lily-flower near her bank. The lovely bloom had been the inspiration for her name. Reverend Frost's deeply lined face sank and his frown deepened. "Have you no sense of shame?" He asked, but his derisive tone made the question pointless. "Have you anything to say before this trial begins?"
Lilly's eyes lifted slowly to the sky where a break in the cloud cover sent down a wide beam of sunlight that fanned like a gold pleated gown from heaven to the earth below. In a sweet, almost melodic voice she said, "God knows my sins and my failures. Ever has He been faithful to love me despite them. But He also sees the purity of my heart to these accusations." Her voice suddenly hardened and she leveled her gaze directly at Reverend Frost. "He sees also the gravity of the church's guilt in these matters condemning innocents to -- " The rest of her words were completely drowned out by the uproar from the crowd. After a moment, she stopped trying to speak at all and cooly watched the deacons fighting to restore order.
When at last order was restored, the people's face etched with self-righteous fury, Reverend Frost spoke again his tone heavy and cold as stone. "We have been merciful already to stay your execution and indeed to grant this trial at all, and yet you mock. Know you Lilly Shiva that the Lord's church has been blessed and appointed as the highest authority in this land and that no evil may govern His ordained leaders or covenanted members either."
"Your leaders were appointed by man, not by God. And lest you forget Reverend Frost, I am covenanted as well." There was a collective gasp. The crowd was clearly stunned by her boldness in the face of death. But it was not her boldness alone, it was the authority and reason with which she spoke. Lilly Shiva was a simple country girl who'd lived alone with her young daughter the father long since having abandoned them. She did not even know her letters. Her words enraged, but it also sent fear into their hearts for reasons they did not understand. "All men may be tainted by their own desires, even those named to rule over the people."
Mingled rage and an odd hint of sadness warred in his eyes, but the anger was greater. Reverend Frost spoke again. "Once your own family was counted among the righteous." The fleeting sense of sadness disappeared entirely now. "Now you yourself have chosen to forsake the conscionable path of your forebears and our good church to be counted among the damned. Even now as you stand before the water of death you hold to the black allegiance which now gives you this deceptive forked tongue."
He was silent then for so long staring into her calm blue eyes that the people began to grow nervous. A deacon leaned over and whispered anxiously, "Reverand Frost, shall we proceed?" Frost opened his mouth once to speak as though something about the calm, unwavering stare of her eyes conflicted him. Then he hardened again and gestured to put her in.
As the two deacons lifted her, Lilly saw a flicker of compassion in Silas, the man at her feet. She looked at him and his eyes skirted away. "I'm sorry Lilly Shiva." He whispered barely audibly. "If ye just wouldn't have talked this way to Frost, then maybe ye'd have a chance. Now what of your child?"
"God will send His angels to Elsbeth to guard her in all her ways." Lilly told him softly. They were the last words he heard her speak. The men swung, once, twice, thrice for the number of baptism, then released. She entered the water with barely a splash. Lilly was a slight, willowy women and there was little on her form to cause her to rise. She sank quickly. The child across the water began to cry as silence closed over the grounds. There was no cheering. There had been something pure and unsettling about Lilly's last words and the way in which she had not pled for mercy that was affecting the people badly. To add to their feelings, Reverend Frost did not even bother to tell the men to pull her out for far more minutes that it took her to drown....
She and her mother had found a young robin in the back garden one day and had hand-fed it until it reached adulthood. Elsbeth had named it Ruby. The day the men had come, she had found ruby dead on the windowsill where she'd visited. Lilly had gathered lavender flowers for her distraught daughter to place with the bird in a tiny wicker basket. They had intended to bury Ruby in the garden. But before they had a chance to do so, men from the town had come upon the tiny homestead and found them. As Elsbeth clung to her mother's side, Reverend Frost's unforgiving eyes had searched their little home looking for they did not know what. His gaze had found Ruby laying in her little bed of lavender on the windowsill. Pointing this out to his companions, he had proclaimed that the dead bird and herbs presented irrefutable proof that Lilly was guilty to witch and they had seized her at that very moment. At her mother's desperate urging, she had run away from the men and hid where they could not find her. Things happened very quickly after that. Reverend Frost had delayed only long enough to send a messenger into town to report that a witch trial would be taking place on the Shiva homestead. Within hours, the crowd had congregated to watch.
