affirmation…but I ain’t no saint.

So often I underestimate the power of a kind word. Today I want to share with you the tiny miracles I’ve experienced in the past few days. Words and actions that most (including myself at times) would overlook in all hopelessness and despair.

“I can’t wait for you to move here! And we start a band! Love you!”

“I just wanted to write you this letter to tell you that I love you. When I look at you, I see the love of God, loving the people around me- and myself. There is a sincerity about you that is so sweet. I don’t expect you to e-mail me back; please listen to me though. You are rare. You are beautifully made. Every bit of you is perfect in the eyes of the One who has loved you more extravagantly than anyone ever has, or ever will. I believe in you. YOU KNOW you have the strength, through Jesus, to overcome anything! Today is a new day, and it is a miracle that you are in it. Joyfully love God today- we’re never going to get it back.”

These blessings instill hope. They remind me how to breathe. They remind me of who has control … in all of this.

—
I’ve made a new friend who has a real gift of counsel. In such a short period of time he has become a brother to me. He constantly affirms me, reminding me of what G-d sees. It’s been a continuously losing battle on my end, but these kind words have helped me to gain ground, as well as a fresh perspective. So quickly I had forgotten the words Donald Miller wrote in Blue Like Jazz that helped shape me and understand more deeply what love is. Loving your neighbor as yourself requires loving ones self first. Loving myself is something I still wrestle with. But I must do so to love others. I want to love others. All others. Everywhere. All of the time.

—

These words…they give me peace. I feel as if my Creator speaks through others to tell me how wildly in love with me He is. My friend thanked me today, and I did not know why. If anything, I am indebted to him. He has blessed me with food and transportation when I could not afford such. And for him to thank me…I was confused. So I asked why he was thanking me … and the response ensues:

“In my eyes you embody one who has endured much and you’re still … standing and giving all of yourself. You seem weary but you give despite the pain and heartache. Through all of the hell and let downs, you’re still this saint. So what have you done? You’ve helped restore my belief and hope in people. That there’s still some good ones out there. And to restore someone’s faith in humanity … that’s beautiful. And you’ve been able to do that without even trying to show me that. It’s you and your character so full of grace and light. That’s why you’ll always be a saint in my book and I’ve got your back. So if these simple meager words can make your day a little better, then you can bet … I’m going to pour it out.”

—

I think he gives too much credit, but… he says he sees G-d through me. I rejoice in that! I take heart in that! Oh the hope in that! How beautiful is the One who shines through me!

—

I am nothing without my Father. He enables that light and that grace my friend spoke of – it loves and it lives in each and every one of us. May that light and grace be shown to all, through all.

seasons

I can only speculate that transplants are a bit … uncomfortable. I would even be so bold as to say they flat out hurt. So it’s no surprise to me that I’m experiencing some discomfort at this time.

This is going to be fragmented, so I’ll apologize ahead of time.

I’ll skip forward to the predominant thought on my mind at this time … I feel like an old soul. I say that with the upmost honesty, risking embarrassment and ridicule. I’ll say it again: I feel like an old soul. Anyone who knows me (and I mean really knows me) is aware of the circumstances surrounding my life. For any newcomers to my life, I’ve walked a long road paved with the best intentions and the worst of outcomes.

We’re talking failure.

We’re talking gut-wrenching sorrow.

We’re talking complete desperation.

We’re talking wits end and rock bottom.

That’s the abridged version — in a very, very, very small nutshell.

And it seems this road only continues, taking turns for the better and turns for (again and again) the worst. I am well seasoned in pain, and well versed in the language of coping. However (which is simply an eloquent “but”, which we all knew was coming) the road continuing does not soothe pain. Never once has it led me to ignorance, which translates to bliss (or so I’ve heard).

Call this a gestational period of sorts. Call this a transplant if you like. Whatever you call it, I am well acquainted with it. I call it a season:

Winter.

—————————————

My spring will come. I may dwell in the dead of winter for the rest of my life. I may continue this road I’ve walked for 22 years. But spring will come … as will healing. I’m sure, and I’m sure that I’m sure. Sometimes all it takes is a tiny patch of proverbial sunshine (like visiting my family in Charlotte) to remind me of the season to come. It may not even come in this life, but I can rest assured that it will come. And so, in the dead of winter, and the silence of snow, I can rest assured that G-d will speak when I am ready to listen … everything in perfect time.

