Steady as the Seasons (Turning Over New Leaves)

The winds are changing--

A bitter wind blowing in and

Rearranging everything certain.

And with this descent of

Another Autumn

A million leaves have scattered

To mask the familiar.

But in time the winds will be changing--

A fresh wind bringing new

Life to the uncertain.

And with the rise of

A novel Spring

A million leaves will flourish

To paint the unfamiliar.

His.

I find that God often uses normal, everyday things to teach me or remind me of things about Himself or who I am in Christ. Those moments have come after cleaning a kitchen, only to have it immediately dirtied again. They have come watching Kirby learn new things. That reminder may come in the form of a beautiful flower that I feel God sent just to cheer me. Recently, a reminder of who I am because of who God is came at 28,000 feet above the ground.

A few weeks ago I flew down to the panhandle of Florida to visit family. I had the window seat and watched as we began going down the runway, as the airplane lifted, and as we began soaring above the clouds.

Flight amazes me. I know that there is a complicated scientific and mathematical explanation that utilizes the laws of physics that somehow eliminates the mystery of flight, but to me whatever it is that allows a 35,000 lb hunk of people-filled metal to cruise through the air at about 500 mph is a complete mystery.

As I sat in my seat gazing out the small window of the plane, I thought of another mystery that amazes me even more.

I love to sit and watch as the buildings and cars and people become smaller and smaller. I thought about how in this vast universe, I am only a miniscule part. It was a humbling thought. When I am on the ground, I only see a small part of what is going on because I can only see what is immediately around me, but when I am thousands of feet above the ground, I am humbled to know that I am just a small part.

Any self-importance I may have felt vanished as I realized how insignificant I am in this great big universe. On the heels of that thought followed another: God sees the big picture and I am only a small part of His creation. Compared to the Creator of all that I see below and all that I can not see, I am even smaller, less important.

James 4:10 says, "Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up." It is only when we realize how un-important we are and how unworthy we are, that we can recognize how big God is and in doing so appreciate more fully the grace that He has so abundantly poured out.

I sat there for a couple of minutes pondering my smallness in relation to God's bigness when the best, most amazing, biggest paradox of all hit me. The question posed in Psalm 8:4 came to mind, "Oh what is man, that you are mindful of him?" I am not just a germ-sized person in an ant-sized car to God. The God of the Universe, the Alpha and Omega, Elohim, Adonai, Everlasting Father, Desired of All Nations, The Great Shepherd, the High Priest, the Holy One of Israel, the I Am... Lord of all Creation, El-Roi "the strong one who sees" SEES ME. He doesn't see just one of many, He sees me. He knit me in my mother's womb (Psalm 139:13), He has a plan for me (Jeremiah 29:11), and He loves me forever (Jeremiah 31:3).

It's not just that He knows me and sees me in all my insignificance, but He calls me His child because I have chosen to call him my God. And since He's the King that makes me a princess. "See how great a love the Father has bestowed on us, that we would be called children of God; and such we are." (1 John  3:1) He has given me a crown of glory and honor and has made me a little lower than the angels. (Psalm 8:4)

There is a song by a Casting Crowns called Who Am I.

It says:

Who am I that the Lord of all the earth
Would care to know my name,
Would care to feel my hurt?

Who am I that the Bright and Morning Star
Would choose to light the way
For my ever-wandering heart?

Not because of who I am,
But because of what You've done.
Not because of what I've done,
But because of who You are...

I am a flower quickly fading,
Here today and gone tomorrow,
A wave tossed in the ocean,
A vapor in the wind,
But you hear me when I'm calling,
Lord, you catch me when I'm falling,
And you've told me who I am...
I am Yours.

I am nothing but His, and because of that, I'm pretty special. You can be too.

Bored (Shadows & Scars: Update 07)

July 27, 2011

10:14 pm

Location: The White House; Cookeville, TN

Listening to: Linkin Park, Meteora // So Long Forgotten, Things We Can See & Things We Cannot

................

[I wrote a blog about how I'm going through a phase of being bored with my own poems, especially the ones dealing with subject material that I'd rather just move past... and by the time I typed up half of it on here I got bored of that, so I got rid of it.

Writing and editing a book like this is strange because it is like spending hours upon hours talking to yourself. It can become tedious and even obnoxious quite quickly.

I spend too much time in my own head.

I'm looking forward to this weekend and the discussions therein.]

An Introduction to the Wanderer (Shadows & Scars: Update 06)

July 22, 2011

4:08 am

Location: Paris SDA Church; Paris, TN

Listening to: Showbread, Anorexia

He wanders because I wander. The Incarnation entered my world and came alongside me in my journey. Sometimes this makes me angry. Sometimes I wish He'd go back up to His throne and pull a few strings - lift this veil, or tighten the noose around my neck. Anything but the endless unknown.

But He doesn't. He just keeps walking next to me. And sometimes that is all I want: to be with Him, to follow Him anywhere, even if we wander forever through endless wastelands.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Best of You (Shadows & Scars: Update 05)

July 13, 2011

9:30 pm

Location: Lucio's house; Martin, TN

Listening to: Foo Fighters, In Your Honor

One of the interesting things about writing poetry is that you can wrestle and wrestle with a piece for months with very little progress, and then suddenly it will all start falling into place. Sometimes I feel like the poetry is writing me, instead of the other way around. Here is an example... I started working on this about three months ago, but it has only come together in the past couple weeks.

Let His Words Drain into the Gutter (Drink Every Drop, But Leave the Cup on the Table)

She stirs her coffee, slowly,
like a metaphor I can’t quite understand,
while I watch the steam rise and fade
in the morning sunlight, disappearing
like last night’s rain.

Tucking her hair behind her ear – even
her clichés are beautiful – she lifts
the cup to her lips, invites the moment in.

Her eyes are soft and brave,
but they are strangers to her smile,
as if she’d cast her pearls
at one too many less-than-great men.

I want to tell her:
Don’t sell yourself short.
You deserve to be happy.
You deserve the best.

And while I am arrogant enough
to think of walking over
and paying the bill, as if
I could cancel all her debts,
(maybe even a few of my own)

I don’t believe
that my words can be offered
from anywhere but this distance –
close enough to convey,
far enough to retain their meaning.

One Last Disguise (Shadows & Scars: Update 04)

July 6, 2011

9:31 pm

Location: Hamburg, PA

Listening to: Project 86, Songs to Burn Your Bridges By

Progress has been slow. The writing process cannot be done entirely in solitude, but sometimes you do need to disconnect from everything and throw yourself completely into the material your working with. I have had some of these moments but I need like a week or a month, lol. Alas.

Here are a few excerpts from the poems I've been working on:

"She stirs her coffee, slowly,

like a metaphor I can’t quite understand,

while I watch the steam rise and fade

in the morning sunlight, like a metaphor

I’m all too familiar with."

"You put this gasoline

in my veins,

then denied me a match.

Still, I burn."

"Ironic, how

you were so afraid

I would leave,

but you are the one

walking away."

"My own personal Nagasaki.

A Hiroshima hit to the center

of my seven-year-old universe.

Instant devastation

as the mushroom cloud rose

like a headstone over our home."

and a "finished" poem, appropriately bridging UC and S&S:

I Feel the Weight of Every Word, Double-Edged

Sometimes confessions

evolve into inquisitions,

but still I hold the mirror –

covering half your face,

reflecting half of mine.

The blade cuts both ways.

Always.

Welcome! (again)

Re-Introducing: the Chrysalis.

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Whether you:

• simply want to share something you've written,
• are looking for feedback,
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