In this remote countryside, little or no proof was enough to arrest and condemn the accused to a witch test. Apart from a cursory trial performed by Reverand Frost and two deacons, there had been so logical reason given for the arrest. Lilly had told them truthfully the reason the bird had been lying there in the lavender but far from justifying her, Frost had insisted that the behavior was part of a known ritual of witchery, that she had killed the creature in order to inhabit its body and send out her own spirit as a spy. Ridiculous, yes. And there had certainly been some other accusation that had prompted them to enter the home to begin with, but Elsbeth and Lilly never heard them. Elsbeth had sensed resignation in her mother's demeanor, as though somehow she had been expecting this for some time. After her mother's drowning, no one from the village had bothered to return to collect the little girl, though part of Elsbeth wished that they would. She'd rather have been in heaven with ma than left here alone.
As Elsbeth went about her daily chores, the one consolation she had indulged was to bring TipTip the baby goat into the farmhouse with her. Her mother would never have allowed it, but Elsbeth loved TipTip and he trotted after her when she moved about and laid contentedly in her arms at dusk. She put him out with his mother to eat and sleep the night. And he was a comfort to her.
For those of you that have sensitive hearts, rest assured that despite the sad way this story begins, there IS a happy ending. :) And for those of you who do not know me and might wander into the blog, despite my writing style, which can sometimes seem harsh and in-your-face, please know that I also am one who has a very sensitive heart. It is just that I do not believe in shying away from reality in terms of its emotions and the truth of how cruel it can sometimes be. I won't allow myself to sugar-coat my sins or the sins of others and hide from the facts. And the fact of the matter is that while this story and the portrayal of the characters are fictitious, the witch trials/persecutions were VERY real and are historically documented. Many times women were arrested, tried and/or killed on far less evidence than this story suggests. I am part of the Christian church, but as such I must admit myself to some of the cruelty and abuse countless others have suffered in the name of Christianity. Whether I myself perpetuated these acts or not is beside the point. There are VALID reasons why people feel as they do about Christianity.
My encouragement therefore, to Christians and non-Christians alike is to focus on the historical Christ - the author and originator of our faith - and not weak, all-too-evil prone humanity and remember His example and His love and decide for yourself which you would rather embrace.
That said - not all Christians exemplify the cruelty the people and clergy of Salem did or the church did during the Inquisition or any of the other examples throughout history you might like to relate. In this story, Reverend John Hale and his wife are the example of the radical, infinitely wise Christ and the contrite, forgiving heart He so portrayed when He walked the earth. They are the ones here who, like Christ, offer redemption to a little girl all too scarred by the realities of the world around her. So if you are distrustful or against the Christian church (and I once counted myself among you), I can promise you from personal experience that there ARE places out there who DO exemplify Christ's true message of love, forgiveness, and acceptance. And hey, if you happen to be in the PA area, I can even direct you to a few them. ;)
As always, this is a rough draft and will be further edited with time.
* * *
Reverend Frost's voice rang out over the pond's placid waters with all the gentleness of a rapped gavel. "Lilly Shiva you have been accused by members of this community in good standing of the crime of witchcraft. You have thrice denied these allegations, but evidence found at your residence speaks against you in this matter. Your own explanation of said evidence condemns you further." The wind howled past the grim assembled stirring the flat water into rippling sheets and caused men and women alike to hold tight to hat and bonnet. It was the wind before the storm. The small girl watching in horror from the bulrushes on the opposite shore was nearly blown over, but she set her bare feet bravely heedless of the long wheat-blonde hair that flew around her in ribbons.
The condemned stood across the water bound between two deacons her very lovely face pale and pained but surprisingly unafraid. Her eyes scanned the far bank until she found the silver gleam of sunlight off the girl's dancing tendrils and her expression softened. The only difference between her own face and the little face staring back at her from the reeds was the age and the lighter colored hair. Her own honeyed locks were being pinched where they waved down her back by the rope that bound her hands together behind her back. Her thin wrists were discolored by bracelets of bruising. Her legs also were bound and she barely managed to balance herself in the gusting wind. She tried to smile encouragingly to her daughter and there was an immediate angry murmur from the crowd who, having no knowledge of the little girl across the way, assumed she smiled in some perverse sense of pleasure at the mention of her crimes. What else could there possibly be to smile about on such a black occasion?