I know it’s all worth the wait … worth the weight.

In stitches

It seems I’ve come undone

ripped open at the seams…

But I know that I know

I know each tattered edge will be repaired again.

I know that I know

I know that healing comes from within

. . . . .

Oh, how you love the tattered frame

even as the seams break

You hold your needle with steady hand

and seek out every tear:

. . . . .

I am in repair. I am in repair.

. . . . .

Still, the stitches come undone

time and time and

time again.

Edges split and spread and multiply,

so soon I’m spilling everything

so soon I’m holding nothing.

and the color slowly fades,

the edges slowly fray,

and like all things

(with time)

fabric, too decays.
. . . . .

Oh, how you’ll love this tattered frame

even as fabric withers away

You’ll gently drop the needle when

tears are no more to seek:

. . . . .

I am made anew. I am made anew.

What is blood?

Dealing with anything familial absolutely breaks me. Can I be that open? May I be that honest?

It…

…breaks…

me.

I’ve been known to sleepwalk

And I, much like you,
Have been caught dreaming too-
Living half-heartedly
Through a glass, darkly.

Yet the whole is not–
It’s not the sum of it’s parts.
Thank G-d for that!
He knows I’ve got so many.
Yes, you and I—
We are so much more than the
Empty visions that swallow our minds.

This may have been,
Could be, no, is

…home.

So wake up, oh sleeper,
Wake up!
The dream is around you
Ushered in by the hearts of man
In all his calamity, and
A hunger for something more.

lament (no more, sweet child)

Though my groans are many and my heart is faint,

I can see it on the horizon -

a beacon of light amidst rushing waters and darkness.

It is there my compass leads me -

home.

__________________________________________

My life is entering a new season unknown to me – one that I cannot navigate through on my own. There is so much beauty in that. I NEED my creator. Change is on the horizon … I can see it. I can feel it in my heart, down to the very depths of my soul. I yearn for it. I know G-d is moving. He is always shaping me….

The winds of change do not always greet us like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. Sometimes the winds of change are violent, bringing torrents of rain and blistering cold. They whip your hair across your face and leave no stone unturned. Sometimes these winds reshape the world around you in the blink of an eye …no trace of what once was.

However the winds come, I will welcome them. When the cold stings my face, I will wrap myself inside His arms for warmth. He will be my refuge in the downpour. He is my shelter. He is my solace. He is my strength. I will remember who brings about change, and the promises He has made to refine me and love me. I will hold fast to hope, and remember how He loves me.

… and oh, how I love Him.

we are powerful despite our injuries

I pray these words come across as honestly and earnestly as I mean them to…

I am not who I have been…Ecclesiastes 2 sums it up pretty well. Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I have a bit of a checkered past. The pain reaches much deeper than regret alone… for I have known much pain in my 22 years of life. There are days that I look back on my past with my head hung low, shaking shamefully. There are days my failure and pain follows me like a storm cloud, and to my misfortune I’ve left my umbrella on the other side of the world. There are days that I look back at the damage I’ve done, and I can’t even find it in me to start sweeping away the debris, let alone rebuild…

These days I must constantly remind myself of the beauty of pain, and the uncompromised power of G-d’s grace.

In this, I have hope. I have hope because Jesus wept. I have hope because my Father has suffered my pains tenfold – therefore I am not alone. I have hope because life continues, with or without me. I have hope because my Father not only disassociates me with the messes I’ve made, but also cleans them up (a concept I will never be able to reconcile or understand…only accept). I have hope because this life, my life, is but the blink of an eye compared to those before me and eternity to come (I will expound on this much later…Ecclesiastes 3:9-11). I have hope because I know the famed words of Kahlil Gibran ring true:

“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding…Much of your pain is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.”

The depth of my joy is carved out by my sorrow. Because I’ve known much pain, my joy will be richer. Above all else, everything has been done can be used for good…and it starts with the choice to keep your eyes fixed on greater things, despite the storm.

I fix my eyes on the life and teachings of Jesus Christ. G-d is love … love conquers all.