I fear that if I don’t go to bed before midnight, I might become a pumpkin
I worry only about change I cannot change
Anxious for nothing, I ponder the reasons I fall to deep emotion
Balance is sometimes hard to attain
The cliff of same before me, something sacred this way comes
Freedom from the ashes of the past
Beginning again each day the death of me in pursuit of the life I seek to live
Wrap me up sweet comforter; I need your arms tonight.
Brush back the tears I thought had dried
Slowly bound by in between
Is there a riddle to things behind unlocking the scars in me?
Tonight I’m yarn knotted to nonsense, twisted aimlessly behind the noise that screams behind your eyes
A promise I believe will hold me pounding steady rhythms on my aching feet
Foundation to calm the poisons from my past that sneak up to persuade me to believe the lie again
I am the constant variable
You are not dependent on the stagger of my wasted emotion
Then your lips press to close tightly like a vice that seeks to express the air from these, my infant lungs
The hose that feeds me sustenance pinched before you and I’m not sure you even notice
I’ll wake tomorrow and see that it was all a dream
My heart will lift with the sweetness and calm of morning
But tonight, I’ll exchange the tears that attempt to fall for the letters joined in sequence on this page.
Maybe that’s enough…
My husband took me to the golf course with him. It was great! I finally understand why so many people want to play golf. Since I liked tagging along so much he bought me my very own set of golf clubs and now I’m beginning the arduous journey of learning how to use them. Who knew there was so much involved in developing the perfect golf swing?
Here are a few “prettys” I found along the way.
I’m sure sometime soon I’ll find some poetry on the golf course to share with you. Stay tuned…
My son just turned six as you can see by my previous post “Birthday Thoughts from a Mushy Mom”. In typical “mushy mom” fashion, I let him convince me that he NEEDED a piñata to celebrate properly. Even in the store while purchasing said piñata all I could think about was America’s Funniest Home Videos and how it seems nothing good can ever come from such a thing…which led to my thinking about how on earth I could convince my husband to help in this activity as usually it’s the man assisting who ends up getting whacked in conspicuous places.
My husband and stepfather proved to be very wise men. They configured a pulley system of sorts from which to hang the piñata while providing ample distance between them and the onslaught of small people swinging bats. This also provided the perfect opportunity to mess with the youngsters by moving the piñata at random times thus disorienting them. You can watch what happened as my nephew Malachi stepped up to bat in the following video
We spent a lot of time laughing that day and I’ve watched all of the videos I took of all of the kids taking a whack at it, and I’ve laughed some more. Still, the last couple of days it’s gotten me thinking…
I can’t help but think that often I’m just a kid with a bat swinging randomly hoping for contact. God’s watching and probably laughing at me from time to time. Maybe He’s even moving the piñata occasionally to see if I’ll stay centered & listen for the sound as the prize inside swishes around.
We all have blindfolds on. Maybe it’s just the concept that we see through a glass dimly until we see Him face to face. Maybe it’s just that we allow things to get between us and Him and cover our eyes. The biggest tragedy isn’t when we can’t see, it’s when we don’t listen. He that has an ear, let him hear.
The kids eventually succeeded in breaking open the piñata and enjoying its spoils and so will we as long as we patiently endure. “And so, after he had patiently endured, he obtained the promise.” Hebrews 6:15
Lord, help me to keep swinging and listen carefully.
Everyone knows the benefits of exercise. Doctors, health & nutrition experts, personal trainers, magazine articles, advertisers and celebrities have been telling us for years that if we want to be healthy, we have to work it. For me, that fact alone has done very little to persuade me to get up & move, or worse yet…step away from the chocolate. I realize that there are those among you who can honestly say that health is your primary motivator for exercise but when I look around; I can’t help but think that the majority of the folks at the gym are there because they want to look better. I used to be one of them.
I grew up as one of the scrawniest people alive. I was ridiculously skinny as a child & teenager. My first pregnancy, I weighed in at 5 months pregnant a whopping 88 pounds. I’m 5’3″ tall. The only concern I had with weight was that I had not acquired any. At some point, after a few kids and a desk job, I crossed the line into “normal”. All of the sudden, I was just an average, thin person instead of a commercial for starving children. I was in the middle of a disastrous marriage in which every flaw I had was pointed out & magnified. I became terrified that one day I would look in the mirror and it would verify what the voices screaming in my ear everyday were telling me…that I really wasn’t good enough. So I worked out. I became obsessed with every “trouble zone”. I worked out in the morning before starting my day and did crunches & leg work in front of the TV at night. I knew I wasn’t fat, but I wanted to be better, whatever that was.
After my divorce from my first husband, I got worse. I didn’t mean to & I don’t know if I even knew it at the time, but I stopped eating breakfast and lunch. I continued to exercise & added to that the responsibility of walking my ex’s dog, that weighed more than I did, three times a day. I dropped back down to below the 100 pound mark which I’d tried so hard to get up to as a teenager. It was lunacy.