"Therefore," The reverend continued in a voice of such authority that it instantly silenced the crowd. "As you are unwilling to admit your own guilt in parlaying with Satan or reveal the whereabouts of your child's father so he could give good testimony, you are now bound hand and foot and to be thrown into this the pond on your own land so that we may see for ourselves the truth of your crimes against God as the waters reject your body." He fell silent for a good long moment as though expecting Lilly to protest and plea for her life. She did not. Unwilling to draw more attention to the girl across the water or cause her more fear, she simply lowered her eyes to a blooming lily-flower near her bank. The lovely bloom had been the inspiration for her name. Reverend Frost's deeply lined face sank and his frown deepened. "Have you no sense of shame?" He asked, but his derisive tone made the question pointless. "Have you anything to say before this trial begins?"
Lilly's eyes lifted slowly to the sky where a break in the cloud cover sent down a wide beam of sunlight that fanned like a gold pleated gown from heaven to the earth below. In a sweet, almost melodic voice she said, "God knows my sins and my failures. Ever has He been faithful to love me despite them. But He also sees the purity of my heart to these accusations." Her voice suddenly hardened and she leveled her gaze directly at Reverend Frost. "He sees also the gravity of the church's guilt in these matters condemning innocents to -- " The rest of her words were completely drowned out by the uproar from the crowd. After a moment, she stopped trying to speak at all and cooly watched the deacons fighting to restore order.
When at last order was restored, the people's face etched with self-righteous fury, Reverend Frost spoke again his tone heavy and cold as stone. "We have been merciful already to stay your execution and indeed to grant this trial at all, and yet you mock. Know you Lilly Shiva that the Lord's church has been blessed and appointed as the highest authority in this land and that no evil may govern His ordained leaders or covenanted members either."
"Your leaders were appointed by man, not by God. And lest you forget Reverend Frost, I am covenanted as well." There was a collective gasp. The crowd was clearly stunned by her boldness in the face of death. But it was not her boldness alone, it was the authority and reason with which she spoke. Lilly Shiva was a simple country girl who'd lived alone with her young daughter the father long since having abandoned them. She did not even know her letters. Her words enraged, but it also sent fear into their hearts for reasons they did not understand. "All men may be tainted by their own desires, even those named to rule over the people."
Mingled rage and an odd hint of sadness warred in his eyes, but the anger was greater. Reverend Frost spoke again. "Once your own family was counted among the righteous." The fleeting sense of sadness disappeared entirely now. "Now you yourself have chosen to forsake the conscionable path of your forebears and our good church to be counted among the damned. Even now as you stand before the water of death you hold to the black allegiance which now gives you this deceptive forked tongue."
He was silent then for so long staring into her calm blue eyes that the people began to grow nervous. A deacon leaned over and whispered anxiously, "Reverand Frost, shall we proceed?" Frost opened his mouth once to speak as though something about the calm, unwavering stare of her eyes conflicted him. Then he hardened again and gestured to put her in.
As the two deacons lifted her, Lilly saw a flicker of compassion in Silas, the man at her feet. She looked at him and his eyes skirted away. "I'm sorry Lilly Shiva." He whispered barely audibly. "If ye just wouldn't have talked this way to Frost, then maybe ye'd have a chance. Now what of your child?"
"God will send His angels to Elsbeth to guard her in all her ways." Lilly told him softly. They were the last words he heard her speak. The men swung, once, twice, thrice for the number of baptism, then released. She entered the water with barely a splash. Lilly was a slight, willowy women and there was little on her form to cause her to rise. She sank quickly. The child across the water began to cry as silence closed over the grounds. There was no cheering. There had been something pure and unsettling about Lilly's last words and the way in which she had not pled for mercy that was affecting the people badly. To add to their feelings, Reverend Frost did not even bother to tell the men to pull her out for far more minutes that it took her to drown....
