they sing over and over,
"Jesus, Jesus, I love You. adore You."
and for You, the Son of man, my heart
BURNS.
for you, the Uncreated Being,
who always Was. forever reaching Outside of Time
He who stretches into and through eternity past.
The Transcendent God, filling the temple
with Your glory..
You
You.
You...
took on flesh, wrapped yourself in
a humble garb,
placing Yourself, He whom not even the HEAVENS
can contain,
into Your containable creation.
The boundless choosing to be bound.
Becoming, in a moment, by the Spirit
fully God.
&
fully man.
The Creator God, humbly stepping into
the vessel of His creation -
the unthinkable,
scandalous event
all for the sake of love.
and You are infinite.
and Incomparable
and altogether lovely.
Glorious. Full of Raging Power.
Limitless in wisdom.
Abounding fully in beauty.
And now You are a man.
Forever a man.
Seated upon the throne as a man.
A high priest. fully aware of my own humanity.
fully acquainted.
You love me, so you became flesh.
You are flesh, so we can become One.
We will be One, so that I can know You.
I will know You, so that my joy will be full.
My joy will be full, so my love will be real.
And I will love, because You first loved me.
This is the mystery of Christ & the church.
You in the Father.
The Father in You.
You in me.
And Us in Him.
Swallowed within the Trinity.
Hallelujah.
Hallelujah for where this thing is going...
for You, the great coheir,
the Son of God, the partner in welcoming home the Father,
for You my heart overflows...
gushes
forth
rivers of adoration.
For God wants a family.
And You want a wife.
and You are coming back to
make this dream within the heart of the Father
a reality.
you are Holy.
Friday, January 22, 2010
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
sitting here.
and my headphones scream,
"come be the fire inside of me, until You and I are one."
and to my right is my little journal
with scribblings of such longing
asking Him to show me Himself.
as a Lamb
as a Lion
as a King
as a Judge
i know Him so little.
i know HIM so little.
FOR HE IS THE BOUNDLESS OCEAN,
and i have only just stepped off the shore...
and
then
to my left - my little orange bible is open
with the book of revelation
staring at me
beginning with the words,
"The revelation of JESUS CHRIST..."
and i am just weeping
weeping
uncontrollably
pounding my little fists upon this dining room table.
because I just want to know Him.
I WANT TO KNOW HIM.
and if I could, I would rip out
chunks of this Bible and literally eat it
if it meant
His Word would consume me
and I would be able to commune
deeper
with this HOLY ONE OF ISRAEL
SON OF DAVID
GLORY OF GOD
that dwells within my carcasssss....
which fascinates and leaves me
wounded with longing
to PARTAKE of the mysteries of
THIS MAN.
and I would never sleep another moment
if my waiting would
result in His face shining upon my heart.
REALLY.
i am NOT KIDDING.
i am on a pursuit - and THERE IS ONLY ONE GOAL.
and if i had to scream until my voice was forever gone -
if
if that meant He would walk into this room
RIGHT NOW
and SPEAK WITH ME what is ON His heart
if it were true...
i would.
I WOULD.
because
this is the ONLY reason I am alive.
it is why i awake in the morning.
I AM CONSUMED.
CONSUMED.
OVERTAKEN.
INSANE.
CONSUMED with THIS TRANSCENDENT ONE.
because once you have truly tasted.
once you have TRULY seeeeeeeen - even a glimpse.
you are UNDONE.
UNDONE.
RUINED.
WRECKED FOR A HIGHER VISION.
higher than anything this world offers me
OH TO BE FREED FROM THIS PRISON OF TIME
AND THIS CAGE OF CLAY
and to
SEE HIM AS HE IS.
Oh if only I could be awake forever...
because it seems there isn't even enough waking hours of the day
to FELLOWSHIP. TO SEARCH HIM OUT. TO EAT THE SCROLL. TO CONTEND FOR HIS APPEARING. TO KNOWWWWWWWW HIM.
i can't sleep, LITERALLY, i lie awake on my bed:
because "my soul is consumed with longing
for His law at all times..."
and if, if, IF i happen to dose off:
I AM VISITED WITH mysteries every night...
dream after dream after dream...
encounters.
WORDS OF GOD.
only to result in my wakening:
slain with even more LONGING.
this isn't poetic WORDING.
i am BEING COMPLETELY REALLLLL here.
BECAUSE:
to KNOW GOD.
to DWELL IN GLORY.
to GAZE UPON HIS BEAUTY.
to BE FASCINATED BY THE TRANSCENDENT ONE.
to SEE HIS RETURN.
to BRING HIS KINGDOM ON EARTH.
to MAKE HIM A DWELLING PLACE.
[has OVERTAKEN me.]
and here i am weeping.
hoping my tears will perhaps be an offering
upon which you, YOU - SON OF DAVID - will throw down FIRE from heaven
and maybe my tears,
WILL LEAD TO THE QUICKENING OF YOUR APPEARING.
for I am owned by You.
and this slave longs for the Master to
make Himself known.
YOU NOW OWN MY SOUL.
for whoever thought desire could be so miserable?
and whoever could imagine a human frame could handle
such passion for the Invisible God.
i feel as if soon enough i will die...
but death would be the greater gain.
and:
I WILLFULLY THROW DOWN the things of this world...
the fleeting pleasures of life...
HOW RIDICULOUS!
how ridiculous to PLAY IN THE SLUMS
when THE SEA IS CALLING MY NAME.
for nothing is a sacrifice,
if abandonment will give me greater access
to the mysteries of YOUR HEART.
TELL ME WHAT ELSE THERE IS I CAN GIVE.
because
time is ticking...
ticking...
ticking...
and there is so much left to discover.
LET ME KNOW YOU
LET ME LOVE YOU
LET ME KNOW YOU
[You. Jesus. You. Lion of Judah.
You. Slain Lamb. You. Returning King.
You. Judge of the Earth. You. Fully God.
You. Fully Man. You. Desire of the Nations.
YOU. CONSUMING FIRE. YOU. YOU. YOU.]
LET
ME
KNOW
YOU.
and my headphones scream,
"come be the fire inside of me, until You and I are one."
and to my right is my little journal
with scribblings of such longing
asking Him to show me Himself.
as a Lamb
as a Lion
as a King
as a Judge
i know Him so little.
i know HIM so little.
FOR HE IS THE BOUNDLESS OCEAN,
and i have only just stepped off the shore...
and
then
to my left - my little orange bible is open
with the book of revelation
staring at me
beginning with the words,
"The revelation of JESUS CHRIST..."
and i am just weeping
weeping
uncontrollably
pounding my little fists upon this dining room table.
because I just want to know Him.
I WANT TO KNOW HIM.
and if I could, I would rip out
chunks of this Bible and literally eat it
if it meant
His Word would consume me
and I would be able to commune
deeper
with this HOLY ONE OF ISRAEL
SON OF DAVID
GLORY OF GOD
that dwells within my carcasssss....
which fascinates and leaves me
wounded with longing
to PARTAKE of the mysteries of
THIS MAN.
and I would never sleep another moment
if my waiting would
result in His face shining upon my heart.
REALLY.
i am NOT KIDDING.
i am on a pursuit - and THERE IS ONLY ONE GOAL.
and if i had to scream until my voice was forever gone -
if
if that meant He would walk into this room
RIGHT NOW
and SPEAK WITH ME what is ON His heart
if it were true...
i would.
I WOULD.
because
this is the ONLY reason I am alive.
it is why i awake in the morning.
I AM CONSUMED.
CONSUMED.
OVERTAKEN.
INSANE.
CONSUMED with THIS TRANSCENDENT ONE.
because once you have truly tasted.
once you have TRULY seeeeeeeen - even a glimpse.
you are UNDONE.
UNDONE.
RUINED.
WRECKED FOR A HIGHER VISION.
higher than anything this world offers me
OH TO BE FREED FROM THIS PRISON OF TIME
AND THIS CAGE OF CLAY
and to
SEE HIM AS HE IS.
Oh if only I could be awake forever...
because it seems there isn't even enough waking hours of the day
to FELLOWSHIP. TO SEARCH HIM OUT. TO EAT THE SCROLL. TO CONTEND FOR HIS APPEARING. TO KNOWWWWWWWW HIM.
i can't sleep, LITERALLY, i lie awake on my bed:
because "my soul is consumed with longing
for His law at all times..."
and if, if, IF i happen to dose off:
I AM VISITED WITH mysteries every night...
dream after dream after dream...
encounters.
WORDS OF GOD.
only to result in my wakening:
slain with even more LONGING.
this isn't poetic WORDING.
i am BEING COMPLETELY REALLLLL here.
BECAUSE:
to KNOW GOD.
to DWELL IN GLORY.
to GAZE UPON HIS BEAUTY.
to BE FASCINATED BY THE TRANSCENDENT ONE.
to SEE HIS RETURN.
to BRING HIS KINGDOM ON EARTH.
to MAKE HIM A DWELLING PLACE.
[has OVERTAKEN me.]
and here i am weeping.
hoping my tears will perhaps be an offering
upon which you, YOU - SON OF DAVID - will throw down FIRE from heaven
and maybe my tears,
WILL LEAD TO THE QUICKENING OF YOUR APPEARING.
for I am owned by You.
and this slave longs for the Master to
make Himself known.
YOU NOW OWN MY SOUL.
for whoever thought desire could be so miserable?
and whoever could imagine a human frame could handle
such passion for the Invisible God.
i feel as if soon enough i will die...
but death would be the greater gain.
and:
I WILLFULLY THROW DOWN the things of this world...
the fleeting pleasures of life...
HOW RIDICULOUS!
how ridiculous to PLAY IN THE SLUMS
when THE SEA IS CALLING MY NAME.
for nothing is a sacrifice,
if abandonment will give me greater access
to the mysteries of YOUR HEART.
TELL ME WHAT ELSE THERE IS I CAN GIVE.
because
time is ticking...
ticking...
ticking...
and there is so much left to discover.
LET ME KNOW YOU
LET ME LOVE YOU
LET ME KNOW YOU
[You. Jesus. You. Lion of Judah.
You. Slain Lamb. You. Returning King.
You. Judge of the Earth. You. Fully God.
You. Fully Man. You. Desire of the Nations.
YOU. CONSUMING FIRE. YOU. YOU. YOU.]
