And I Doubt What So Many Cling To...

Plans, all ripped to shreds and senselessly strewn across this half of a heart, bitterly remind me of the What-Could-Have-Beens and What-Would-Have-Beens that I built with hands bloody and bruised.
To what end have I imagined, entertained, pursued these illusions of hope, vain promises of a future in which I might
Prosper?
And I wonder why I ever thought You were on my side, because now all seems certain that you certainly are
Not, for if You were, if you truly worked
To bring about good, then why are we all suffering, struggling, sinning, striving, sighing about the way You simply bring
Harm, simply taunt and torture and tear apart?
Plans for college, plans for Idaho and beauty and knowledge and a future, plans
To do great things and meet great people and escape from the past, plans to
Give myself over to the idea that education makes me worth something, that education brings
Hope…but that is not what you have for me, is it? So I am to trust and rest
And believe that somehow, after 3,000 miles and 10,000 tears, screams of why and how and when and where-do-I-go-from-here, you have a plan:
A perfect, wonderful, difficult plan, to grant greater hope, greater peace, greater holiness, greater love, greater grace, and a greater
Future.

August 9, 2012

This Healing Heart

I am the Queen of Artful Ambiguity,
of Vain Vagueness,
of “Oh! I’m fine! How are you?”,
of saying only enough to “speak truth”,
but never quite enough to do justice to the crazed chaos that consumes the confines of my corrupted and comfortless soul.
Because if you knew my heart, really rubbed your scabby elbows with mine, there would be only one thought in your mind,
and please hear me when I say that jumpsuits and white fluorescent light are not flattering for my pasty fair complexion.
But the more I keep this senselessness all safely stored inside, the more I carefully contain,
the more Satan has to misuse and abuse and lead me subtly away from the Savior,
the One thing that makes any sense in this stupidly secular world.
So here is my heavy and hurting heart, all bloody and red and raw, and I pray that somehow you might find true and tangible encouragement from the torment therein.
That boy brutally broke my heart, and though somedays I feel like I am finally fine and finished,
most days I pathetically and wearily weep, seeing cruel and crippling reminders of him strewn across this desolate land and in my broken life,
and these wounds still bleed profusely and unabashedly and I long to leave.
I desperately and literally tried to run today, to escape this ever-present death that looms over me, but I only got one bumbling block before I realized that I am obviously out of shape
and that the very thing I am running from is me,
and I could never run far enough or fast enough to rid myself of me.
It’s like You’ve been dangling that proverbial carrot of “stability” right in front of me,
and each time I feel it within my groping grasp, something horrible happens, something to tortuously tear me away from you and the life of faith and freedom that I know is found in You.
And I am so tired of fighting this battle,
of being belligerently beaten by billions of bullets,
and I wonder if it is worth it.
But then I remember that if this is isn’t worth it, nothing is.
And I think maybe this is how David felt when he called his tears his food and doubtfully questioned Your faithfulness.
So I will try to love You and be loved by You,
even though it hurts and I am hurt and it seems like he was my only connection to You, and when he left, You did too.
But I know you are here, even though I cannot feel You or see You,
and even though it feels like You are uncaringly sitting up in Your golden throne laughing insensitively at me and carelessly throwing trials at me that I have no hope of overcoming.
But then maybe that is the beauty of this, that in suffering, I am learning that I am nothing, that without You, I have no hope, no purpose, no thing to cling to in this coldly cruel world.
Your love is real and irrational and powerful and it is all I need.
Remind me of your grace everyday, in glorious lightning storms, annoyingly crazy moths, and babies with gurgling drool.
Sweet Savior, my Healer and Husband,
Captivate me, capture me, and consume me.

May 2012

On Suffering and Song

Such a puzzling paradox,
this year that began with endings,
with lasts and never-agains.
Like a woman swollen with child,
these nine months have been pregnant with passion and pain, with grace and grief,
all leading up to this confusing birth of inevitable endings and brilliant beginnings.
Such a bittersweet blend of inexpressible joy and unspeakable heartache.
Extraordinary experiences and awesome opportunities,
Like skipping down the Yellow Brick Road and waltzing along the Riverwalk, staring in awe at the Lady of Liberty and joyously singing for the last time on that familiar stage.
These things have taken hold of my heart and impressed themselves on my mind.
Almost simultaneously, though,
Hurt so big and so real has raged,
Burning belligerently with a far-away father, a hurting mother, a broken heart and shattered dreams, struggles against self and sorrow, and a quest to understand that ever-elusive word “leave”,
As if I could simply unearth myself from the people and the places that have planted me, and watered me, and loved me.
And I sometimes wish only to surrender,
to hopelessly and helplessly resign to that whispering lie that this pain will always be.
Yet, words of old ring fresh and true in these wilting, dying ears:
“Through all the tumult and the strife, I hear its music ringing.  It sounds an echo in my soul.  How can I keep from singing?”
I feel the truth of this, my heart pulsing in inaudible rhythm with the hearts and mouths of those who artfully penned those words so long ago.
How,
how could I ever keep from singing,
how could I stop the music that flows in these veins,
the music that pounds wondrous chords in my ears and in my heart?
Though my song may at times be chaotically colored by notes of hurt, or anger, or bitterness, or despondence, I could never cease singing, for it is part of me,
Or, rather, I am part of it.
Though at times,
it seems I may explode or wilt or perish from the seemingly endless battle inside and out,
my ever faithful companion
through the fickle seasons of this sinner’s soul,
is music.
Even when I doubt His grace,
when like Saul I am overtaken by spirits of evil and rage,
even when a God who lives and loves seems more distant and unforgiving than a past I cannot change,
When nearly nothing else can quiet the tumultuous seas within,
music covers, comforts, captivates, and changes me.
My dear friends,
In the midst of these finales,
find the melodies, the notes singing sorrow and hope;
for you, I, WE have been given songs to sing,
songs to feel and paint and write and dance and live.
When nothing else makes sense,
The Great Composer of Life uses music to speak truth and life in notes too divine and glorious to comprehend.
We must never stop the music, lest we disregard and disconnect ourselves from the symphony He is conducting.

In this moment, let us speak thankfulness, for we have been graciously fostered and cared for by men and women of talent and passion, who allow their songs to be boldly heard and wonderfully enjoyed.  To them we owe thanks, our most passionate, ardent love and gratefulness, for they have given to us precious pieces of their lives and have taught us not only to sing the songs on dead pieces of tree,
but to sing in every word and every action.
In words, I could never thank you enough.
Yet,
I pray that as I go forth from this program and this town, the song of my life would reflect the beauty and passion that you have poured into me.
May we honor and remember the ones who have shaped us, but, most magnificently and importantly, may we remember the One who authored all life and all song.

May we never keep from singing.


~written for the 2012 Canyon High School Choir Banquet~