* * *
Elsbeth was eleven years old when her mother was swum as a witch. Her appearance suggested that she was seven or perhaps eight. Her form was slender and fragile her features still rounded with the softness of toddler-hood. It was her eyes that gave her away. In the days following her mother's execution, she often visited the pond from whence her mother's lifeless body had been dragged and the reflection staring back at her in the water seemed a stranger. The general features had not changed, but the eyes stared at her unfamiliar and dispassionate. There had been a few days where she had laid inconsolable in the fields crying with no thought for food or her own well-being. In colder weather, she would likely have died or grown deathly ill. But summer was blazing and mercilessly sustaining. Then, one misty dawn, she had forced herself to rise and began to function again. She fed the starving animals on their tiny farm, milked the braying goats, collected the eggs, and put bread in to bake just as her mother had shown her. She breathed, and she moved, but it was a hollow existence and not a life for many torturous days. Her mother had been her world and now the one constant she had known was gone from her forever. She left a bitter, hollow tear in Elsbeth's heart that she was certain would never mend. And somehow, as the young so often do, Elsbeth took responsibility for what had happened. She and her mother had found a young robin in the back garden one day and had hand-fed it until it reached adulthood. Elsbeth had named it Ruby. The day the men had come, she had found ruby dead on the windowsill where she'd visited. Lilly had gathered lavender flowers for her distraught daughter to place with the bird in a tiny wicker basket. They had intended to bury Ruby in the garden. But before they had a chance to do so, men from the town had come upon the tiny homestead and found them. As Elsbeth clung to her mother's side, Reverend Frost's unforgiving eyes had searched their little home looking for they did not know what. His gaze had found Ruby laying in her little bed of lavender on the windowsill. Pointing this out to his companions, he had proclaimed that the dead bird and herbs presented irrefutable proof that Lilly was guilty to witch and they had seized her at that very moment. At her mother's desperate urging, she had run away from the men and hid where they could not find her. Things happened very quickly after that. Reverend Frost had delayed only long enough to send a messenger into town to report that a witch trial would be taking place on the Shiva homestead. Within hours, the crowd had congregated to watch.
In this remote countryside, little or no proof was enough to arrest and condemn the accused to a witch test. Apart from a cursory trial performed by Reverand Frost and two deacons, there had been so logical reason given for the arrest. Lilly had told them truthfully the reason the bird had been lying there in the lavender but far from justifying her, Frost had insisted that the behavior was part of a known ritual of witchery, that she had killed the creature in order to inhabit its body and send out her own spirit as a spy. Ridiculous, yes. And there had certainly been some other accusation that had prompted them to enter the home to begin with, but Elsbeth and Lilly never heard them. Elsbeth had sensed resignation in her mother's demeanor, as though somehow she had been expecting this for some time. After her mother's drowning, no one from the village had bothered to return to collect the little girl, though part of Elsbeth wished that they would. She'd rather have been in heaven with ma than left here alone.
As Elsbeth went about her daily chores, the one consolation she had indulged was to bring TipTip the baby goat into the farmhouse with her. Her mother would never have allowed it, but Elsbeth loved TipTip and he trotted after her when she moved about and laid contentedly in her arms at dusk. She put him out with his mother to eat and sleep the night. And he was a comfort to her.
* * *
It was three weeks before anything strange happened on the farm. TipTip and his parents Luke and Maggie had run out of feed. The feed-bags were kept up in the loft above the goat pen as anywhere else they'd tried to keep them had been discovered by the goats and eaten within a day. The latch on the pen door had long since broken and the goats chewed threw any temporary fix they attempted, so most of the time they had the run of the tiny barn. The feed sacks were large and very heavy. Elsbeth could remember helping her mother wrestle the bags down the ladder which, fortunately, was at a good low angle. By herself, Elsbeth could see no way of moving the sacks at all much less lowering them down the ladder without dropping it and having the feed spill all over the ground for the goats to gorge on. As she began to grow more anxious about the problem with TipTip nudging her legs and bleating and Luke bellowing much more loudly, grief began to tug at her guts. Grief was strange like that. Sometimes the pain of it was distant from her mind as she successfully moved from one distraction to another. Other times it rose up in her when it was least expected. Slowly, she sank onto the packed dirt floor and began to cry. Sensing her distress, TipTip climbed into her lap, laid down and began to lick her salty face.