LET
ME
KNOW
YOU.
ohhhhhh, it's YOU again.
there are these moments in your life...
maybe they last an hour, or a couple days,
maybe even weeks or months if there is an unusual amount of grace.
these moments where you really feel as if you have conquered
self.
you know. that self that is wounded and
warped and that self that operates out of brokenness
and false mindsets and is weighed down by
chains.
self.
the self we spend hours praying about
and crying about and
trying to overcome.
well at least i am quite acquainted with this self.
it's been haunting me my entire life...
and i choose to label it with the title, "very messed up."
it's the self that sat on the floor of the dorm room
in green hall
and wept as i repeated over and over to tamara and kelly,
"He needs to come and help me. I need help."
or the self that suddenly loses all vision
or hope or understanding or perspective of where this thing is going.
it's the self that decides to unexpectedly knock on your door one day
and come in for a visit,
when you are quite fine, and actually somewhat victorious, without it.
it is not welcome.
it is not wanted.
yet self visits anyway.
and self likes to convince you, because of reason a, b, and c, that you will not be a successful wife, a "together" mother, or a emboldened and victorious minister of the gospel. self also has this tendency to travel with every book filled with every story of every previous failure, inadequacy, rejection, confusion, etc.
and it takes an incredible amount of energy to ask self to leave,
but self's entire goal is to suck from you all energy or life.
so it's a predicament.
this reminds me of precious Peter,
when he proclaims, "YOU ARE THE CHRIST! God's own Son!"
and Jesus lovingly tells him it was not man that revealed this to Peter,
but God Himself.
then moments later Peter is rebuked, Satan himself operating through
this weak vessel, for trying to keep Jesus from the cross.
one moment he's walking by the spirit.
the next the flesh, self, satan, whatever.
that which is opposed to God and His ultimate plan.
anyways. the last couple of days have been a new unraveling of
self still operating within me.
still vying for my life, my heart, my hope.
broken places within me.
i suddenly found myself looking not to the One who loves me.
but to the one who is called to love.
and i saw all these
fears
every where.
and it freaked me out.
my own frailty.
my own brokenness.
my own potential failures.
and I'm not just talking about fears like...
oh i'm scared to grow up.
oh i'm scared to fall in love.
oh i'm scared to be vulnerable.
which are all dangerous fears in themselves,
and i couldn't say they don't come knocking at times too.
but i'm more talking about those fears that are seemingly irrational
and undefinable at times...
and effect your day to day life.
like...
[and this is self at it's craftiest]
oh i have a fear of being out of control
and therefore avoid the phone and external schedules
and all forms of ignorance.
oh and i have this fear of risk... which can ultimately
infiltrate into all my relationships and the calling on my life.
and which is birthed out of never having
boundaries growing up and having a history of disrespected
personal boundaries i set.
OH THE DREAD OF PSYCHOLOGY
i could go on and on.
this is the reality of the glory of God within an earthen vessel.
this, my friends, is the earthen vessel.
----
but.
but.
but.
CHRIST IN ME IS THE HOPE OF GLORY.
My glory will never come, and cannot ever come from the earthen vessel.
no, no.
the hope of my glory...
is
CHRIST IN ME.
And it is a waste of time looking over and over
at the dysfunction that resides in the vessel.
no, no, no...
For if I ask, He will catch for us the little foxes...
all i have to do is ask.
and cry.
and plead.
again and again.
day after day.
even if it is amidst war.
make me holy.
make me pure.
make me like Your Son.
make me a lover.
make me abandoned.
make me fearless.
set me free.
and He will.
HE WILL.
because He loves.
He is Love.
and He came to make the wrong things right.
and to complete the good work He started.
and to bring us life abundantly.
and to be our help and to impart holiness and wholehearted living.
and to sanctify.
and to help us fight.
and, whatever anyway, ultimately He wins.
at the end of the day, His perfect love will drive out all fear.
man, HALLELUJAH.
HALLELUJAH!
and amen.
maybe they last an hour, or a couple days,
maybe even weeks or months if there is an unusual amount of grace.
these moments where you really feel as if you have conquered
self.
you know. that self that is wounded and
warped and that self that operates out of brokenness
and false mindsets and is weighed down by
chains.
self.
the self we spend hours praying about
and crying about and
trying to overcome.
well at least i am quite acquainted with this self.
it's been haunting me my entire life...
and i choose to label it with the title, "very messed up."
it's the self that sat on the floor of the dorm room
in green hall
and wept as i repeated over and over to tamara and kelly,
"He needs to come and help me. I need help."
or the self that suddenly loses all vision
or hope or understanding or perspective of where this thing is going.
it's the self that decides to unexpectedly knock on your door one day
and come in for a visit,
when you are quite fine, and actually somewhat victorious, without it.
it is not welcome.
it is not wanted.
yet self visits anyway.
and self likes to convince you, because of reason a, b, and c, that you will not be a successful wife, a "together" mother, or a emboldened and victorious minister of the gospel. self also has this tendency to travel with every book filled with every story of every previous failure, inadequacy, rejection, confusion, etc.
and it takes an incredible amount of energy to ask self to leave,
but self's entire goal is to suck from you all energy or life.
so it's a predicament.
this reminds me of precious Peter,
when he proclaims, "YOU ARE THE CHRIST! God's own Son!"
and Jesus lovingly tells him it was not man that revealed this to Peter,
but God Himself.
then moments later Peter is rebuked, Satan himself operating through
this weak vessel, for trying to keep Jesus from the cross.
one moment he's walking by the spirit.
the next the flesh, self, satan, whatever.
that which is opposed to God and His ultimate plan.
anyways. the last couple of days have been a new unraveling of
self still operating within me.
still vying for my life, my heart, my hope.
broken places within me.
i suddenly found myself looking not to the One who loves me.
but to the one who is called to love.
and i saw all these
fears
every where.
and it freaked me out.
my own frailty.
my own brokenness.
my own potential failures.
and I'm not just talking about fears like...
oh i'm scared to grow up.
oh i'm scared to fall in love.
oh i'm scared to be vulnerable.
which are all dangerous fears in themselves,
and i couldn't say they don't come knocking at times too.
but i'm more talking about those fears that are seemingly irrational
and undefinable at times...
and effect your day to day life.
like...
[and this is self at it's craftiest]
oh i have a fear of being out of control
and therefore avoid the phone and external schedules
and all forms of ignorance.
oh and i have this fear of risk... which can ultimately
infiltrate into all my relationships and the calling on my life.
and which is birthed out of never having
boundaries growing up and having a history of disrespected
personal boundaries i set.
OH THE DREAD OF PSYCHOLOGY
i could go on and on.
this is the reality of the glory of God within an earthen vessel.
this, my friends, is the earthen vessel.
----
but.
but.
but.
CHRIST IN ME IS THE HOPE OF GLORY.
My glory will never come, and cannot ever come from the earthen vessel.
no, no.
the hope of my glory...
is
CHRIST IN ME.
And it is a waste of time looking over and over
at the dysfunction that resides in the vessel.
no, no, no...
For if I ask, He will catch for us the little foxes...
all i have to do is ask.
and cry.
and plead.
again and again.
day after day.
even if it is amidst war.
make me holy.
make me pure.
make me like Your Son.
make me a lover.
make me abandoned.
make me fearless.
set me free.
and He will.
HE WILL.
because He loves.
He is Love.
and He came to make the wrong things right.
and to complete the good work He started.
and to bring us life abundantly.
and to be our help and to impart holiness and wholehearted living.
and to sanctify.
and to help us fight.
and, whatever anyway, ultimately He wins.
at the end of the day, His perfect love will drive out all fear.
man, HALLELUJAH.
HALLELUJAH!
and amen.
i want to be a moth to the Flame.
i suppose it's about time to write something new...
my fingers are so frozen they can barely type
and i always put my headphones it right before the tea kettle wails at
me to pour it into the cup.
then i have a roaring/boiling pot of water which makes tea-drinking
more postponed.
today was a rough day.
i like to type about the rough days because i don't
want anyone to think following the Lord is a lazy stroll.
it's a fight.
a fight for Love.
but rough day's usually end up to be the most beautiful.
i think He destined it to be that way.
sometimes, when days seem too easy, I get worried.
i think crying feels good.
i think screaming makes me feel alive.
i think pain creates desperation...
the ground where flowers of love come forth.
and so:
today was rough.
i went into the prayer room with heavy requests on my heart.
i found my little chair, behind a coveted table...
laid down my brown purse and blue tote i carry everyday of my life.
i pulled out my mac.
plugged it into the wall.
then my water bottle. my green pen, my purple pen, and my yellow highlighter. my book, "the imitation of Christ." and my journal and bible.
this is my career.
to seek the Lord.
to be in His presence.
someone with that job title should NEVER have a rough day.
but alas.
i was having a rough day.
first of all. i have no hair.
you think i'd feel spiritual or holy or consecrated all the time, right?
no. most of the time i feel ugly.
not, pull your blonde hair up in a messy bun and put on sweats ugly.
no. i feel like an ugly ugly boy ugly.
[and i look like one too]
haha.
[please don't leave me comments about how i still look beautiful.
that is not the point.]
no the point of it is to feel ugly.
is to be ugly.
to bear shame.
to house reproach.
the little song we all love and adore rings true,
"my possessions mean nothing, my beauty won't save me in eternity..."
yaya. this body's going to be traded in for something far more glorious.
and i just realize how everyday so much of who i am,
my personality, my essence, whatever
leans on this crutch of beauty.
however much or little i possessed.
i operated from a temporal root system.
that freaks me out.
and so this is good.
realizing in a year i'm still going to feel ugly probably.
this is good.
i'll become a new person. i'm excited for that.
that is inevitable.
i will be a new woman.
a woman who operates from transcendence.
and not these little fake crutches that can't promise me anything -
and is fadinggggggggg quickly.
hallelujah He makes all things new
so ya.
i'm sitting in the prayer room thinking -
"i am so ugly."
so shallow, huh?
SO SHALLOW.
but i was thinking it.
even though bald jenny is 2 rows back,
and a couple minutes earlier i ran into the 2 other bald
girls in the cafe.
but still.
but still.
and i just lay my little head upon the pile of computer/books
on the table
and start weeping.
weeping.
uncontrollably.
not just because i came to the realization i'm going to be ugly for a couple years probably.
but because i cared. and because i thought it mattered or something.
and because in that moment i didn't believe God had a beautiful
wonderful purpose behind this whole thing
that was bigger than me and my wanting to look pretty
for who anyway?
so ridiculous!
and we started singing the ballad
(and i wish you all knew the tune)
"No matter what this world may say, Your coming is near. Your coming is here."
and then I start weeping some more
(people rarely cry in the prayer room.
i rarely cry in the prayer room.)
because I realized that
none of it mattered.
none of it.
none of it.
that really I just want the Lord, and I want to please Him.
and if bearing shame for some heavenly purpose -
that is beyond my comprehension.
and if this somehow makes me more like His Son,
and ushers me into greater love...
then i don't have a moment to waste crying over
grass.
here today - gone tomorrow.
so then..
i get into this humiliation.
before the Lord.
humiliation that I waste precious thoughts on such petty things
vanity
vanity vanity
not just my ugliness but other vanities.
filling my thouuuuughts.
and i just wept in remorse.
such wasted moments.
dwindling away - thrown into the fire and burned up.
i was grieved.
so now i am weeping because i am ugly and i care and because i'm grieving over my thinking and caring about such silly silly things.
then they started singing
"In Your presence..."
and after that I was gone.
gone.
weeping and rocking in my chair.
in a different world.
they add in this line that goes,
"i finally found where i belong
i finally found where i belong
in your presence
i finally found where i belong
is to be with you, is to be with you"
striving ceases.
worry ceases.
circumstance ceases.
i was made for THIS one thing.
to be with the King of Kings.
to feel Him come into the room
and pour over me love.
