The Trees and I.

This time of year, the trees seem to lose.

They become completely vulnerable to the elements.

Their covering falls, and they are laid bare.

Completely naked to the judging winds that blow its fragile frame violently.

Why would anyone choose this state?

I am often jealous of the trees.

We were jealous of the trees in the beginning

For when we felt shame,

we went to the leaves.

I become jealous of their lack.

Jealous of their bareness.

Jealous of their simple frame.

For I know my own.

And at least in their lack, they are truly seen.

I wonder what that would be like.

To be bare. 

To forgo the shield of green covering.

For there is something majestic about the stark.

Something admirable.

Something captivating.

Perhaps I find comfort in the trees.

I am relieved to know that even in the loss

In the losing

In the lost…… There is hope.

That though the leaves fall and the winter comes, there will once again be growth.

And maybe the Beauty isn’t in the spring itself.

But in the resurrection process that we all witnessed through the Fall.

In the losing it all to gain it all.

For the spring wouldn’t be as beautiful if we did not know from which it came.

And maybe our beauty isn’t in the outcome.

Maybe it is the process of renewing the stark

Renewing the dark.

Because taking nothing, and making it beautiful is a miracle. 

And beauty is found in miracles.

In the miraculous.

And whenever I choose to be a tree with no covering

I am an awaiting miracle.

Fall brings me so much hope.

For I know I will rise again.

Vulnerability

We all so desperately want to be known.

I think it’s apart of being human.

We feel our souls hidden behind our skin

And we ache for someone to notice.

It’s the most frightening experience - letting someone see beyond the skin.

For our skin is our protection.

And beyond it, we are laid bare.

Vulnerable.

Vulnerability is our greatest Enemy.

And yet, simultaneously, the only means to our Freedom.

It’s the laying down of our arms - embracing both tragedy and miracle.

However, the alternative to vulnerability is ourselves - being left inside ourselves, to ourselves.

The alternative to living a life of vulnerability, is a life of imprisonment.

And weren’t we meant to live free?

Isn’t that what we were created for?

Freedom?

We all have our prisons.

The secrets that haunt.

The fears that consume.

The shame that kills slowly.

We are isolated with our secrets.

And that is where the most damage is done.

Because what if the truth about who we really are is not accepted?

What if our hearts break?

It’s a risk.

And we are all worth it.

We live in a world that shoves us into hiding.

“Fitting in” is the motto.

And we are told that if we don’t abide, we don’t belong.

But I’m tired.

I’m tired of living fearful.

I’m tired of striving for a “someone else” that I will never attain.

I’m tired of my lungs caving, and my heart with it.

Because no one can fight alone.

But we admire those that do.

We admire those that “don’t struggle”.

Because they must have reached this communion with God and are beyond the fight.

And we are defeated.

Because we know our own fight.

And we want to belong with those that seemingly don’t have to.

We desperately want communion with God.

But feel incapable.

Which leaves us with a question….

What’s wrong with me?

We begin distancing ourselves from God

because we don’t feel as though we can belong to Him.

We begin viewing our fighting as weakness.

But what good is a faith that has nothing to fight for.

And it’s only when we meet the eyes of another that are asking the same question, that we feel Home.

And Home is a place of belonging.

And isn’t life a constant going Home with glimmers on this side.

And I have only found those glimmers in my most vulnerable states.

Vulnerability is the most feared and yet the most sacred state.

For it’s only in this state that we are able to see the faces of God.

And head Home.

And how I have longed for Home

The truth is: I fight.

I fight lying voices telling me who I am and who I should and shouldn’t be.

I fight tendencies.

I fight fears that I am not enough, or too much.

I fight chasing after cheapened faces of intimacy.

I fight myself on grace, whether I’m worthy of receiving it.

I fight Him on justice, and whether it’s really fair to exist in such a fight-ridden world.

Call me Jacob because I am in a constant wrestling with God.

I may lose it all.

My heart may break, and will be wrung.

But I would rather my heart be breakable, than unbreakable.

I would rather be known, than “perfect".

And I would rather live authentically than enable the lie that we have all been fed.

And if I go down with my voiced failures and inadequacies, I want it to be for something greater than myself.

For Someone greater than myself.

And perhaps it really is true…..

That His love is made perfect in our weakness.

In our vulnerabilities.

Blessings to a Beloved Aunt

Your body begs for your surrender
Our prayers change from life to death
Death and life interlaces with out fingers
Never knowing that death could bless

Pulling you close to my chest
In order for our hearts to match pace
Our eyes meet and I kiss your head
Never knew such beauty in one place

You've fought your enter life to live
Only to be taken by a final bruise
My entire heart I choose to give
For I know that love will not lose

May angels take your hands and guide you home
Your symbol of hope taking their shape
Always loved and never alone
As you finally fly, losing all weight.