But then a light breeze kicked up and whispered into the barn window sifting the dirt on the floor around her. Luke spooked and lept past her braying like mad and Maggie began kicking at the barn door. Elsbeth looked up and was blinded by a ray of sun streaming in through the window. Shielding her eyes from the brightness, she looked down and saw to her astonishment one of the feed bags sitting next to her on the ground. The ray of sun had vanished. Luke and Maggie had recovered remarkably fast and were now at the feed bag nibbling at the tie. Elsbeth paused for onlhy a moment, then told the goats, "Alright, alright. I'm hurrying." She grabbed the scoop and filled their mangers then turned to tie up the sack and realized that it was no longer there. Brow furrowing, she lifted her gaze slowly to the loft above and there it sat in its place above goat-nibbled tie and all. Rather than alarmed, Elsbeth felt an overwhelming sense of peace and comfort wash over her. To her mind, there was only one source for that deep a sense of calm. "Thank you mama." She said aloud to the loft and lifted TipTip to nuzzle his fur.
At times, Elsbeth felt angry, and because she was unaware this was a natural part of the grieving process, she was further angry with herself for feeling the way that she did. She wasn't angry at her ma for dying, that part had clearly been the fault of the minister. She was angry that her mama had not taken her with her to heaven. In its own innocent, damaged way, this too was normal. But Elsbeth had no one to explain this to her either. At night, she often had difficulty falling asleep despite the hard work she'd done all day trying to maintain the farm alone. She missed the way her mother had hummed and rocked by the fire at night as she had lain in bed. A few nights after the feed bag had transported itself from loft to floor and back again, she was laying still lost in memories when a familiar creak came to her ears. Her eyes traveling to the fireplace, she saw her mama's rocking chair rocking slowly back and forth. She smiled and it was not difficult at all to fall asleep after that.
* * *
About three weeks after her mother's death, Elsbeth was carrying water in from the well when she saw a dust cloud on the long lane that eventually led to town. Curious, she put down her water pail and waited. Before too long, she could see that the carriage approaching held several individuals. A middle-aged man in clergy black and a woman and three children. There was a girl only a few years older than herself and a boy her age. With his legs dangling down from the carriage seat, a toddler was firmly fixed between his parents.
The father's eyes were drawn to the pond as it glimmered in the rising dawn like a copper coin. In his mind, he could hear Reverend Frost's voice and the taunting crowd, feel the splash as the mother must've been dropped into the waters. Disquiet rose in him. So much hatred, so much death from what was meant to bring life. He sighed and turned his eyes back to the road. The farm was near and he could see the girl waiting for them there by the chicken pen. When they approached, he got down from the wagon and his wife did the same. Elbeth eyed the two and immediately recognizing the pastoral raiment of the man she stepped back several paces in fear. The man stopped and looked at his wife. She stepped forward and smiled kindly at the girl. "Hello Elsbeth." She said, and her voice was very quiet, like her mama's had been. "My name is Sara Hale." She gestured to her husband who held back, but looked at the child warmly. "This is my husband, John. Its alright, I promise you you're in no trouble. We did not come here to harm you. Just to see how you are faring."
Elsbeth stared at them for a long minute still eyeing the Reverand nervously. But something seemed to quiet her mind and she said finally, "Alright."
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Garden Prayer
note - would have proper punctuation, but my keyboard is acting stupid and won't let me use 'shift'.
this quiet garden of shadows
untold secrets in the dark
i alone know this cross
i alone can bear its shame
i cry out against the lash
it is the truth i cannot bear
but i will stand in their stead
i will wither beneath their pitiless stare
i know you as they have not known you
through my eyes alone will they see
every stripe i take into me records their name
for strangers held close to your heart
i will bleed
for their hearts are turned away
and the only road back is within me
bought with great price their freedom
while my face of glory is willing
my clothes of flesh are weak
so with tears of blood my fears i lay down
alone i will endure the cross
alone now i feel its impending weight
too much, too much but for grace
grace greater than all their sins
grace lifts up its face
as mercy lays down its price
only holiness could lay down its life
and holiness will take it up again
as i hear the hammer pound
the nails all to hear
so pounds my throbbing heart
as love - your love - will pierce the willing spirit
and shame - their shame - will fade in the light of sacrifice
in return for abuse, i give them love
in return for despair, i give them hope
and forsake all for myself
father forgive their unwilling hearts
as willingly i give them my own
i allow you to forget me for this hour
so that you may always remember them...