THIS IS WHY I AM ALIVE.
and it all fades away, in a moment,
the room
the man next to me.
even the words become a hum
and somehow I can gaze upon
the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE
who requires one thing of me:
love.
that's all.
and so ya.
it ended well.
i was still weeping.
but i was weeping because I love Jesus.
crying tears of love.
loving Him because He loved me first.
and that's why he has me here at IHOP
and that's why he divinely orchestrates suffering
and that's why he slays me again and again
and that's why he asked me to cut my hair
because He loves me.
because He is full of loving kindness and mercy.
it's all for love.
it's all about love.
ya.
and i thank God i am ruined for anything less.
anything less.
and i thank God that He has lead me to my death.
for He only wants us to die
so we can truly live.
truly live.
and life is a vapor.
and i love Him.
and He's coming back.
AMENNNNNNNNNN
here's a nice little song:
----
and when you've been broken
broken to pieces
and your heart begins to faint
'cause you don't understand
and when there is nothing to rake from the ashes
and you can't even walk
onto the fields of praise
When the Rock falls
falls upon you
and you get ground to dust
no music for the pain
You opened the windows
the windows of heaven
and then You opened me
and crushed me like a rose
but I bow down And kiss the Son
[You're teaching me to lean.]
Here's my heart Lord come and seal it.
It's all I have to give. It's all I have.
---
my fingers are so frozen they can barely type
and i always put my headphones it right before the tea kettle wails at
me to pour it into the cup.
then i have a roaring/boiling pot of water which makes tea-drinking
more postponed.
today was a rough day.
i like to type about the rough days because i don't
want anyone to think following the Lord is a lazy stroll.
it's a fight.
a fight for Love.
but rough day's usually end up to be the most beautiful.
i think He destined it to be that way.
sometimes, when days seem too easy, I get worried.
i think crying feels good.
i think screaming makes me feel alive.
i think pain creates desperation...
the ground where flowers of love come forth.
and so:
today was rough.
i went into the prayer room with heavy requests on my heart.
i found my little chair, behind a coveted table...
laid down my brown purse and blue tote i carry everyday of my life.
i pulled out my mac.
plugged it into the wall.
then my water bottle. my green pen, my purple pen, and my yellow highlighter. my book, "the imitation of Christ." and my journal and bible.
this is my career.
to seek the Lord.
to be in His presence.
someone with that job title should NEVER have a rough day.
but alas.
i was having a rough day.
first of all. i have no hair.
you think i'd feel spiritual or holy or consecrated all the time, right?
no. most of the time i feel ugly.
not, pull your blonde hair up in a messy bun and put on sweats ugly.
no. i feel like an ugly ugly boy ugly.
[and i look like one too]
haha.
[please don't leave me comments about how i still look beautiful.
that is not the point.]
no the point of it is to feel ugly.
is to be ugly.
to bear shame.
to house reproach.
the little song we all love and adore rings true,
"my possessions mean nothing, my beauty won't save me in eternity..."
yaya. this body's going to be traded in for something far more glorious.
and i just realize how everyday so much of who i am,
my personality, my essence, whatever
leans on this crutch of beauty.
however much or little i possessed.
i operated from a temporal root system.
that freaks me out.
and so this is good.
realizing in a year i'm still going to feel ugly probably.
this is good.
i'll become a new person. i'm excited for that.
that is inevitable.
i will be a new woman.
a woman who operates from transcendence.
and not these little fake crutches that can't promise me anything -
and is fadinggggggggg quickly.
hallelujah He makes all things new
so ya.
i'm sitting in the prayer room thinking -
"i am so ugly."
so shallow, huh?
SO SHALLOW.
but i was thinking it.
even though bald jenny is 2 rows back,
and a couple minutes earlier i ran into the 2 other bald
girls in the cafe.
but still.
but still.
and i just lay my little head upon the pile of computer/books
on the table
and start weeping.
weeping.
uncontrollably.
not just because i came to the realization i'm going to be ugly for a couple years probably.
but because i cared. and because i thought it mattered or something.
and because in that moment i didn't believe God had a beautiful
wonderful purpose behind this whole thing
that was bigger than me and my wanting to look pretty
for who anyway?
so ridiculous!
and we started singing the ballad
(and i wish you all knew the tune)
"No matter what this world may say, Your coming is near. Your coming is here."
and then I start weeping some more
(people rarely cry in the prayer room.
i rarely cry in the prayer room.)
because I realized that
none of it mattered.
none of it.
none of it.
that really I just want the Lord, and I want to please Him.
and if bearing shame for some heavenly purpose -
that is beyond my comprehension.
and if this somehow makes me more like His Son,
and ushers me into greater love...
then i don't have a moment to waste crying over
grass.
here today - gone tomorrow.
so then..
i get into this humiliation.
before the Lord.
humiliation that I waste precious thoughts on such petty things
vanity
vanity vanity
not just my ugliness but other vanities.
filling my thouuuuughts.
and i just wept in remorse.
such wasted moments.
dwindling away - thrown into the fire and burned up.
i was grieved.
so now i am weeping because i am ugly and i care and because i'm grieving over my thinking and caring about such silly silly things.
then they started singing
"In Your presence..."
and after that I was gone.
gone.
weeping and rocking in my chair.
in a different world.
they add in this line that goes,
"i finally found where i belong
i finally found where i belong
in your presence
i finally found where i belong
is to be with you, is to be with you"
striving ceases.
worry ceases.
circumstance ceases.
i was made for THIS one thing.
to be with the King of Kings.
to feel Him come into the room
and pour over me love.
THIS IS WHY I AM ALIVE.
and it all fades away, in a moment,
the room
the man next to me.
even the words become a hum
and somehow I can gaze upon
the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE
who requires one thing of me:
love.
that's all.
and so ya.
it ended well.
i was still weeping.
but i was weeping because I love Jesus.
crying tears of love.
loving Him because He loved me first.
and that's why he has me here at IHOP
and that's why he divinely orchestrates suffering
and that's why he slays me again and again
and that's why he asked me to cut my hair
because He loves me.
because He is full of loving kindness and mercy.
it's all for love.
it's all about love.
ya.
and i thank God i am ruined for anything less.
anything less.
and i thank God that He has lead me to my death.
for He only wants us to die
so we can truly live.
truly live.
and life is a vapor.
and i love Him.
and He's coming back.
AMENNNNNNNNNN
here's a nice little song:
----
and when you've been broken
broken to pieces
and your heart begins to faint
'cause you don't understand
and when there is nothing to rake from the ashes
and you can't even walk
onto the fields of praise
When the Rock falls
falls upon you
and you get ground to dust
no music for the pain
You opened the windows
the windows of heaven
and then You opened me
and crushed me like a rose
but I bow down And kiss the Son
[You're teaching me to lean.]
Here's my heart Lord come and seal it.
It's all I have to give. It's all I have.
---
there is no looking back.
i lay upon this bed, the pounding of a desperate heart within -
harmonizing to the cries of the battle raging through my windows.
this is war. and i must either fight or retreat.
and to retreat is to welcome death in for afternoon tea,
laying my soul before it's sickening screams of deception
that breeds a forest of fears ushering me straight to my grave.
and to be buried while the breath of life haunts me,
is a bridge already burned.
and so i sign up once again to war for reality.
to follow closely behind You, the perfect Leader, the perfect Friend
to silence the accussor by listening to the radio waves of love -
broadcasted from Your heart of desire for me and transmitted by the wound in Your side.
for i am in need of You, as the army of old surrounds me in the valley of my own heartache.
as the blood from yesterday's mistakes cries out to my heart - still so bound by self.
yes, i am in need of You to break into space and time and become reality.
to bring the balm of truth to cover this flesh and blood, so weary of the enemy and so wounded by the battle.
for Your leadership is perfect, as you choose to act
or not act
as yo choose to come in this moment
or be detained by Your own infinite wisdom,
that leadership is perfect for this untrained, unrenewed, unable warrior.
it is perfect within my life. it is the way of love. it is the path of goodness.
it is.
oh but upon the grass so green underneath, but darkened by the ash of the burning of this body upon Your altar - upon this greyyyy sea of affliction lies my head,
housed by my human frame, which does not understand Your ways.
but in hope of clearing away death to partake of life I cry out,
"I am wrong! You are right! YOU ARE RIGHT! YOU ARE ALWAYS RIGHT! Your ways and Your commands and Your doing is perfect and good!"
for though the marching of the hordes of hell surround me
I will not raise my fist towards You.
I will not question the potter - for Your eyes are full of grace as the wheel turns and turns and turns
and I feel the movement of Your hands and the actions of Your heart.
yes, You are carried by the rushing rivers of love...
though the raging torrents do not look like the love i've been taught.
no, i do not understand its meanings and i am sure i might fail to recognize the song of love if it sang to me in the night...
for love brings judgment and throws men into hell.
love crushes it's only Son.
love will baptize the earth with fire.
love caused Job to say, "Though He slay me, I will trust Him!"
oh so prone to argue - to pass the torch of pain and suffering and affliction into the hands of misunderstanding rather than igniting myself aflame
oh let me burn in the violent flames of the crucible of Your ways!
save me God, from myself, from this heart still hiding in the house of yesterday, wallpapered with all my mistakes...
oh come to this ragged beggar, lying in this valley, unable to even hear Your voice amidst the thunders of the army drawing near
unable to see Your face as darknesssss begins to cover this earth.
COME TO ME! as i lie in the field which YOU have placed me in -
COME TO ME! as i fling this scarred heart before Your throne...
COME TO ME and BRING with You the Kingdom.
Set this soul free.
free to die again and again and again.
free to trust the coming fight ends in victory
free to believe the weak will be lifted up.
Because i'm so prone to run far away and cover my face with shame due to my untrained hands.
my gaze falls again and again onto my inability to hear the commands of the One who drafted me in - wooed me by His voice - called me into this battle
COME TO ME! because the victory is Yours.
the battle is Yours.
the fight is found in my looking to You.