When I started dating my husband, something in me shifted. He spent time at the gym, but his focus was totally different from what mine had ever been. He truly wanted to be healthy & fit for all of the right reasons, while I’d been striving to be good enough. He began to love me to life. I began to realize that I’d been enough all along and that no amount or lack of lunges would change that.
For a time, I stopped exercising altogether. I think I needed that time to come to terms with the fact that my body doesn’t define me. At times it’s been hard. I’ve gained 25 pounds in the last year. I probably needed at least 15 of them. Sure, I got aggravated when my size 0 pants quit fitting. I cried once or twice when I couldn’t fit into anything in my closet. Still, I feel completely satisfied with who I am and that is a victory for me so I refuse to feel defeated by a few extra pounds.
I think sometimes, we need to really grasp a concept before we can move on. I needed those pounds. Now I can work out for the right reasons. I woke up this morning and I didn’t want to crawl out of bed and start working up a sweat but I did it anyway. That for me is the greatest treasure of exercise. It’s in the ability to cause our flesh to submit to what we know it should be doing. Romans 7:14-15 talks about man’s struggle with sin. “14 For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am carnal, sold under sin. 15 For what I am doing, I do not understand. For what I will to do, that I do not practice; but what I hate, that I do.” I think the same concept applies here. We know that in order to be healthy & fit, we need to exercise, yet we don’t want to, so we don’t. For me, when I put my flesh into subjection & let it know that it doesn’t get a vote here, it is so fulfilling. I feel powerful & strong. I also know if I can make my body submit to exercise, I can make it submit to the Lord in other areas as well. I love that!
I work out for me. I work out for my kids, so that I can have the energy and stamina to play with them & do what I need to do to be a great mom. I work out for my husband so that I can be around for a long time and enjoy the wonderful life we have together. I work out for God (yes that sounds strange) but I know that my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit and I need to be a good steward and take care of it. I work out so that I have energy. Sure, I want to look good, I want my husband to have a beautiful wife to come home to. I want to feel good about myself, but I’ve learned that I am beautiful even if I have a little cellulite. I am perfectly designed just the way that I am and finally, I’m okay with that.
I hate that I hate criticism! I’ve always struggled with this. The smallest of critiques can make my brain shake. I know in my heart it’s ridiculous. I know the truth is that, “Whoever loves instruction loves knowledge, but he who hates correction is stupid.” Proverbs 12:1. My head & heart have run laps around this mountain for years, but still I sit here in my office fuming over accusations that are trivial in proper proportion, but just the fact that my proficiency has been questioned makes me crazy. The fact of the matter is that I was not created to be fully proficient at everything anyway. Again, I know that, but this awareness does little to still the maddening quakes of my pride.
I’m not proud of this fact, in fact I’m questioning whether or not I’ll actually allow this post to exit my computer & enter the world of the living. I hate that I am proud. I hate that I have flaws; I want to be perfect after all. The sad truth is that the very desire of my heart to be perfect may be one of the most imperfect things about me. I remember being in the fifth grade & crying myself to sleep every night for two weeks because I got a “B” in Science on my report card. I kept that report card for years. There, lost in the middle of the monument to my “smartness” was a lonely little “B”. I realized a few months ago when I came across it in a drawer that I must be crazy for keeping it for 25 years but more so that I must be crazy that instead of taking pride in the accomplishments evidenced by all of the “A’s” staring back at me, I was ashamed of the lonely “B”. I kept this for all those years as a tribute to my perfectionism. Now I seek to kill my perfectionism & start a new desire for excellence without condemnation. With that, I threw the report card in the garbage can.
Why not start memorializing things that I’m actually proud of? No one really cares about what I got on my 5th grade report card anyway. To be honest, what people think about me doesn’t really matter. Whatever good I do, I should be doing for the Lord and not for men to praise me.
Matthew 6:3 “But when you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 that your charitable deed may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will Himself reward you openly.”
Colossians 3:23 “And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men”
My greatest accomplishments are the simplest of things, the way I serve the Lord and my family as a wife & a mother, the way I abandon myself in worship and the moments spent in prayer that no one sees. The biggest mystery of all is that the best things are always born from the times I allow myself to decrease. Upon the death of my pride & my selfish nature, I can begin to live and accomplish great things. So why do I let myself get caught up in the criticism of others when I really desire to change from who I am and be changed into the likeness of Christ?
I can almost see myself, lying down on the altar ready to present myself as a living sacrifice Romans 12 style, then someone questions my Budget calculations and I start kicking and screaming & hurl myself down from the wood and flames ready to fight and defend my math to prove to everyone that I am capable while God sighs, shakes His head and says “I guess we’ll be revisiting this lesson again”. I’m so glad He’s patient with me. It really is laughable that I waste so much time and energy trying to defend myself, when I have the greatest defender whose only requirement is that I do everything unto Him. He will gladly do the rest.