Beauty Found

Loneliness.

The worst of experiences, but a universal one.

It’s an aching need.

And no one likes need. 

Because needs place an obligation on provision.

And no one wants to be an obligation.

Everyone just wants to be known.

It’s deceiving, for one would think that others would be the answer.

But not always.

For in a crowd of a thousand, one can experience the deepest bouts.

Outside, the noise is deafening.

Inside, it’s the silence that deafens. 

Fear lingers as the bouts deepen.

For the greater the loneliness, the greater the risk.

It’s vulnerability at its prime

And the stakes are high.

Requests are made with quivering lips.

Needs are held with trembling hands.

What happens if I am not known?

What happens if I do not contain Beauty?

When the cost outweighs the risk, isolation shows its face.

And it’s the only face to be seen.

It’s amazing how many prayers are released in these states.

How often my eyes are fixed upward…asking… pleading.

Doubts begins to creep, and I question.

I pray harder, pace quicker, stare longer.

Silence.

Maybe if I do, then I can be.

Maybe if I’m you, then I can’t be me.

And what if I can’t be me…..

There is hope in being truly seen.

There is hope in vulnerability.

There is hope when two come together for the sole purpose of knowing the other - choosing to see the other.

And a part of seeing is perceiving.

And perception involves interpretation.

And isn’t Beauty found in the eyes of the Beholder.

And how I long to behold Beauty.

For isn’t that what we were created for.

To behold and be beheld.

To see and be seen.

Those that choose to see beauty, are the ones that truly see.

And it’s in those moments when I am found.

Found by Him.

Found through the eyes that are willing to see.

Found as I truly see.

Ugliness is Beauty starved.

And loneliness cannot exist when Beauty is fed.

Choose to see.

Life is a Heading Home

I have been making myself well acquainted with the ground.

It seems a safe investment, for there is no farther to fall.

And I am so tired of falling.

The worst part about falling is the anticipation of where you will land.

The fear is debilitating, risky, damaging, life threatening.

But I feel a certain level of contentment when I have embraced gravity and joined with the Earth.

For there is no risk. 

I feel safe with the Earth.

For I realized that if one does not rise, one will not fall.

A bargain has been made.

A due has been paid.

A settlement with the Earth at the cost of our souls.

For I feel safe with the Earth, but was made for the Heavens.

There is something in me that pleads with Him to raise this lifeless body.

For I know that apathy will reign if gravity wins.

And I know the cost. 

I know the loss.

I know what it has taken to bring bodies down low. 

And for hearts to sink lower.

I know what it means to lose.

And what it means to be lost.

And I know that if I choose to stand, I will eventually make myself one with the dirt again.

And again…

And again…

And again…

I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling light.

It was beautiful, inviting, warm.

With gravity at my back, I was drawn by a different force.

And something moved in my heart.

A compelling desire to be with.

To belong.

To be home.

Gravity is unavoidable.

But homecoming is inevitable.

And though gravity is safe, Home is Divine.

And though gravity “wins”, Home has already won.

Because Home has always been mine.

So I stand.

Being raised by Another.

Taking the risk.

Homeward bound.

For life is all a heading Home.

Between Us

I entered her room and watched her lungs give and take. 

She was sleeping. And hopefully dreaming. She has so much to hope for in her dreams.

My aunt is 47. She has had multiple strokes, and is unable to move the right side of her body. Cancer is swallowing her slowly. 

Too slowly.

And we are all just waiting for her body to forfeit.

We have been waiting for 11 months.

In this waiting period, there are moments of hope and utter despair. 

We go back and forth between desiring her with us, and desiring for her to have real Life on the other side of eternity.

I walked into her room alone.

I felt alone.

I wonder if this is how she feels.

I sit down in a chair next to her bed and dream with her. 

I watch her chest move up and down, and begin to dread the day that it won’t. 

I pay close attention to every detail, seeking to absorb her into my being. 

Seeking to implant her into my memory so that when I close my eyes, she will always be with me.

I see her face cringe in pain.

The pain even intrudes her dreams.

I feel my jaw lock as I fight back tears.

And I become angry.

Angry at the injustice. Angry at the lack of peace. Angry that I am helpless.

She awakens and focuses her eyes on me. 

My heart begins to race for I am also dreading the moment when she may not recognize me anymore.

Her face changes as her eyes focus.

Her expression speaks what she cannot.

She knew me.

She reached her functioning hand towards mine and grabbed it tightly as she looked into my eyes. 

I don’t speak. 

For that doesn’t seem fair.

I saw her reach for the tumor that is escaping her body on her right side.

She winces.

I wince.

Hers from the pain in her body.

Mine from the pain in my heart.