So COME.
let me peer into LIFE.
And even so - I will share in Your sufferings here. here. here.
this side of eternity - where I can offer my devotion through the doorway of this earthly body, so easily discouraged, so quickly offended, so susceptible to bend beneath the accusation of the enemy.
In this tiny frame I will take within my body and mind all of what You felt as You abandoned Your throne to embraced the wrath of God and won Your inheritance.
because I have forever to be unquestionably by Your side, free from suffering, Liberated from the arrows of this world, loosed from this black army around me -
i have forever.
FOREVER.
so here - in this valley, so alone and so afraid, I will worship in spirit and truth.
amidst heartache and barren lands and my own folly and the wounds which You've inflicted in chastisement.
in this vapor - i will embrace the cross.
in this moment - i will love without seeing
now - i will choose You as others incessantly call out my name.
for the time to offer this gift of love is reaching it's end rapidly -
and i will not waste the opportunity to move Your heart...
even as the war rages on.
yes, even as the war rages on.
and though this hurts. i hurt.
and though i'm confused. peering up into a dark cloud about to overtake the earth.
and though i am so very, very afraid i will fight, proclaiming,
"HAVE YOUR WAY WITHIN ME! HAVE YOUR WAY!"
i will do what I know to do.
i will march to my death if i must.
but You are with me.
and i will fight for freedom from these fears for this life flowing in the blood of redemption and the hope of glory is more beautiful that any life of disillusionment.
for where else could I go?
WHERE ELSE could this one go?
there is no where - there is no one to run to -
it's You and I. I and You.
in this valley.
in this valley.
and that's how it is. and that's how it will be be.
even if the sword reaches me - sucking life from this tent i reside in,
EVEN then, nothing could invade this reality of being with You.
Your name is enough to bring life back from the dead.
but i confess.
i don't know what i am doing.
i don't know where i am going.
and i am not sure if i even fully know my place,
in this moment. at this moment.
but i will reach out to You in the midst of the tension -
i will run to You though it seems there is no where to run - locked in the prison of time, waiting... waiting... waiting...
and even if I am only a little girl, lying down in this field, so far from Your reality, so drenched in the enemies cries - even if I am here..
and can only mutter the request, "Come."
Even if.
this request I will lift up - trusting You are the One who fights for me.
You are the One who anoints me.
You are the One who will come to this valley and pick me up and dust of this war-torn face and CARRY me into battle -
carry me into life.
I couldn't save myself from hell, and I cannot save myself now,
from all these rushing, roaring waters fighting for my life,
so come.
so come.
so come.
Be who you LOVE TO BE.
Savior of the suffocating.
Father to the fatherless.
the Man after this heart.
& I will respond.
fearlessly.
believing my response matters -
believing my response will lead me into the welcoming of Your heart.
unafraid and unashamed.
harmonizing to the cries of the battle raging through my windows.
this is war. and i must either fight or retreat.
and to retreat is to welcome death in for afternoon tea,
laying my soul before it's sickening screams of deception
that breeds a forest of fears ushering me straight to my grave.
and to be buried while the breath of life haunts me,
is a bridge already burned.
and so i sign up once again to war for reality.
to follow closely behind You, the perfect Leader, the perfect Friend
to silence the accussor by listening to the radio waves of love -
broadcasted from Your heart of desire for me and transmitted by the wound in Your side.
for i am in need of You, as the army of old surrounds me in the valley of my own heartache.
as the blood from yesterday's mistakes cries out to my heart - still so bound by self.
yes, i am in need of You to break into space and time and become reality.
to bring the balm of truth to cover this flesh and blood, so weary of the enemy and so wounded by the battle.
for Your leadership is perfect, as you choose to act
or not act
as yo choose to come in this moment
or be detained by Your own infinite wisdom,
that leadership is perfect for this untrained, unrenewed, unable warrior.
it is perfect within my life. it is the way of love. it is the path of goodness.
it is.
oh but upon the grass so green underneath, but darkened by the ash of the burning of this body upon Your altar - upon this greyyyy sea of affliction lies my head,
housed by my human frame, which does not understand Your ways.
but in hope of clearing away death to partake of life I cry out,
"I am wrong! You are right! YOU ARE RIGHT! YOU ARE ALWAYS RIGHT! Your ways and Your commands and Your doing is perfect and good!"
for though the marching of the hordes of hell surround me
I will not raise my fist towards You.
I will not question the potter - for Your eyes are full of grace as the wheel turns and turns and turns
and I feel the movement of Your hands and the actions of Your heart.
yes, You are carried by the rushing rivers of love...
though the raging torrents do not look like the love i've been taught.
no, i do not understand its meanings and i am sure i might fail to recognize the song of love if it sang to me in the night...
for love brings judgment and throws men into hell.
love crushes it's only Son.
love will baptize the earth with fire.
love caused Job to say, "Though He slay me, I will trust Him!"
oh so prone to argue - to pass the torch of pain and suffering and affliction into the hands of misunderstanding rather than igniting myself aflame
oh let me burn in the violent flames of the crucible of Your ways!
save me God, from myself, from this heart still hiding in the house of yesterday, wallpapered with all my mistakes...
oh come to this ragged beggar, lying in this valley, unable to even hear Your voice amidst the thunders of the army drawing near
unable to see Your face as darknesssss begins to cover this earth.
COME TO ME! as i lie in the field which YOU have placed me in -
COME TO ME! as i fling this scarred heart before Your throne...
COME TO ME and BRING with You the Kingdom.
Set this soul free.
free to die again and again and again.
free to trust the coming fight ends in victory
free to believe the weak will be lifted up.
Because i'm so prone to run far away and cover my face with shame due to my untrained hands.
my gaze falls again and again onto my inability to hear the commands of the One who drafted me in - wooed me by His voice - called me into this battle
COME TO ME! because the victory is Yours.
the battle is Yours.
the fight is found in my looking to You.
So COME.
let me peer into LIFE.
And even so - I will share in Your sufferings here. here. here.
this side of eternity - where I can offer my devotion through the doorway of this earthly body, so easily discouraged, so quickly offended, so susceptible to bend beneath the accusation of the enemy.
In this tiny frame I will take within my body and mind all of what You felt as You abandoned Your throne to embraced the wrath of God and won Your inheritance.
because I have forever to be unquestionably by Your side, free from suffering, Liberated from the arrows of this world, loosed from this black army around me -
i have forever.
FOREVER.
so here - in this valley, so alone and so afraid, I will worship in spirit and truth.
amidst heartache and barren lands and my own folly and the wounds which You've inflicted in chastisement.
in this vapor - i will embrace the cross.
in this moment - i will love without seeing
now - i will choose You as others incessantly call out my name.
for the time to offer this gift of love is reaching it's end rapidly -
and i will not waste the opportunity to move Your heart...
even as the war rages on.
yes, even as the war rages on.
and though this hurts. i hurt.
and though i'm confused. peering up into a dark cloud about to overtake the earth.
and though i am so very, very afraid i will fight, proclaiming,
"HAVE YOUR WAY WITHIN ME! HAVE YOUR WAY!"
i will do what I know to do.
i will march to my death if i must.
but You are with me.
and i will fight for freedom from these fears for this life flowing in the blood of redemption and the hope of glory is more beautiful that any life of disillusionment.
for where else could I go?
WHERE ELSE could this one go?
there is no where - there is no one to run to -
it's You and I. I and You.
in this valley.
in this valley.
and that's how it is. and that's how it will be be.
even if the sword reaches me - sucking life from this tent i reside in,
EVEN then, nothing could invade this reality of being with You.
Your name is enough to bring life back from the dead.
but i confess.
i don't know what i am doing.
i don't know where i am going.
and i am not sure if i even fully know my place,
in this moment. at this moment.
but i will reach out to You in the midst of the tension -
i will run to You though it seems there is no where to run - locked in the prison of time, waiting... waiting... waiting...
and even if I am only a little girl, lying down in this field, so far from Your reality, so drenched in the enemies cries - even if I am here..
and can only mutter the request, "Come."
Even if.
this request I will lift up - trusting You are the One who fights for me.
You are the One who anoints me.
You are the One who will come to this valley and pick me up and dust of this war-torn face and CARRY me into battle -
carry me into life.
I couldn't save myself from hell, and I cannot save myself now,
from all these rushing, roaring waters fighting for my life,
so come.
so come.
so come.
Be who you LOVE TO BE.
Savior of the suffocating.
Father to the fatherless.
the Man after this heart.
& I will respond.
fearlessly.
believing my response matters -
believing my response will lead me into the welcoming of Your heart.
unafraid and unashamed.
running in the spirit.
words. words. words.
how they tire me so.
letters embracing each other into syllables, syntax, sentences...
silent, voiceless little characters.
colorless and lifeless mirages.
you can stare into them, yet they remain
lines perched upon a white sheet.
like grave stones.
like grave stones.
above the dead man.
a hollowed one, a box full of bones
they are only a little, worn out postcard with scribbled ink
soaked up into a photograph
of a distant land
a whirlwind of emotion.
yet in these moments its my only means,
as weak as it seems
to yank out the roaring waters within and push them into an understanding
other than just my own.
for behind these lonely eyes is a circus of reds and yellows
shrieks and swirling MOTTTTIOOOOONNNNN
of hands that have touched, or held, or touched
melodies. backed by symphonies.
strings swelling as my heart, dressed up as a simple, blonde girl
flings herself to and fro like a rag doll
liberated because something within caught a
GLIMPSE of a man named Invisible
a lion roaring in the darkness, and the resounding
sound of passion splatters light
into a once blind heart.
there are visionsssss put on display behind eyelids, that have the
power to burn into a soul
harder, faster, gentler than any embrace found on the outside.
it is wonder.
and it's more than a w-o-n-d-e-r.
it's REALITY because this is touching the hem of LOVE.
which never fades away - when the avalanche of the throne of God
collides into this black abyss we call life.
love shall remain.
and this love that haunts the screen of my spirit is a
rushing waterfall of divinity and fire and screams of
all the abandonments that were worth it, all the trades of petty trinkets for strings and strings and strings of gold,
this is more than i knew i was stepping into
this is more than i was ready for
this is more than this weak one can handle
barred by time, time, time.
skin, skin, skin.
this unglorified being
that rattles the cage of now.
longing plagues this prisoner of hope
for then. when i will see the eyes of flaming fire.
and all this overwhelming beauty that has wounded me and left me mourning for
His coming.
when all of these rhythms and beats dancing to the colors of morning fading into night, night, darkness of waiting. waiting. waiting, the great epic drama locked in by my skin and bones,
singing to me from within... will be set free.
that is when i can do away with these WORDS. words. words.
