Saturday, April 30, 2011

"Maybe you would have been something I'd be good at; maybe I would have been something you'd be good at."
-Tegan and Sarah

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Just when you think
things have hit rock bottom,
the ground drops out
from beneath your unsteady
feet, and you fall
still further, plummeting
to a bottom you didn't
believe existed, leaving
you with the haunting
unbearable question:

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

I miss you.
All those lost souls,
Fallen down those dirty rabbit holes,
Endless tangled tunnels of lost
loves, long-predicted failures.
Don't say I didn't try
to warn you with my cries.
You called them crocodile tears.
And now my tears have their revenge,
as they slowly fill the rabbit holes
and drown the lost souls
of all the things I loved and lost.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
I saw the signs, perceived the
patterns: when I was broken
by everyone I tried to love.
Love broke me and left me
waiting for a sign. But the only
signs I see are the signs
that you're leaving me.
Did I say I miss you?
Would you even hear me
if I did?
Now I'm drowning, voice
silenced in my own endless tunnel.
Miles of chains and delicate lace
Tie my heart in knots
and my hands behind my back.
I want to save you
from the burdens
you try to bear, chains you try
to wear, but my own heart
is too heavy with regret
to hold your hand tonight.
'If only's drop in my
mind like rather large
rocks in a flimsy cloth
bag, that never should have carried
stones. Broken bones cannot
stand on their own. But
I cannot save you this time.
Once I loved, and love conquers all.
Tonight there are only shadows,
whispers and shadows. Pain,
familiar friend, points to love
lost; I paid the cost,
a price too high to think
of love again. Pain,
that too familiar friend,
let's pretend we aren't
living in the shadows of what might
have been.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Friday, April 22, 2011

Never again
can I doubt His love for me,
can I see the cross without
fear and trembling and joy.
Never again
can I think of my own
suffering as worth anything
when compared to His
incomparable pain.
Never again
can I fail to understand
the solemn gravity
of my sin that nailed Him there.
Never again
can I praise the cross
and not mean it,
claim His blood as my ransom
and not believe it
can I live under condemnation.
For He has paid it all.
All to Him I owe.
Sin had left a crimson stain
He washed it white as snow.

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

a bride

Curling my hair in an empty house

The cream-and-lace dress hangs

over a chair, waiting to be worn,

a little bit torn but still beautiful,

a little bit broken but still loveable.

Softly the violins sing, a serenade

or a lament? Walking down the aisle,

walking to new life as a bride,

or the bride of Christ. Is this new life

or a death? I don't know which

I'm pretending to be. Alone I pretend

to be a bride, but whose? Why

would they leave the bride alone

to curl her own hair, sob in that chair

where the wedding-death dress hangs?

The virgin bride prepares to lie

in her coffin, a slow walk down the aisle,

her last walk from the earth to her grave

in a worn-out wedding dress.

Keep on.
Don't lose heart.
Be confident of this: He who began a good work in you
will carry it on to completion.
Strive. Go forth.
Sanctified through fire
Satisfied desires.
I am worth more than I ever
dared dream.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

"A white blank page, and a swelling rage. You did not think, when you sent me to the brink. You desired my attention, but denied my affection. So tell me now, where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?"
-Mumford and Sons, White Blank Page

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

That isn't right. Something isn't right here
Halt the world, stop the session.
Something's not right.
The slow-sliding struggle becomes a fight
A wall, a wail, and we all fall down in the night.

That isn't right. The bass shouldn't sound
that low, resound in the deep,
the dark shouldn't creep in so close.
Too low, too loud, such a fearful
sound that is more feeling than sound.

That isn't right. We shouldn't fight
to hold up our own banners, bear
our own burdens, look on these faces
and solitary places without love
that longs to fill the shattered spaces.

That isn't right. This day shouldn't pass
without something to redeem
those seven year's labor. All the loss,
the painful cost, the price she paid
to bring us home again. Why won't we
remember? Rise up, o bones, redeem
the wrong and set things right.
Death, defy the dying dream
Bones, become again a living being.
The art of losing isn't hard to master
Each time I love, I find I've lost
the moment after.
Loss of self, creating a new image
every day. You do it too. Rearranging
hair and eyes and clothes
to fit the people we pretend
to be. A different person every day.
Once we pretended to love.
But the art of losing's not too hard to master.
We created different selves, now make
a beautiful disaster.

