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.

Footprints in the Snow

Months, it seems,
Have I spent in fighting.
Up and down and back and forth,
Back and forth and up and down,
As though I were taking a ride
On a roller coaster of terror.

The man at the front,
Mockingly dressed in garments of a happy bright,
Deceitfully seats me,
Straps me in tight.
His voice mercilessly rings out:

"Next stop, Depression!
Next stop, Despair!
Next stop, Despondence!"

"Please..."
Comes my weary cry,
"Let me off!"

Why do I submit to this cycle of destruction?
Why can I not find joy?
Why do I,
Over and over,
Spend weeks in the grind,
Only to be harshly awakened by
The reality that my soul is
Tired.
Weak.
Helpless.

The coaster stops for a moment,
Long enough for me to see,
To embrace and to enjoy,
Something beyond myself.

Footprints in the snow,
Captured on film.
Who knew looking through that small lens
Could bring about such great change
In this broken-down heart?
A moment of grace,
An evidence of charis.
There on the ground,
Where ten thousand frozen droplets of water,
Each intricately, uniquely woven,
Were met by the feet of a human.

All at once,
It seems,
I can see again.

A tree, strong and majestic;
A fire of warmth and power;
The colors of a setting sun,
Of pink and orange and beauty.
All these moments of grace;
How had I been missing them?
My roller coaster of terror
Had whispered sweet deception to me,
"Your life is useless;
The world is hopeless;
Surrender to the inevitable
Despair."

Yet,
On that day in the snow,
Where winter and wonder collided,
A far greater,
Far truer Voice
Penetrated my darkness,
"God is not dead,
Nor doth He sleep.*
Awake, Oh soul!
Awake, and sing!
Sing to the Lord,
His love pours out.
Look to Him
And find the grace
Of every moment,
Richly given."

Thus,
Though life may seem bleak
And times dark and desperate,
We do not live as those without hope.
Grace is here,
And love is here,
For He came down
To bring Shalom.


*From "Christmas Bells" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Alone

Alone.















A lonely fish in some impersonal bowl,
Swimming fiercely, furiously,
Fins dancing in a frenzy.
Searching.
Crying out.
Pounding its head against the walls which so easily contain him,
Wondering,
Hoping,
Praying.
Feebly,
His voice quakes,
"Is anyone there?"

Sad, slow, and singular,
Sits Horton the Elephant.
No other of his kind,
Nowhere to be found.
He searches
For someone,
Anyone,
To hear his cries,
To listen to his thoughts,
But most of all,
To understand.
A speck of dust is found,
Where life and friends abound.
No one here believes him;
He hangs his head;
Defeated.

The Creature, the Monster,
The One without a name.
Created in madness,
Left alone
In a state of detestable existence.
This Modern Prometheus,
Longing to be known,
To be loved,
Learns, the worst way there is,
That no human being could ever love
A creature as hideous as he.
Forsaken and forlorn.
Broken.
Bitter.

Stories to which my heart clings,
Cries.
How,
In this world of instant gratification,
Of high-speed pace,
Where Beijing meets L.A.
In two seconds flat,
Could one feel so distant,
So detached,
So....
Alone?
I too, search,
Seemingly in vain,
For someone,
Anyone,
To understand this heart,
This collision of flesh and soul.
I long,
Yet fear,
For if you really knew what happens here,
In my corruption,
In the depths of my person,
Could you understand?
Could you love?

From others, I have heard the same.
Even in the closest of human relations,
An overwhelming beauty,
Covenant before God and man,
A longing endures,
A certain insatiable hunger
For something deeper.

I know You must have felt it too,
This emptiness,
This separation.
You, who dwelt among men,
Yet were holy, set apart.
You,
Who were surrounded by many,
But rejected by most.
Surely You,
Who bore all our pain and suffering,
All our sin,
Know what it is to feel alone.
Naked,
Hanging in shame,
Bleeding,
Dying,
Alone.

Yet you did not lose heart;
A greater hope,
A more perfect love,
Comforted Your soul.
I see,
From Your holy, perfect life,
The only remedy
For this illness of the mind
Is communion with The Great Healer;
The only fix
For this endlessly dark hole
Is light from The Infinite One.
No human relationship,
No matter how special,
Could ever satisfy this longing.
Only You.

Come into our hearts;
Fill this emptiness we feel!
May these desires,
To be known and to be loved,
Be satisfied in You.
May we never be brought to despair,
But instead hasten us to Your side,
Where innocent blood flowed
That made a way for us to be
Ultimately known,
Yet perfectly loved.

Things Forgotten

This room is familiar:
These walls, this floor, the air.
I strive to recollect,
All the times I have listened, learned, cried in here.
The Great Teacher smiles upon me;
He, whose knowledge exceeds all,
Who knows me better than even I.
"What shall I learn today?"
I eagerly question,
In hopes of something scholarly,
Something advanced,
Something I could deem worthy.

He lovingly speaks,

"Trust."

Enraged, I cry out
With bitterness,
"Teacher, have I not already learned this?
I know I have!
I remember!
When brother moved away,
When You led me to camp,
When You drew me back to this town,
When he left me for months,
When Dad was gone...
I sat in this very room,
Learned this very lesson.
I know trust."

He looks at me, into me, through me.
Patiently, knowingly, perfectly.
He needn't say anything,
For He speaks to my soul;
Without comprehensible syllables,
He communicates,
Beautifully, articulately.
I know He is right;
He is always right.

I have forgotten.

O'er and o'er
Has He proven His faithfulness
To this faithless creature.
O'er and o'er
Have I turned away;
Forgotten;
Forsaken;
Lessons so flawlessly taught,
Yet so foolishly abandoned.

I fall down.
Ashamed.
Despondent.
"Forgive me,
Oh Great Teacher!
For against You,
You only,
Do I sin.
Not life,
But death is all I deserve.
Were justice to be done,
This shallow breathing would cease,
And the beating of this weak and weary heart
Would drum no more."

I look up;
Grace overwhelms me;
Peace,
Love,
And mercy abounding.

He calls to me.
"Cease striving,
And know
I AM."


Lessons taught,
Lessons learned,
Flood my mind,
Like the tears upon my face.
Accepted,
Saved,
Redeemed,
Sanctified,
Loved,
Justified,
Conquerer...
Because of Christ alone,
For Christ alone,
By His blood alone.

These sweet truths
I pray not so easily to forget.
Even if I do,
Prone to wander as I am,
There is hope.
The Great Teacher is not yet finished;
More,
An unspeakable glory,
A perfect Shalom,
Is yet to come!

Let it come!