and paint the harmonies of what i see, feel, live in...
hidden from the outside.
far away.
far away.
far away.
far away from any others.
but for now this postcard of letters is all i have. all i have. all i have to threaten the accusations before my eyes. to throw rejections at the luxurious invitation of self-pity. to keep the chains of despair from crawling back up to my neck.
and so words will be my drug to appease this season of
tension.
and to that the choruses sing, "amen&amen."
how they tire me so.
letters embracing each other into syllables, syntax, sentences...
silent, voiceless little characters.
colorless and lifeless mirages.
you can stare into them, yet they remain
lines perched upon a white sheet.
like grave stones.
like grave stones.
above the dead man.
a hollowed one, a box full of bones
they are only a little, worn out postcard with scribbled ink
soaked up into a photograph
of a distant land
a whirlwind of emotion.
yet in these moments its my only means,
as weak as it seems
to yank out the roaring waters within and push them into an understanding
other than just my own.
for behind these lonely eyes is a circus of reds and yellows
shrieks and swirling MOTTTTIOOOOONNNNN
of hands that have touched, or held, or touched
melodies. backed by symphonies.
strings swelling as my heart, dressed up as a simple, blonde girl
flings herself to and fro like a rag doll
liberated because something within caught a
GLIMPSE of a man named Invisible
a lion roaring in the darkness, and the resounding
sound of passion splatters light
into a once blind heart.
there are visionsssss put on display behind eyelids, that have the
power to burn into a soul
harder, faster, gentler than any embrace found on the outside.
it is wonder.
and it's more than a w-o-n-d-e-r.
it's REALITY because this is touching the hem of LOVE.
which never fades away - when the avalanche of the throne of God
collides into this black abyss we call life.
love shall remain.
and this love that haunts the screen of my spirit is a
rushing waterfall of divinity and fire and screams of
all the abandonments that were worth it, all the trades of petty trinkets for strings and strings and strings of gold,
this is more than i knew i was stepping into
this is more than i was ready for
this is more than this weak one can handle
barred by time, time, time.
skin, skin, skin.
this unglorified being
that rattles the cage of now.
longing plagues this prisoner of hope
for then. when i will see the eyes of flaming fire.
and all this overwhelming beauty that has wounded me and left me mourning for
His coming.
when all of these rhythms and beats dancing to the colors of morning fading into night, night, darkness of waiting. waiting. waiting, the great epic drama locked in by my skin and bones,
singing to me from within... will be set free.
that is when i can do away with these WORDS. words. words.
and paint the harmonies of what i see, feel, live in...
hidden from the outside.
far away.
far away.
far away.
far away from any others.
but for now this postcard of letters is all i have. all i have. all i have to threaten the accusations before my eyes. to throw rejections at the luxurious invitation of self-pity. to keep the chains of despair from crawling back up to my neck.
and so words will be my drug to appease this season of
tension.
and to that the choruses sing, "amen&amen."
the day of His beckoning...
She came home from a long, weary day with an invitation awaiting her -
perched upon her pillowcase - the letters weaved in with gold and silver,
written in a language her mind comprehends, but the words formed more
than mere syllables - something of their message caused her spirit to sing
a melody ancient yet fresh to her heart.
"To Beloved Rose..." it began, and even the mere mention of her name caused her soul to leap.
It was Him.
She had been waiting for Him to call her up, invite her in... to remove Himself
once again from the cloud of unknowing He had been dwelling in that she had grown familiar with but refused to call finality.
She had been waiting... longing...
desiring His coming...
With a trembling heart of expectation, she hurriedly prepared and crawled under her white woolen blanket to rest and wait until the hands on her clock reached the time entitled, "The Hour Of Her Visitation".
For there was nothing much she could do but wait. but rest. but trust He'd come.
And as she lied there, she began to recount Him from all the times before. She began to remember His love and the moments she had heard Him speak. These times had ruined her for all sun-scorched delights her simple life offered - for the transcendent tastes left upon her tongue, heavenly melodies stuck in her head, pleasing fragrance lingering upon her dress had driven her to what some would call madness. Since then she had been consumed with one thing, which confused many of her companions, for little Rose had become a new woman walking upon earth but living from some other place.
And it was true, all she wanted was to be with Him again - to gaze upon His glorious face one more time. She knew, with all her being, that with Him there was life and through Him love was originated.
As her mind traveled through the moments of yesterday her eyes became heavy...
---
Suddenly, she was awakened from her unexpected slumber. Feeling somewhat ashamed for falling asleep in the hour she was to watch, she gasped in fear of having missed Him. Picking up her clock on her bedside she peered into the face as the hands whirled and twirled in madness, and instantly her heart began to whirl and twirl along with the time. "What is happening?" she whispered to herself.
Before she could finish the thought, her heavy, wooden door flung open and banged loudly against her bedroom wall. Still a little muffled from just awakening, Rose was easily startled by the sudden sound. Throwing the clock upon her bed, she arose to see what had caused the commotion. Instead of her normal hallway with it's normal wallpaper and normal doors - she found herself gazing upon a humble little path leading into a dense, wooded forest. At the beginning sat a little wooden sign with the words, "The Pursuit of the Knowledge of Him Whom You Seek."
Within her belly traveling up to her heart, where His voice so often echoed, she heard Him say, "Follow."
And so small and eager Rose began to move forward, one step at a time...
perched upon her pillowcase - the letters weaved in with gold and silver,
written in a language her mind comprehends, but the words formed more
than mere syllables - something of their message caused her spirit to sing
a melody ancient yet fresh to her heart.
"To Beloved Rose..." it began, and even the mere mention of her name caused her soul to leap.
It was Him.
She had been waiting for Him to call her up, invite her in... to remove Himself
once again from the cloud of unknowing He had been dwelling in that she had grown familiar with but refused to call finality.
She had been waiting... longing...
desiring His coming...
With a trembling heart of expectation, she hurriedly prepared and crawled under her white woolen blanket to rest and wait until the hands on her clock reached the time entitled, "The Hour Of Her Visitation".
For there was nothing much she could do but wait. but rest. but trust He'd come.
And as she lied there, she began to recount Him from all the times before. She began to remember His love and the moments she had heard Him speak. These times had ruined her for all sun-scorched delights her simple life offered - for the transcendent tastes left upon her tongue, heavenly melodies stuck in her head, pleasing fragrance lingering upon her dress had driven her to what some would call madness. Since then she had been consumed with one thing, which confused many of her companions, for little Rose had become a new woman walking upon earth but living from some other place.
And it was true, all she wanted was to be with Him again - to gaze upon His glorious face one more time. She knew, with all her being, that with Him there was life and through Him love was originated.
As her mind traveled through the moments of yesterday her eyes became heavy...
---
Suddenly, she was awakened from her unexpected slumber. Feeling somewhat ashamed for falling asleep in the hour she was to watch, she gasped in fear of having missed Him. Picking up her clock on her bedside she peered into the face as the hands whirled and twirled in madness, and instantly her heart began to whirl and twirl along with the time. "What is happening?" she whispered to herself.
Before she could finish the thought, her heavy, wooden door flung open and banged loudly against her bedroom wall. Still a little muffled from just awakening, Rose was easily startled by the sudden sound. Throwing the clock upon her bed, she arose to see what had caused the commotion. Instead of her normal hallway with it's normal wallpaper and normal doors - she found herself gazing upon a humble little path leading into a dense, wooded forest. At the beginning sat a little wooden sign with the words, "The Pursuit of the Knowledge of Him Whom You Seek."
Within her belly traveling up to her heart, where His voice so often echoed, she heard Him say, "Follow."
And so small and eager Rose began to move forward, one step at a time...
wake up, wake up oh my soul!
the radio of the world plays a little tune ---
submerging the airwaves
saturating the hearts of mankind.
over and over the melodies form the message,
"peace, peace. safety, safety..."
it's a lullaby... tinkering and waltzing straight into the
souls of men.
like sirens the song demands a response to all the hearers.
"sleep away the day," they say, "in the luxurious rooms...
in the comfortable homes of leisure and lethargy."
men and women everywhere, drunken by the theme of
the temporal.
this is all we have. this is what it's all about. the here and now.
the now and here.
the "do, ray, me" of humanity carving out a home in this world
the song comes riding in on the darkness that blinds the eyes of men
the banner flying high, swaying to the winds of deception, reads
"we have lost sight of the age to come."
today is the day to rest, they say.
instant gratification.
godless banquets fulfilling their hunger.
comfort! comfort! comfort is what they reach for.
... and the song continues on.
but there are the few.
the odd.
the ones raging against the flood of apathy.
making war on passivity.
the marked. the friends of God caught up in the mourning for the bridegroom.
the heirs of the promise - voluntary embracing continuous hunger.
those who have tuned into the hidden song of the unseen.
trumpeting from the river of Fire within -
backed by the choruses of the angels
composed by the Coming King.
these are the ones LIVING IN THE TENSION
found cloaked in urgency.
you can find them caught in the in-between...
these ones never sleep.
nor do they fall into slumber.
they leave no room for comfort.
they have joined with the Son of Man, having no place to lay their heads.
they have thrown to the fire temporal comfort which so quickly distracts
for they LIVE FROM THE INSIDE. MARCH TOWARDS THE INVISIBLE.
the only comfort to be had for this company of Lovers is
the Eternal Comforter dwelling within...
which offers the greatest consolation of the PROMISE.
for they are children of Abraham. waiting for the inheritance which
will never fade.
they are looked upon by the peoples living in their self-made kingdoms
built with paper and wood.
they are scoffed at by the "kings" of this age - who are blinded by the worth of true gold.
that which will stand on the Day of Reckoning.
for these ones are strangers.
sojourners. pilgrims.
if you listen you can hear them roaring the song of heaven,
"This is not our home! We are of another world! And we will not rest
until we reach this place!"
they exist, at the present, between two ages.
they look around and see all that is so quickly fading,
and they peer ahead to the heavenly country -
a land governed by Perfection
filled with Endless Love.
they grieve. they groan. they refuse to settle until
all the wrong things are made right.
and the King returns to His land.
and His voice can be heard by every ear
and He rules from a throne seated in Jerusalem
and His leadership of all things begins.
Only then will they lay down to peace
only then will they sleep to the sounds of safety.
this is a people sick with love -
and the culmination of their desperation results in the song
that raises to heaven,
"The Spirit and the Bride say COME."
those that ache and groan for His kingdom to come on earth
have conformed to the culture of eternity and there will be at home.
they watch.
they pray.
while all are found resting in their beds... sleeping the day away,
they can be found sitting at the window peering into the sky:
oil stored up for their lamps to last the night...
and as they look beyond the window -
and as they set their hearts on things above...
their hearts cry,
"We were made for God.
and when Love Himself comes to earth -
we will be in agreement, full agreement,
with His love and all it requires.