this quiet garden of shadows
untold secrets in the dark
i alone know this cross
i alone can bear its shame
i cry out against the lash
it is the truth i cannot bear
but i will stand in their stead
i will wither beneath their pitiless stare
i know you as they have not known you
through my eyes alone will they see
every stripe i take into me records their name
for strangers held close to your heart
i will bleed
for their hearts are turned away
and the only road back is within me
bought with great price their freedom
while my face of glory is willing
my clothes of flesh are weak
so with tears of blood my fears i lay down
alone i will endure the cross
alone now i feel its impending weight
too much, too much but for grace
grace greater than all their sins
grace lifts up its face
as mercy lays down its price
only holiness could lay down its life
and holiness will take it up again
as i hear the hammer pound
the nails all to hear
so pounds my throbbing heart
as love - your love - will pierce the willing spirit
and shame - their shame - will fade in the light of sacrifice
in return for abuse, i give them love
in return for despair, i give them hope
and forsake all for myself
father forgive their unwilling hearts
as willingly i give them my own
i allow you to forget me for this hour
so that you may always remember them...
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Breaker & Healer
Author's note: I don't write songs much and I don't consider myself much of a song-writer - certainly not gifted in it, but when I do I try to break the sentence where there's a pause in the music or a note is held. That's why it may look kind of funny. This one I wrote this morning at church when Psalm 66:3-4 was read, so I guess its loosely based on that passage, though as I look at it there's a number of different Psalms it could pertain to... Anyway, I - hope its at least encouraging. :)
On my knees
I'm bowing down before You
In my need
I lay myself bare
You have known
Every struggled I've faced
And every time I've fallen down
You've been there
Every tear that I've cried You've shared
In this storm
The rain falls down around me
In the sky
The lightning reaches out
And as the thunder rolls in me
I'm here on my knees
Begging for your mercy and peace
CHORUS
You are the God who placed the stars
Whose wise enough to break my heart
And put me back together again
You're strong enough to make the sea
Yet you calm the raging storm in me
Oh God
You're the breaker and healer of me
You perceive
When I sleep and when I rise up
And You know
Exactly what to say to my heart
You can see
Every wicked way in me
And You know
How far I have wandered from You
Lord I give
My soul and self up to You
And though the changing may break me
You'll wholly remake me
And walk me through the journey always
CHORUS
You are the God who placed the stars
Whose wise enough to break my heart
And put me back together again
You're strong enough to make the sea
Yet you calm the raging storm in me
Oh God
You're the breaker and healer of me
BRIDGE
You hold me together
Or I'd fly apart
You let me cry
But hold me until I fall asleep
Repeat CHORUS
You are the God who placed the stars
Whose wise enough to break my heart
And put me back together again
You're strong enough to make the sea
Yet you calm the raging storm in me
Oh God
You're the breaker and healer of me
Thursday, March 5, 2015
God's Words
Author's Note: Not much of one on this. Last night, I was reminded of some things that God was saying to me just last week. Confirmation is sweet. And how very, very precious the words of Christ... Thought it might be encouraging if I posted it.
"I took Moses through the desert. I took Elijah and John the Baptist. Paul went through so many catastrophes he couldn't write them all. I went through the desert myself... I went to be tested, to be refined, to strengthen my resolve, and eventually to be restored. The desert was where I asked my questions of God, where the others did as well. It was also where He answered us. It took away all our earthly distractions, heightened our senses, stripped us bare of all but the essentials of physical life - but of spiritual life as well. It forced us to look hard at ourselves and realize who we truly were; who we were in the world and also who we were in God's eyes. I make pathways in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. I make a way when there is no way. It is with good reason that I gave you those passages in Isaiah for your favorites and presented them to you at a time when nothing was more true for you. There is STILL nothing more true than this. And nothing more true than that I love you, I will never leave you, and and I have an amazing purpose for you so grand your mind can't even imagine it. I will not abandon you until the work I have begun is done. 'He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it in you.' Trust in that. Trust in Me. I have walked down this road before, I would never set your feet to it if I had not seen it before and determined that you were strong enough to come out the other side. And you will come out stronger on that other side, even as you have done before.
Do not measure distance with your eyes. Measure it with your heart and with your memories of my faithfulness. This is just another page, the next phase of the journey. Greatness measured by my standards has nothing to do with what the world's definition of greatness looks like. You must keep your hope in Me, and define 'success' and 'greatness' in Me alone."
Note: Wow. What did I do to deserve to hear these beautiful words from God? Absolutely nothing. 'Generous' isn't nearly a strong enough word for Him.
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