As Free as a Bird

I had this poem in my head now thinking about time and how we're kind of caged by it in these bodies of ours. Imagine what it would be like to not be in time as God is.


Imagine the scene before you:
A world of smiling faces gathered in a room
Music, dancing, tinkling crystal happiness
I'm trapped is the tragedy
And in this room
There is a man who can't be moved
He stands aloof, held between worlds
Between ideas and reality,
Twirling lilacs idly

 I walk outside,
Leaving the room
The night is clothed in black
The moon hovers
Chasing stray wisps of cloud
across an otherwise unmarked sky
I fear I will forget the twinkle of stars

Back to the room I must return
I cannot stay at the boundary forever
I shy away from the night
The cage extends to receive me again
I shall nevermore take flight

And so the orchestra resumes
Pairs of partners flutter and bloom
Twirling betwixt lace patterned boots
Smiles are exchanged
Within the candle shone room

There, standing aloof, held between worlds
You draw me in
Slowly smiling behind glazed eyes

Receding back to my corner
There you have it:
I cannot fly



(Just to clarify, I'm not saying God is 'the man who can't be moved' or anything. It's a poem about being trapped by sin or choosing sin over God even though you know it's not as great or satisfying; even though you know it's bile wrapped up like a sweet.
I was just thinking about being trapped by time and I thought of this.)

Rough draft ;)

Oh me? Lord surely not.
My voice is sure to catch,
The words will not come.
They'll look on me with wrath,
They'll make me feel ashamed.
Send a better rather,
Lord, send Aaron.

"Think you know My ways,
Think you know yourself?
Who are you to say,
I must send someone else
I say you must go,
I say speak my words
But do not be afraid, I send you not alone
Aaron may go with his staff
Aaron may speak my words. But I send you.
I will be there too."

Should it be said one day
I stood before the Lord and prayed
"Lord, take my trails away, grow another.
Lord, send Aaron."
Because I was afraid, because I was ashamed
Jesus prayed too, to have His cup removed
But He despised the shame and looked to the joy.
May it never be said, of Jesus I was ashamed
And Jesus, may it never be, that you're ashamed of me.

One day I'll know it all

Sometimes I'll almost ask Tyrone an accounting question or some kind of monstrous math problem because I'm struggling to understand the rationale behind how they work...like at the moment I'm trying to understand how dividing total fixed costs by the the total contribution and multiplying that by the total sales could possibly equal the amount of units needed to cover the fixed costs.
The problem is Tyrone doesn't know answere to these kinds of questions and I'm left wishing I knew someone I could ask the answers to all these questions and they'd just tell me and explain everything. If you're a curious person like I am, who's always googling the "whys" I'm sure you'd appreciate that too.

Then it hit me, I do know Someone who knows everything, and though He won't just speak to me from heaven and tell me all the answers to all the questions...one day He will. Imagine having access to the Creator of thought! 

I'm a failure...such a failure

Wow, this speaks to me. Lately for a while I've been 'faced with the condition that is actually my existence', the condition of who I really am and to be honest, I was hating myself. Shocked that anger like that could actually come from me, those hurtful words and that tone? Who was I becoming?
It was like thinking I'm quite attractive and then seeing a mirror for the first time ever - who's that ugly face?

I didn't realize I've been hurting myself by not embracing who I am. I'm disgusting and I should be constantly looking at God with amazement...me? me Lord? Surely You wouldn't have chosen me for Your Son's inheritance. To wear His robe over my filthy shoulders.

Instead I hid my sin thinking that if I wasn't perfect, I'd be hurting my testimony. What testimony? I don't even evangelize.

"the Lord will be a light to me"

Lumineers give the feels

                                          
While I should be studying hard, I'm listening to these songs and feeling feels emerge from the deep parts of those internal wells we all have. Where we keep those emotionally charged memories and some regrets that we don't dredge up in everyday life because they're reserved for poetry and songs and deep words. Man, I love words. 

Better a Dead Dog

I've tried my inexperienced hand at writing many a time, coming out of the attempts a little bruised and scratched after fighting off the badly worded beasts and friends of my imaginings and out of breath from re-reading my many long sentences with minimal punctuation because I must stay true to my writing style.

Just last night I realized the past maybe 10 -- okay that's a bit generous -- 7 years I've been trying to write about people when I have only just begun to comprehend something of the human nature.
What does a young 15 year old know of people? What does she know of herself?

I found it very boring trying to draw up a character because he needs substance to fill his form and substance is the deep things in all of us that, to be honest, are not very exciting to think about, never mind imagine for my imaginary, very exciting protagonist.
But an imaginary story needs a real hero. What makes us 'real' is our baggage that we carry around each day like Christian in Pilgrim's Progress carried his burden of sin. Even those of us who are saved pick up our worries like a globe on our backs, in true Atlas-style.

And the everyday conflict in out hearts and heads is quite boring (mundane) and all anyone wants to do is share our little mundan-ities, connecting with everyone else (who's also mundane by the way). We're all just ordinary. Now I'm not being pessimistic here. We're all the same, with the same needs but just different enough to make life interesting. No one is special because everyone is special and that's alright because life isn't even about us and about being great. It's not that great being great really. Do you think Alexander the Great was better than you?

My point before my fingers started typing was that I've grown a little in understanding and I might try my hand, again, at imagining some characters, stirring them together with a few cups of calamity and baking at 180 degrees. We might just have a delicious book on our hands.