We will hate wickedness as He does.
and we will be found ready.
we will be found pure.
we will be found spotless.
we will be found longing -
and on that day -
our thirst will be satisfied.
and we will be travelers who have finally found their home."
they are the Awake found waiting...
waiting...
waiting...
"....we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body...
but if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance." - Romans 8:23-25
submerging the airwaves
saturating the hearts of mankind.
over and over the melodies form the message,
"peace, peace. safety, safety..."
it's a lullaby... tinkering and waltzing straight into the
souls of men.
like sirens the song demands a response to all the hearers.
"sleep away the day," they say, "in the luxurious rooms...
in the comfortable homes of leisure and lethargy."
men and women everywhere, drunken by the theme of
the temporal.
this is all we have. this is what it's all about. the here and now.
the now and here.
the "do, ray, me" of humanity carving out a home in this world
the song comes riding in on the darkness that blinds the eyes of men
the banner flying high, swaying to the winds of deception, reads
"we have lost sight of the age to come."
today is the day to rest, they say.
instant gratification.
godless banquets fulfilling their hunger.
comfort! comfort! comfort is what they reach for.
... and the song continues on.
but there are the few.
the odd.
the ones raging against the flood of apathy.
making war on passivity.
the marked. the friends of God caught up in the mourning for the bridegroom.
the heirs of the promise - voluntary embracing continuous hunger.
those who have tuned into the hidden song of the unseen.
trumpeting from the river of Fire within -
backed by the choruses of the angels
composed by the Coming King.
these are the ones LIVING IN THE TENSION
found cloaked in urgency.
you can find them caught in the in-between...
these ones never sleep.
nor do they fall into slumber.
they leave no room for comfort.
they have joined with the Son of Man, having no place to lay their heads.
they have thrown to the fire temporal comfort which so quickly distracts
for they LIVE FROM THE INSIDE. MARCH TOWARDS THE INVISIBLE.
the only comfort to be had for this company of Lovers is
the Eternal Comforter dwelling within...
which offers the greatest consolation of the PROMISE.
for they are children of Abraham. waiting for the inheritance which
will never fade.
they are looked upon by the peoples living in their self-made kingdoms
built with paper and wood.
they are scoffed at by the "kings" of this age - who are blinded by the worth of true gold.
that which will stand on the Day of Reckoning.
for these ones are strangers.
sojourners. pilgrims.
if you listen you can hear them roaring the song of heaven,
"This is not our home! We are of another world! And we will not rest
until we reach this place!"
they exist, at the present, between two ages.
they look around and see all that is so quickly fading,
and they peer ahead to the heavenly country -
a land governed by Perfection
filled with Endless Love.
they grieve. they groan. they refuse to settle until
all the wrong things are made right.
and the King returns to His land.
and His voice can be heard by every ear
and He rules from a throne seated in Jerusalem
and His leadership of all things begins.
Only then will they lay down to peace
only then will they sleep to the sounds of safety.
this is a people sick with love -
and the culmination of their desperation results in the song
that raises to heaven,
"The Spirit and the Bride say COME."
those that ache and groan for His kingdom to come on earth
have conformed to the culture of eternity and there will be at home.
they watch.
they pray.
while all are found resting in their beds... sleeping the day away,
they can be found sitting at the window peering into the sky:
oil stored up for their lamps to last the night...
and as they look beyond the window -
and as they set their hearts on things above...
their hearts cry,
"We were made for God.
and when Love Himself comes to earth -
we will be in agreement, full agreement,
with His love and all it requires.
We will hate wickedness as He does.
and we will be found ready.
we will be found pure.
we will be found spotless.
we will be found longing -
and on that day -
our thirst will be satisfied.
and we will be travelers who have finally found their home."
they are the Awake found waiting...
waiting...
waiting...
"....we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body...
but if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance." - Romans 8:23-25
"i will not leave you as orphans; i will come to you"
There is a place within us that no man can visit...
a hidden place deep within..
a locked garden - the Holy Spirit's habitation, the inner-man.
There is much of you, of me, of us as human beings that will NEVER be understood
by another.
It will never be discovered, and if, through attempts to explain it, these deep waters will,
more than likely, not be treated with the value and delicate care they so deserve.
and truly, it would be a man whose visited an unknown land wanting another to taste of
the new and undiscovered fruits by mere storytelling.
What I'm talking about here - is that locked place.
the you of rushing rivers that flows between the ribs to the thoughts behind the eyes.
The thoughts of a man.
The emotions of a man.
The history of one - the wounds and triumphs and glories and broken loves.
The desires, deep within, and the fears and the hopes and the explanations
that not even the greatest of writers could convey or the most talented musician
string out.
and after we are purified,
down the stairwells, and through the torn curtain,
abides the Holy of Holies, within us.
where only 2 can enter.
ourselves (with all it's mysteries and reality)
and the God of the Universe.
And God has mandated it this way.
This is His glory.
For He is God, a great Creator, and He has reserved the depths of a human being
for Himself, for He is a jealous One...
And He wants us to give Him this place, and live from this place, and abide within this place.
It's the kingdom of heaven within, it's the Holy Spirit's indwelling, it's the place where God can make home.
And we, especially as women, toil and spin and strive to be known.
Though some admit to hiding, it's really a holding out, the waiting for the one who proves to deal well with that which is within.
We write deep thoughts, or dream of the day when we are married, where we will REALLY be known,
and enjoyed for the depths and fully understood.
but i am guessing,
and i'm saying this prematurely, for obviously I am not married,
and obviously there is something about becoming One with someone that transcends
all other relationships,
but still.
but still.
there is a deep, deep, deep reservoir within.
and even the greatest of lovers will never tread there -
and this, in immaturity, could produce frustration and anger...
but really,
there is a key owned by One Man,
and it's Jesus.
and once we understand that.
i think there is this level of freedom,
of pure liberation, that is obtained.
for we cease to strive to pull out and give and show this deep part of us,
not out of selfishness or fear,
but out of the mere knowledge that man couldn't understand even if we tried...
because it's His. and He can have it - and if He wishes to publish it for mankind -
He shall, for those He chooses, but if not -
His communion and His being the High Priest who UNDERSTANDS fully and SYMPATHIZES fully
that is enough.
and so if we live our lives forever alone,
waking up to an empty bed,
no spouse to share our secrets with,
no children to pass on our lessons to,
and no friends to laugh about the oddities buried beneath
the normalcy of live.
it's really okay.
really.
Because the God of the Universe dwells within.
and He's the only one who really KNOWS us anyway,
even those who deny His existence or flee from His invitation,
even they are known and watched and live in a deceit that tells them they are alone,
in their own insanity and their own inner struggle and their own emotional hurricanes and their own deep misunderstandings,
even they are haunted by the Holder of all Secrets.
Yes, and He shall be named closer than a brother - the dearest Friend.
He has walked upon the waters of our souls and swam within the roaring oceans of our minds since before we were born.
to Him we are FULLY known.
there is only One, whom too, has tasted from the same well of suffering our own hearts has drank from
and there is only One, who has taken part in every everlasting joy and jubilee within the inside of one's soul.
hallelujah that one day, quicker than we can blink our eyes, we will behold the Face
that peers deeply within our beings and watches our every movement and hears every desperate plea
and holds within His hands all that was never appreciated or understood by the minds of men.
The joy of it all is enough to cause martyrs to march to their death
and cause lovers to waste their lives on the Invisible.
and it's true, beloved, truly truly true.
He is the greatest Lover.
a hidden place deep within..
a locked garden - the Holy Spirit's habitation, the inner-man.
There is much of you, of me, of us as human beings that will NEVER be understood
by another.
It will never be discovered, and if, through attempts to explain it, these deep waters will,
more than likely, not be treated with the value and delicate care they so deserve.
and truly, it would be a man whose visited an unknown land wanting another to taste of
the new and undiscovered fruits by mere storytelling.
What I'm talking about here - is that locked place.
the you of rushing rivers that flows between the ribs to the thoughts behind the eyes.
The thoughts of a man.
The emotions of a man.
The history of one - the wounds and triumphs and glories and broken loves.
The desires, deep within, and the fears and the hopes and the explanations
that not even the greatest of writers could convey or the most talented musician
string out.
and after we are purified,
down the stairwells, and through the torn curtain,
abides the Holy of Holies, within us.
where only 2 can enter.
ourselves (with all it's mysteries and reality)
and the God of the Universe.
And God has mandated it this way.
This is His glory.
For He is God, a great Creator, and He has reserved the depths of a human being
for Himself, for He is a jealous One...
And He wants us to give Him this place, and live from this place, and abide within this place.
It's the kingdom of heaven within, it's the Holy Spirit's indwelling, it's the place where God can make home.
And we, especially as women, toil and spin and strive to be known.
Though some admit to hiding, it's really a holding out, the waiting for the one who proves to deal well with that which is within.
We write deep thoughts, or dream of the day when we are married, where we will REALLY be known,
and enjoyed for the depths and fully understood.
but i am guessing,
and i'm saying this prematurely, for obviously I am not married,
and obviously there is something about becoming One with someone that transcends
all other relationships,
but still.
but still.
there is a deep, deep, deep reservoir within.
and even the greatest of lovers will never tread there -
and this, in immaturity, could produce frustration and anger...
but really,
there is a key owned by One Man,
and it's Jesus.
and once we understand that.
i think there is this level of freedom,
of pure liberation, that is obtained.
for we cease to strive to pull out and give and show this deep part of us,
not out of selfishness or fear,
but out of the mere knowledge that man couldn't understand even if we tried...
because it's His. and He can have it - and if He wishes to publish it for mankind -
He shall, for those He chooses, but if not -
His communion and His being the High Priest who UNDERSTANDS fully and SYMPATHIZES fully
that is enough.
and so if we live our lives forever alone,
waking up to an empty bed,
no spouse to share our secrets with,
no children to pass on our lessons to,
and no friends to laugh about the oddities buried beneath
the normalcy of live.
it's really okay.
really.
Because the God of the Universe dwells within.
and He's the only one who really KNOWS us anyway,
even those who deny His existence or flee from His invitation,
even they are known and watched and live in a deceit that tells them they are alone,
in their own insanity and their own inner struggle and their own emotional hurricanes and their own deep misunderstandings,
even they are haunted by the Holder of all Secrets.
Yes, and He shall be named closer than a brother - the dearest Friend.