Loss leaves vacant spaces,
places needing to be remade
where empty holes are not.
These things cannot be.
How can a thing that once was
simply cease to be? A black hole
absorbs all the existent things
into itself. The art of losing
isn't hard to master. Practice
falling harder, falling faster.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Lipstick-stained coffee cup.
the fake blood left behind after
false kisses, the Judas kiss, pretender's
affectionate embraces. Lips that once
kissed form prayers to broken
stone, broken bones. But His bones
were not broken.
The whole man stands on unscarred legs,
Cannot understand the shame
of broken bones and bloody kisses.
Bleeding lips and burning ships
and bridges cut off all escape.
Stagnant, stationary, stuck,
waiting to wash away walls
with waves of patient love,
why won't you let me in?
Lips of a saint send
holy kisses up to heaven.
Lips of a martyr
consecrate the sacrifice in blood.
Lips covered in blood, kisses
that kill and bring new life.
A bloody napkin, a broken stone,
and all the failures of a worn-out heart.

This is my prayer in the desert, when all that is in me feels dry

And though my heart is torn, I'll praise You in this storm.

You make beautiful things, You make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things, You make beautiful things out of us.

When Satan tempts me to despair or tells me of the guilt within, upwards I look and see Him there who made an end to all my sin.

When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll: whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.

I believe I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord, be strong and take heart, and wait for the Lord.

Though sorrow may last for a night, joy comes in the morning.

The man Jesus Christ laid death in his grave!!!

being confident of this, that He who began a good work in [me] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling.

I surrender all, I surrender all. All to Thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Recent obsessions

Cheerios. Honey nut. with milk. makes me feel like a little kid again.

dramatic musicals. Moulin Rouge, Les Miserables, Wicked. love the music. so much.

Jelly Bellies. Pomegranate, raspberry, juicy pear, orange sherbet.

Paradox. Myself. I am such a contradiction in terms sometimes. The Incarnation. Love.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

I don't want to be Anna. A lot of people do, apparently. But I've been there and I know it's hell. Greatness is worth nothing without love. Life is worth nothing without love.

What can save Anna? See people as beautiful. Love them. But what if you don't feel loved in return? Keep loving anyways? What if you only feel loved in ways that people can't love you? Change your desires? How? How do you educate your emotions?

Just love people and love God. Maybe I'll never really be happy. But if I love, it'll be worth it...right? Love is always worth it.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

i love Robynne Peterson so much.

that was cause Robynne told me to and i wasn't sure what else to say.

i'm not quite used to not knowing what to say. ive been told so many different things lately. about myself, about my problems, about how i should handle them. and i just don't have any answers anymore.

maybe that's a good place to be. if i can stop trying to answer my questions and let God answer them for me, that'd be best, i think. if i can stop asking other people my questions and rest in the answers God has already given me, that'd be good too.

i need to learn that i'm not being punished and i'm not going to be rewarded. it's life, not a game. and God works all things together for good, but not always for my good. or at least not for my immediate good.

depression sucks. but i can beat this. losing people was my worst fear, and it's coming true. but i can overcome my fears, because perfect love casts out fear. to hold a thing loosely...its hard but good.

im tired. normally when i'm tired, i guiltily take short breaks while thinking of all i should be doing, i harass myself into powering through anyways, and mentally flagellate myself for getting tired in the first place. today, i rested. some, anyways. i didn't do anything productive until 11. i read Ecclesiastes and played some worship songs on my piano. i listened to Rachmaninoff's All-Night Vigil and watched Moulin Rouge with Robynne. when i'm tired, i'm going to sleep. when i'm emotionally spent, i'm going to journal. cause i need to learn to take care of myself, cause no one else can do that for me. i need to learn to get myself better, cause no one can make me do it. rest, space, healing.

i don't really like where i've been at these past few months, and i don't know if i can say it's a good place to be, but it's a real place. and its where i am. and it's nice to have people who can acknowledge that and then treat me like a person and not just a problem to be dealt with. some people forget i'm still a person too. some people try and pretend i don't have any problems that they're aware of. i like honesty, but i also like respect. acknowledge that i'm struggling, but that's not all of me. my problems aren't the only part of me you've ever known. but they're a real part of me. so love all of me, and i'll try to do the same. i'll do the same regardless, but still, love me in my sin, don't see me as only my sin.

and through it all, God is God and all shall be well.