Lord, help me to acknowledge when my pride is trying to rise up & overthrow the village of my soul. Help me to deal with it quickly and stay right where I’m supposed to be, surrendered on the altar of your grace. There is no better way to live. Let me see that correction makes me better. Let me embrace it with an open heart & a willing Spirit. Help me to discern when it is true & I need to change or when it is silly and I need to ignore it, shake it off and move on. God, let me be so focused on YOU that everything else I do and say will be filtered by Your Spirit, then I won’t blow it.
Today joins with others before it as being a day that leaves an impact. It’s a day exploding with meaning. Today my baby boy turns six years old. Just yesterday he was a little bean in my arms wrapped up cozy and close, nestled in that magic place between collarbone, neck & shoulder. Wasn’t it just yesterday when he was taking his first wobbly steps from me to his sister & back again? Time is a mystery.
He’s always been a little reminder that heaven is near and adventure is born in the very heart of God. He is precious and strong. He is a gift. He’s turning into a big boy before my eyes while I watch and absorb the wonder. He’s a ninja and a jedi. He’s a cuddle bug and a knight. He’s energy embodied with an aire of “awesome” mixed in.
My prayer today is that God would continue to shape him into the man he was designed to become. I pray that my husband and I would be aware of every minute given to us as his parents, that we would never take for granted the enormous blessing we have in him & our other children. I pray that we would choose our words wisely, that we would be encouragers, that we would lead him by example with courage and integrity. I pray we never forget to laugh and play and sing and dance around the house like silly goofballs. I pray we will remember to look at the world through his eyes and take in the magic of it all.
Happy Birthday little man! I love being your mom!
I wonder if there is a haven for lost poems deep in the recesses of time…some magical place of calm & noise all jumbled together to form meaning.
I wonder if there’s a mystery to the soul that will never be solved until we meet our maker and then in His light, all will become clear, like a translucent breath given form and substance beyond its particles.
I wonder if there are places where two & two add up to three. You know…like me & you & we.
I wonder
I wonder at wonderful and it’s subjectivity, how the universals collide with perspective to form the moment when “it is good”
I wonder what happens to our dreams when we wake
I wonder what the substance of a prayer looks like from heaven and if mine have created something of beauty or a blob of selfish ambition. I pray the former. Still I wonder
I wonder about today, if I’ve lived it well or if it’s joined the overflowing tombs of the wasted.
I wonder if God allows “the wasted” to resurface in the mind & heart of those who are quick to hear.
I wonder if I can join that number & revive the moments of truth I’ve squandered.
I wonder if I should stop writing now, if maybe I’m digging too deep and will be found buried tomorrow beneath the pebbles of thought that pile to gravel in my head.
I wonder if this makes sense at all.
Some things I may never know…still I wonder.
Oh beautiful disaster, the life that once was. Stretched before the faceless masses with bloated heart set to bust. Above the cynic’s laughter, beyond the doubter’s tomb, a small voice sings. Growing louder with each resistance. Brought forth from deep within. Singing wonder of the soul. Blood, sweat and tears collide in rhythm at the sound. All the pain once carried, all the songs once sung, all the moments of abandon lead to now. And everything is clear.
I haven’t written much this week, which is unusual for me. I haven’t been able to. It’s not the ideas or inspirations haven’t come. It’s not that the words haven’t rolled through my brain singing “Crazy Train” while plummeting frantically to the caverns of lost thought below. It’s really been a joint effort between life and confusion, each one vying for my time, sucking at my mind with their imbibing tentacles. They long for me. They long to steal away the moments of vision and clarity as they once did. I’m not easily shaken. Not anymore.
This week I’ve realized how truly blessed I’ve become. That seems a strange thought in the midst of the situation that presented itself which I cannot share with you, but trust me, it was a doozy! I realized that I’ve come to a place where problems (real problems) are rare. That is such a miracle since I once lived a life in which problems (real mind blowing, “how much more can I possibly take” problems) were the norm.
Then you sink to uncomfortable numb. Feelings stop so survival can take over. Your heart beats, you breathe but laboriously in an effort to dim the panic. Breathe in, breathe out. Hide the heart another day until maybe it just disappears. Who needs emotion anyway? My place in life is among the zombies, walking dead with no heart (excerpt from poem called Zombie I wrote in 2009)
Now those days have passed and I am alive. No longer the zombie I wrote about in old poems. I am fully awake. I am free.
So this week, though life hit hard, I find myself thankful. I’m not thankful for the circumstances. I’m not thankful for the pain. But I’m thankful that I’ve entered the realm of the living. I’m thankful that I merely have a problem instead of my entire life being fraught with a myriad of problems. I’m thankful that I am confident in the God whose brought me through so much before and will bring my family through this situation with good in store. I’m thankful that no weapon formed against me or my family can ever prosper or succeed. My confidence is in a BIG God.
I’m grateful for the promise of tomorrow, a future and a hope. I’ve always believed and held tightly to that promise. But now, I’m thankful for the promise of TODAY…knowing that God is with me. The creator of the universe holds my hand and loves me deeply, passionately, and furiously. I am overwhelmed by the wonder of it. I am captured by the enormity of its effects. It leaves me breathless.
Today I am fully alive.
INSPIRED BY THE COMFORTER 