Mama

Oh, Mama;
I wonder, sometimes,
Do you love me?
I know you do,
But still my heart questions.
When I came out,
All red and wet with life,
Did you see my hands and feel grace,
Or were they a trap,
Yet another force to grasp hold of Your freedom
And never let go?
Did you hold me,
Sweetly,
Tenderly,
And pray I would become a woman desperately in love with Him,
Or did you close your eyes
And wish to be far, far away
From the diapers and the dishes,
The brutal cries in the night
For food,
For an embrace,
For love?
Surely this was not the life you
Carefully,
Dreamily
Planned for yourself
In the days of film cameras and Janis Ian and the Cold War.
You wanted fame,
To be a star,
To be free and wealthy,
Adored,
But not by children.
Yet we invaded,
Toys in hand,
Pacifiers in mouth,
Burdens in tote;
We camped out on your dreams,
Ran them off
With screaming voices and plastic swords.

How could you have known?
You didn't.
This life you never signed up for,
Is it good?
Have you loved?
Or have we drained you dry,
Like thirsty pups suckling on a weary mother?

I look into your eyes,
Try to read the pages;
In your hands,
Try to feel the Braille
And decipher
Who you are,
What you feel and think.

When I speak,
Do you hear me,
Or are my words drowning in a sea of distractions,
Of iPhones and pianos and Facebook and busy?
Am I your daughter,
Your Janae,
Evidence that "Yahweh is gracious"?
Or am I a burden,
An obligation,
A duty?

You pray with me,
For me,
And I can feel your heart beating in sync with His and with mine,
And I know you love,
Deeply and truly.
But sometimes I forget and you forget, and everyone forgets
Except the only Faithful One,
Who binds us together in our forgetfulness
With scarlet cords of love and hope,
Hope that rises from the grave
And does not die with my falling spirits.
You love and I love,
Like mother and daughter,
But more often like sisters,
Because you have always called Him our Father.

Xie Xiaoyuan

Her voice came to me,
Through noisy static waves,
Across a medium of selfishness,
Pride,
Forgetfulness,
And straight into the receptors
Of this radio heart.

Down dark, mountain passages
Cold in the morning,
Xie treads the path to school,
Longing for education,
An escape,
From life without breakfasts,
Life of a fifteen cent lunch:
Two measly slices of bread and a drink
Intended to satisfy her body until dinner.
This malnutrition,
These physical needs mercilessly control her.

Five in the morning,
Frostbitten ears,
A ten mile bus ride
Through mountainous country,
Home again to $120 a month.

She is not alone;
Millions of children suffer,
Hungry,
Hopeless,
Everyday in China.
Studies say they are shorter,
Two to six inches,
Than the city kids,
With their fancy foods
And digital lives.

Who am I
To complain,
To cry out,
To feel slighted,
Underprivileged
With warm cheeks and Wal-Mart?
I have everything,
EVERYTHING
I could ever need.
Never have I wondered,
Cold hands,
Growling stomach,
Where food would come from.
My only concern,
Belly full and prideful,
"Will I eat too much?"

Thankfulness,
This eucharisteo,
Is given wings
When I see my life
Through the lens of little Chinese girls.
Blessed beyond expression,
I am sickened:
This way I have robbed Him
Of thanks all these years,
Believing my life,
With my Saturn and iPod,
To be difficult.
How foolish I am!

It seems unfair,
Unjust,
But I rest assured
Knowing His ways are far better
Than Janae's ways.
His Gospel
Boldly tells me that even without
All these fleeting physical things,
He is more than enough.
I want to pray for Xie,
For the millions of children
In China and across the world,
Who live in destitution,
Physical and spiritual, 
Who desperately need manna,
Christ's broken body and blood out poured,
And bread for weak bodies,
The same way I do.

His grace is sufficient.

Known and Loved

I feel sick,
Plagued
By this desire of desires
Flooding my being;
Its waves,
Crashing into my face,
Tear into my dreams
And wake me from restless sleep.

To be known
And to be loved.