He has walked upon the waters of our souls and swam within the roaring oceans of our minds since before we were born.
to Him we are FULLY known.
there is only One, whom too, has tasted from the same well of suffering our own hearts has drank from
and there is only One, who has taken part in every everlasting joy and jubilee within the inside of one's soul.
hallelujah that one day, quicker than we can blink our eyes, we will behold the Face
that peers deeply within our beings and watches our every movement and hears every desperate plea
and holds within His hands all that was never appreciated or understood by the minds of men.
The joy of it all is enough to cause martyrs to march to their death
and cause lovers to waste their lives on the Invisible.
and it's true, beloved, truly truly true.
He is the greatest Lover.
so come into Your garden.
come with me, in your imagination, to a secret place.
close your eyes, if you shall, and enter into the reality within -
ask the Spirit to arise, and take you into the mysteries of the kingdom.
follow me, into touch and feel.
into hear and beats of a rhythm not yet found by men
music and pictures, moving and swirling and spinning, from a different realm.
mysttterrrrrrry -
for here fascination and exhilaration originate.
dancers dance to a moving, whistling winds of love
& singers sing with melodies and harmonies of holy obsession.
let us peer through the window of our souls -
into the Spirit.
the Spirit.
the Spirit.
which is ours, and His, and mine, and His.
and together we fellowship. we commune.
we journey together into the endless, boundless, depths of God.
the unsearchable waters of this Being. this infinite Being.
this never-ending source of Power, and Wisdom, and Beauty, and Love,
and Passion.
join hands with me as we jump off the rugged cliff of the seen
&
let go and violently abandon all that we know...
free fall, with earth above, and heaven below.
fallllllling. the dark storms brewing above, and the memory of His presence
pushing us down, down, down.
the tune that continues to play over and over and over.
the taste that was left upon our tongue.
pushing us further.
further.
forcing us
down
&
down
&
down
&
here we are: falllllling.
listen to the breakers and the waves and breakers of
the depths. the endlessness of the raging waters of GOD.
the souls of seeking ask the terrifying questions:
Who is this One that causes creation to groan?
Who is this One who holds the world together by the sound of His voice?
Who is this One pulling us dowwwwwn....?
and here we are hitting this
water - being swallowed into the sinking of seeking.
Overtaken
by
mystery
by
mystery
by
mystery
by
the Hidden
by
the cloudy, raging, roaring waters of the deeeeep deeeeep wonders of
Him who came booming over Mount Sinai.
who struck down thousands by the waters of the seas
who burned down fire and sulphur onto wickedness
who threw His wrath, intended for men, upon His very own Son.
yet the only option is to
crash into the horizon of water and sky
the waters of this limitless Being:
the whisperings asking, who is this?
who offered His Spirit.
WHO IS THIS vast being - whose waters we have begun to swim...
yet this is only
the beginning...
this is only the beginning...
this is the refusal to be satisfied with words. words. words.
this is the rejection of only peering from afar.
this is beginning the pursuit that eternity won't even exhaust.
cutting the rope.
holding nothing back.
giving up
everything
and falling.
falling,
falllllling
into the neverending Sea.
and we shall swim straight into Him.
and the screams of the skies will be silenced
and the emancipation of the soul will be found.
LET GO.
close your eyes, if you shall, and enter into the reality within -
ask the Spirit to arise, and take you into the mysteries of the kingdom.
follow me, into touch and feel.
into hear and beats of a rhythm not yet found by men
music and pictures, moving and swirling and spinning, from a different realm.
mysttterrrrrrry -
for here fascination and exhilaration originate.
dancers dance to a moving, whistling winds of love
& singers sing with melodies and harmonies of holy obsession.
let us peer through the window of our souls -
into the Spirit.
the Spirit.
the Spirit.
which is ours, and His, and mine, and His.
and together we fellowship. we commune.
we journey together into the endless, boundless, depths of God.
the unsearchable waters of this Being. this infinite Being.
this never-ending source of Power, and Wisdom, and Beauty, and Love,
and Passion.
join hands with me as we jump off the rugged cliff of the seen
&
let go and violently abandon all that we know...
free fall, with earth above, and heaven below.
fallllllling. the dark storms brewing above, and the memory of His presence
pushing us down, down, down.
the tune that continues to play over and over and over.
the taste that was left upon our tongue.
pushing us further.
further.
forcing us
down
&
down
&
down
&
here we are: falllllling.
listen to the breakers and the waves and breakers of
the depths. the endlessness of the raging waters of GOD.
the souls of seeking ask the terrifying questions:
Who is this One that causes creation to groan?
Who is this One who holds the world together by the sound of His voice?
Who is this One pulling us dowwwwwn....?
and here we are hitting this
water - being swallowed into the sinking of seeking.
Overtaken
by
mystery
by
mystery
by
mystery
by
the Hidden
by
the cloudy, raging, roaring waters of the deeeeep deeeeep wonders of
Him who came booming over Mount Sinai.
who struck down thousands by the waters of the seas
who burned down fire and sulphur onto wickedness
who threw His wrath, intended for men, upon His very own Son.
yet the only option is to
crash into the horizon of water and sky
the waters of this limitless Being:
the whisperings asking, who is this?
who offered His Spirit.
WHO IS THIS vast being - whose waters we have begun to swim...
yet this is only
the beginning...
this is only the beginning...
this is the refusal to be satisfied with words. words. words.
this is the rejection of only peering from afar.
this is beginning the pursuit that eternity won't even exhaust.
cutting the rope.
holding nothing back.
giving up
everything
and falling.
falling,
falllllling
into the neverending Sea.
and we shall swim straight into Him.
and the screams of the skies will be silenced
and the emancipation of the soul will be found.
LET GO.
it's the end of the age as we know it
i heard this tale once, tall and towering,
yet somehow true...
and for its borrowing
i am here to let it out,
break the seams,
let rushing water overwhelm
this
infamous drought.
listen all ears
hungry for
emerald
and gold.
galatic fairytales
parables of old
hidden enigmas
never been told.
what
could
this be.
the great feeding
the mystery breeding
the beautiful shes
and the powerful hes
all in need.
for they are the broken.
they are the maimed.
and out of the heart shaped cavern of
hunger.
the calvary speaks,
"whisper Oh Man of the Desert
dusty feet
a wellspring of waters
tall oak Tree.
bury my bones in the
depths of your belly.
count back down from three.
let me grow
out of your skin
and speak to these roots,
say to these anchors like lead -
that hollow evenings are about to be fed
with cement
and there we shall sink deeep deeep
covered
in
the unbreakable.
unshakeable.
make us beautiful."
and there He stands.
mighty Man of war -
the jewel of the desert
sparkling against the Saharan sun
He vies for frail affection
like a hungry village for the burnt batch of rice.
dusty frames have no delight to offer
but still He withholds, only to entice.
this King, a jar filled with blood,
is Wisdom
rushing
roaring
soaking
the alluring Flood.
sparkle.
shine.
glitter.
sweet red wine.
"lets drink from your cup.
garnished veneer
golden studded handle
bubbles
and water
and red
and tears."
this is a pining for light.
liquid illumination.
He sets people on fire.
the famished come bounding.
it's the Burning Man in the desert.
His call is resounding.
and the great eagles of the sky
peer with their one seeing eye
down into the great bowl of sand
the seemingly barren barren barren land.
and the great God of the flame
is surrounded by rusty and weathered lampstands
the shattered and lame.
but they too
are burning.
burning.
burning.
"in His river of fire,
we are illuminated."
no one is being consumed.
like moses and His bush.
forever blazing
this is the hour.
watch.
squint into the Sun.
He breathes.
yet somehow true...
and for its borrowing
i am here to let it out,
break the seams,
let rushing water overwhelm
this
infamous drought.
listen all ears
hungry for
emerald
and gold.
galatic fairytales
parables of old
hidden enigmas
never been told.
what
could
this be.
the great feeding
the mystery breeding
the beautiful shes
and the powerful hes
all in need.
for they are the broken.
they are the maimed.
and out of the heart shaped cavern of
hunger.
the calvary speaks,
"whisper Oh Man of the Desert
dusty feet
a wellspring of waters
tall oak Tree.
bury my bones in the
depths of your belly.
count back down from three.
let me grow
out of your skin
and speak to these roots,
say to these anchors like lead -
that hollow evenings are about to be fed
with cement
and there we shall sink deeep deeep
covered
in
the unbreakable.
unshakeable.
make us beautiful."
and there He stands.
mighty Man of war -
the jewel of the desert
sparkling against the Saharan sun
He vies for frail affection
like a hungry village for the burnt batch of rice.
dusty frames have no delight to offer
but still He withholds, only to entice.
this King, a jar filled with blood,
is Wisdom
rushing
roaring
soaking
the alluring Flood.
sparkle.
shine.
glitter.
sweet red wine.
"lets drink from your cup.
garnished veneer
golden studded handle
bubbles
and water
and red
and tears."
this is a pining for light.
liquid illumination.
He sets people on fire.
the famished come bounding.
it's the Burning Man in the desert.
His call is resounding.
and the great eagles of the sky
peer with their one seeing eye
down into the great bowl of sand
the seemingly barren barren barren land.
and the great God of the flame
is surrounded by rusty and weathered lampstands
the shattered and lame.
but they too
are burning.
burning.
burning.
"in His river of fire,
we are illuminated."
no one is being consumed.
like moses and His bush.
forever blazing
this is the hour.
watch.
squint into the Sun.
He breathes.
replace the plastic chairs
lola don't know what happened.
she really don't.
but you can peer through her gloriously, glorious bay window and find her
and her paper dolls
barely seen amidst a mountain of browned maps
rolled up over and over with all her plans.
lists and places and trinkets and things
her little life inside this mansion of a cabin - built with woooooooden beams,
ceilings low to the ground,
has
been
interrupted.
watch the terribly divine inter•jection.
it must be
the great pause/reversal on the ancient tape player.
hear it sssskip skip, change. the blood in the atrium beating to a new, ethereal rhythm.
the silver record, switches to something of divine nature.
and she tastes it all crashing down, as rubble and rust cover
her little life of dreaming -
and ceiling dusts rest upon her tongue.
listen
as she whispers to herself, in the squeaky voice behind her mother's
red lipstick, "He tends to do this to me..."
invisible movements.
missing bed frames.
the great reform.
FOR WE HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT.
ya, she's a dreamer. a seer. a fairy in a make-believe world.
ya, she's an architect. a lover. a terrified child in need of deconstruction.
lola's one of those with chipped white nail polish, and gaudy diamond rings, and dancing fingers upon the bottom of her
hair.
ya. she's a daughter. a dancer. a safe-havened sojourner looking for a home.
and there she was: mapping out all the bold-fonted tomorrows,
with colors and numbers
and connecting dot.dot.dots,
all perfectly in line,
lining up.
cake. and horses. and oceans. and fire from heaven.
babies. and 17 stringed harps. and foggy fruit gardens.
all perfectly one after the other
etched in her expectation well,
going deep within her soul.
columns and rows like pebbles in the walls of castles.
deep dark waters like the kiddy pool in the back yard.