 

Our fingers are interlaced, but were restless. 

Both were searching. 

One for relief.

The other for answers.

I began to scratch her arm slowly.

My mother always did that for me when I wasn’t feeling good.

Her eyes became heavy.

She fought to stay awake for me.

And I was fighting for her dreams.

Gravity won her eyes, but love won her dreams.

I pleaded with God while she slept.

I begged for Him to give her relief. 

I bargained.

I questioned.

What could I say to sway Him?

What could I give to change his mind?

Who did I need to become for Him to hear me?

I met the side of God that day that I most feared: silence.

I couldn’t feel Him.

And I searched desperately.

Ravenously.

And then she awoke.

And I was awakened.

She squeezed my hand and I saw a tear fall from her eyes.

And there He was. 

Between us.

Where we met.

I felt Him between the clasp of our hands. 

I felt Him when our eyes met.

I felt Him as my lips touched her head.

I felt Him somewhere between me and her. 

In a space that only love can inhabit.

And I realized that this space is eternal.

It is Him.

Call me Thomas.

My season started December 25, 2013. 

It was a month earlier than I had imagined it being. 

I remember turning over in bed and feeling the seeds of apathy being planted in my heart. It was my means of protection. 

For if one were indifferent, one could not feel pain. 

But the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference. 

And my indifference created a shell that continued to empty as I gave, but was unwilling to receive. 

Not because it didn’t desire love, but because it no longer found itself worthy of receiving it.

This was my lie. 

And I had plenty of reasons to confirm its accuracy. 

Plenty of reasons to doubt.

The change took place in my heart slowly over time.

Lie after lie crept in and stole my joy, my innocence, my life.

I became emptier and emptier.

I became starving.

And what happens when a starving person steals food to survive?

We all have in some way or another snatched a piece of bread and ravenously devoured it in order to survive.

Then we pray that there is grace for the depravity of our hearts.

That we would be seen for our starvation and not our stealing.

Or perhaps we feel as though stealing was the only way to get back what was stolen from us.

We doubt.

The Light became more and more difficult to see.

Uncertainty crept in.

Lies reformed my Image.

And oh, how I believed them.

The Lies had a way of shaping me.

They had a way of owning me.

Of telling me who I was, and whose I wasn’t.

I doubted. 

When faced with undeniably painful circumstances, we have two options.

And both are equally logical in nature.

We can believe God is good, or we can doubt the goodness of His nature.

I doubted. 

But I don’t think He blamed me for my doubts. 

Because given the evidence, both are equally rational conclusions. 

And to doubt Him also meant that I had at one time placed a trust in Him that was broken. 

Doubt confirms trust. 

Job doubted the goodness of God’s nature given his injustice, and the Lord stated that he had "spoken of him what is right”. 

Job was honest. 

And perhaps doubt digs deeper caverns into our souls where seeds can be planted. 

It’s a means of emptying to fill - doubting to trust.

One cannot fully trust without a sense of doubt.

What would the risk be if there were no uncertainty?

To avoid doubt would only be a form of blindness.

There are always reasons to doubt God’s goodness.

And there are always reasons to trust that He is good.

And both are True.

Because in both of those circumstances, He is God and we are Dust.

I felt Him reaching for me yesterday. 

I felt Him reaching in the playful laughter of a baby girl.

I felt Him reaching in the kind eyes of a friend.

And I felt Him reaching in a sweet tone of voice that was only meant for me.

And though it doesn’t undo all of the Lies that have deformed me, it planted a different seed.

It planted the opposite of what had been growing the past 8 months. 

Hope. 

And I now trust more deeply that this seed will grow.

Moments

The entirety of my life exists solely in moments.
Joy-filled moments.
Pain-ridden moments.
Moments of debilitating fear and grief.
And moments of overwhelming, Divinely-inspired peace.
Moments are a stilling of time.
And they give hope to a promise.
A promise of Him.
A promise of Heaven coming to Earth.
A promise of forever.
Moments are a Divine Awakening.
As though they exist only for us.
As though we were Created solely for them.
As though the Creator of the cosmos maneuvered all things to give humanity a glimpse of something beyond themselves… Him….in a moment.

I have spent much of my life living with moments, but never in them.
I searched for Him in them relentlessly, trying to make sense of His seeming absence.
But how can one search for something already present?
Or…. "Where can one go from His presence?"
There needs to be a surrender.
A surrender of the dividing walls: Secular versus Sacred.
For I had traded in the Divine for Commonplace.
As though each moment was less than Eternal.
But moments are a kissing of Heaven and Earth.
And in that union, I am found - Divinely placed, and eternally loved.
And nothing can separate me from those Divine moments.
For each moment is Divine.
And The Divine cannot be contained.

For I am always standing on Holy Ground.