I remember hearing it voiced for the first time,
In the days
Before self-awareness had crept in;
Before the make-up and the straighteners
And the weight-loss plans;
Before these feelings of inadequacy
And self-loathing
And "If I could just be...more."
Before I was taken captive by these ideas,
Crafted in the mind of the Enemy,
Of what beauty and womanhood mean.
In a simpler time,
When I knew what it was to be Janae
Because I could be
Without shame,
I heard it
And knew,
That it was the thing my heart beat for,
Longed for,
Prayed for.
To be known
And to be loved.

Unlike now,
I knew,
With a head of free blonde hair
And a mind of endless wonder,
That I was known:
Perfectly,
Intimately
Known,
And yet,
Somehow,
Perfectly,
Intimately
Loved.
This truth,
I clung to
With every fiber of my being.
My heart was satisfied;
My desires fulfilled.

But Tragedy struck
And Self-Awareness arrived,
Like a bitter enemy,
Seeking revenge against
All joy and contentment.
I became
All questions
And doubts.
"I am not
That Magazine-Pretty.
Will I ever find love?
Will I ever be cherished?
Who could possibly know me
And love me,
Truly,
Deeply
For all I am?"

I gave up,
Surrendered my longings for love,
Feeling certain
It could never be found
For a girl
With a face so scarred,
Hair so coarse,
And a heart so broken.

Yet,
Deep within me
Still rages that ocean of desire,
Interrupting my careful suppressions
And awakening in me
This need for knowledge and for love.
I long
To be thought of as lovely;
To be sought after.

I am reminded of her,
A Janae untainted by "maturity" and "experience",
Who held on with heart rendered
And fists unclenched
To the Lover of her soul
And the Husband of her heart.

I long
To live with such freedom again,
Knowing,
But not caring,
That I will never be beautiful enough
Or intelligent enough
Or thin enough
Or socially adept enough
To satisfy the expectations
That weigh so heavily upon me;
To live joyously surrendered
To my Glorious Lover,
Father,
Friend,
Savior
Who knows me,
Perfectly,
Intimately,
And loves me,
Perfectly,
Intimately.


Here my hope lies,
Rests,
Is made complete:
Though I may never know what it is
To be known
And to be loved
By a man on Earth,
The God who became man,
Who created all that is,
Even this torn apart heart,
Shall satisfy my soul
And this ocean of desires
For now and forever.

On Love

I wonder,

Were we crazy fools to embark upon this 

Broken, narrow road?

Two different people;

Two different souls and minds.

Thousands of thoughts,

Feelings,

Hurts,

Wants,

Needs,

Seem to wage a war

So violent,

So deadly,

That hope is scarcely heard.

How could this be?

How could this ever work?

This exchange of brokenness

For brokenness.

Hoping,

Praying,

That beauty and good might someday come.

So much we carry,

So much we could never know or see.

These hearts,

Foolish and vulnerable, of fleshy stone;

Like blocks of ice-

Cold, hard, and fragile,

So slowly melted,

Yet so quickly frozen hard.

Ignorant,

I thought we could walk this road in peace,

That you were the one,

And the journey would be joyous,

Practically carefree.

Though joy is evident,

Trial and conflict so swiftly enter,

Seeking to steal the hope

And the light from our eyes.

Hurt after hurt,

Regret and shame

Seem to dominate this heart.

We come close,

Break further to the core

Of the ice which traps our hearts,

Only to be viciously torn apart

By distance,

By sin,

By a past we can't control.

Surrender,

Defeat,

Those crafty deceivers,

Frequent the corridors of my mind,

Whisper of how simple it would be

To forsake,

To forget

All we have done and all we have been.

Discouraged,

I hang my head in despair,

For love,
Peace, 
Seem all but lost;

How could good rise from the ice of our souls

And bring a new song to our hearts?

Yet hope breaks through,

And sings a tune,
A higher, sweeter note.

God is good

And works for our good,

That His glory might be known
Throughout the world,
And in our feeble, 
Icy hearts.

Though "us" may not be 

What the Lord has 
Wonderfully,
Perfectly
Willed,
We can rest in the peace,
In the hope of His sovereign plan,
His perfect love, 
His boundless grace.

Take my hand,
This busted heart,
And run wildly

To grace and joy 
That never end,
Trusting, 
Holding dearly to
His plan, not ours,
His timing, not mine,
And His love, unfailing.