(stones captured from a greater, rock mountain?
waters stolen from deeper seas - stretching beyond those blufffs like mighty knights on the backdrop of sand, sand, shell, and sand.
it must be only the outlines of her coloring books.
ever and only.)
but THEN.
click one, twenty, thirteen, ten.
He comes -
that stranger of a man,
light, and Life, and mystery, and power..
it's either this way
or that...
he arrives on a horse painted yellow
out of the abyss of her inner frame
can you see him
knock
the
house
down?
smell shreds of map and paper and color
all over the ground.
mounds of piles, and piles of mound.
and lola remembers, even through blurred vision within
the waterfall of wondering.
in a whisper she recites those classical words,
"I love it when He does this.
yes, I am sure."
for there is something delightfully fascinating about
swallowing the soup He serves.
she's been at the banquet before -
and what sings to her from the table of glass
sounds better to her stomach than all
the potions of concoctions of adventures she's
written out before.
being blanketed, anyway, by sinking, submerging sands of time.
his offering exceeds her faction-ing.
his diamonds are the fat beat that
make the song worthy of a dance.
she knows she's not a good artist.
her play-games bore
the atmosphere.
lola longs to live -
and so she's remembering.
his redefinition is her reality.
for the title of his book is still,
"i know your desires."
watch him reprogram the time machine.
this is glorious.
and lola breathes.
selah unto living.
and living unto
LIFE.
she really don't.
but you can peer through her gloriously, glorious bay window and find her
and her paper dolls
barely seen amidst a mountain of browned maps
rolled up over and over with all her plans.
lists and places and trinkets and things
her little life inside this mansion of a cabin - built with woooooooden beams,
ceilings low to the ground,
has
been
interrupted.
watch the terribly divine inter•jection.
it must be
the great pause/reversal on the ancient tape player.
hear it sssskip skip, change. the blood in the atrium beating to a new, ethereal rhythm.
the silver record, switches to something of divine nature.
and she tastes it all crashing down, as rubble and rust cover
her little life of dreaming -
and ceiling dusts rest upon her tongue.
listen
as she whispers to herself, in the squeaky voice behind her mother's
red lipstick, "He tends to do this to me..."
invisible movements.
missing bed frames.
the great reform.
FOR WE HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT.
ya, she's a dreamer. a seer. a fairy in a make-believe world.
ya, she's an architect. a lover. a terrified child in need of deconstruction.
lola's one of those with chipped white nail polish, and gaudy diamond rings, and dancing fingers upon the bottom of her
hair.
ya. she's a daughter. a dancer. a safe-havened sojourner looking for a home.
and there she was: mapping out all the bold-fonted tomorrows,
with colors and numbers
and connecting dot.dot.dots,
all perfectly in line,
lining up.
cake. and horses. and oceans. and fire from heaven.
babies. and 17 stringed harps. and foggy fruit gardens.
all perfectly one after the other
etched in her expectation well,
going deep within her soul.
columns and rows like pebbles in the walls of castles.
deep dark waters like the kiddy pool in the back yard.
(stones captured from a greater, rock mountain?
waters stolen from deeper seas - stretching beyond those blufffs like mighty knights on the backdrop of sand, sand, shell, and sand.
it must be only the outlines of her coloring books.
ever and only.)
but THEN.
click one, twenty, thirteen, ten.
He comes -
that stranger of a man,
light, and Life, and mystery, and power..
it's either this way
or that...
he arrives on a horse painted yellow
out of the abyss of her inner frame
can you see him
knock
the
house
down?
smell shreds of map and paper and color
all over the ground.
mounds of piles, and piles of mound.
and lola remembers, even through blurred vision within
the waterfall of wondering.
in a whisper she recites those classical words,
"I love it when He does this.
yes, I am sure."
for there is something delightfully fascinating about
swallowing the soup He serves.
she's been at the banquet before -
and what sings to her from the table of glass
sounds better to her stomach than all
the potions of concoctions of adventures she's
written out before.
being blanketed, anyway, by sinking, submerging sands of time.
his offering exceeds her faction-ing.
his diamonds are the fat beat that
make the song worthy of a dance.
she knows she's not a good artist.
her play-games bore
the atmosphere.
lola longs to live -
and so she's remembering.
his redefinition is her reality.
for the title of his book is still,
"i know your desires."
watch him reprogram the time machine.
this is glorious.
and lola breathes.
selah unto living.
and living unto
LIFE.
yet again, there He is.
like a small child on the lap of her father
she rereads the book for the 133rd time
traces her delicate hands over the ragged page
humming the sound she feels would come from the sky
swaying to the beat of the rhyming words
this is her comfort.
growing in an age of the drunken old man
asleep on his pillow of gold.
the earth is his overcoat, and the spirit of the age is
his sleeping pill - drifting him away.
cracked skin and rubbed down knuckles,
he snores to the sound of "comfort, and safety, and pleasure"
and his droning is the fire behind every word being brought forth.
"drink and be merry - for we rule the world"
she didn't choose to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
at night, when the wind rattles the window,
we hide in the closets and talk to Jesus.
the earth rumbles, and when the TV's finally turned down,
and the silence is visited,
we know something is about to happen.
and even so,
she didn't choose to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
rocks cradled in the arms of the earth,
dirt covered and telling stories,
sing His praises.
deep in the oceans, where men know not of,
they groan for His return,
because even they - lacking spirit and soul -
know something is terribly wrong.
like a little girl, dancing to acoustic strumming and
piano banging, asking to know the God who created her...
believing there's a world to explore in the recesses of
her being.
laying down she sees inside, doors upon doors upon doors
where light creeps from gap between floor and frame.
it's the rooms of the stories of the prophets.
it's the halls of the tears of the martyrs.
it's the longing of all those who have came before her.
an ushering.
she didn't ask to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
it's the culmination of the ages.
and the bowls of the cries of the chosen ones burns forth,
and there is such thing as the wrath of the Lamb.
but amidst a scarlet woman on a scarlet beast.
the room where she reads,
the walls to which she sings,
and even the father who raised her up,
flee away.
and
she
hears.
the pages come to life, and the musics volumes shake the floorboards.
she whispers, "HE IS REAL."
this is the
swimming in the dwelling place of God.
He who is a Priest and a Lamb.
He who is slain and rose again.
He who is a servant and a King.
the desire of the nations.
the man of war, drenched in the blood of the wicked.
the Lion of the Tribe of Judah
is roaring.
and the noise rattles her frame,
and she falls to her face - a picture and a sign.
the Bride, so unaware.
the Bride, being called forth.
Oh so distant are the wildernesses in which prophets are born.
Oh so terrible is the sun.
Oh so troubling is the loneliness.
Oh so terrifying is the hour.
Oh so great is our God.
all the aching of all the hearts
is found in the Fountain.
all the aching of all the hearts
is found in the Light.
and she is found drinking deeply,
and she is found swimming in the heat of the glory.
as she bellows "I want to be with You where you are"
and as soon as the song is sung, the tenor overtakes
from the depths of His being, the same song,
"I want to be with You where you are."
she didn't ask to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
but He is asking for friends.
for His rod of iron shall dash them,
and His wife will be clean.
His glory shall arise in Zion,
and the darkened skies will break,
and nothing will ever be the same.
and so the chorus arises, for those who love His appearing,
"Even so, Come Lord Jesus."
Even so, Come.
Jesus, we want You to come back.
she rereads the book for the 133rd time
traces her delicate hands over the ragged page
humming the sound she feels would come from the sky
swaying to the beat of the rhyming words
this is her comfort.
growing in an age of the drunken old man
asleep on his pillow of gold.
the earth is his overcoat, and the spirit of the age is
his sleeping pill - drifting him away.
cracked skin and rubbed down knuckles,
he snores to the sound of "comfort, and safety, and pleasure"
and his droning is the fire behind every word being brought forth.
"drink and be merry - for we rule the world"
she didn't choose to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
at night, when the wind rattles the window,
we hide in the closets and talk to Jesus.
the earth rumbles, and when the TV's finally turned down,
and the silence is visited,
we know something is about to happen.
and even so,
she didn't choose to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
rocks cradled in the arms of the earth,
dirt covered and telling stories,
sing His praises.
deep in the oceans, where men know not of,
they groan for His return,
because even they - lacking spirit and soul -
know something is terribly wrong.
like a little girl, dancing to acoustic strumming and
piano banging, asking to know the God who created her...
believing there's a world to explore in the recesses of
her being.
laying down she sees inside, doors upon doors upon doors
where light creeps from gap between floor and frame.
it's the rooms of the stories of the prophets.
it's the halls of the tears of the martyrs.
it's the longing of all those who have came before her.
an ushering.
she didn't ask to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
it's the culmination of the ages.
and the bowls of the cries of the chosen ones burns forth,
and there is such thing as the wrath of the Lamb.
but amidst a scarlet woman on a scarlet beast.
the room where she reads,
the walls to which she sings,
and even the father who raised her up,
flee away.
and
she
hears.
the pages come to life, and the musics volumes shake the floorboards.
she whispers, "HE IS REAL."
this is the
swimming in the dwelling place of God.
He who is a Priest and a Lamb.
He who is slain and rose again.
He who is a servant and a King.
the desire of the nations.
the man of war, drenched in the blood of the wicked.
the Lion of the Tribe of Judah
is roaring.
and the noise rattles her frame,
and she falls to her face - a picture and a sign.
the Bride, so unaware.
the Bride, being called forth.
Oh so distant are the wildernesses in which prophets are born.
Oh so terrible is the sun.
Oh so troubling is the loneliness.
Oh so terrifying is the hour.
Oh so great is our God.
all the aching of all the hearts
is found in the Fountain.
all the aching of all the hearts
is found in the Light.
and she is found drinking deeply,
and she is found swimming in the heat of the glory.
as she bellows "I want to be with You where you are"
and as soon as the song is sung, the tenor overtakes
from the depths of His being, the same song,
"I want to be with You where you are."
she didn't ask to be born in this hour.
and she barely understands.
but He is asking for friends.
for His rod of iron shall dash them,
and His wife will be clean.
His glory shall arise in Zion,
and the darkened skies will break,
and nothing will ever be the same.
and so the chorus arises, for those who love His appearing,
"Even so, Come Lord Jesus."
Even so, Come.
Jesus, we want You to come back.
hello sir, You've only come for a visit
i woke up this morning to the Ache.
it followed me from room to room,
as i brushed the tangles from my hair.
like a puppy to its master,
like a leach to its prey.
i wash it off with upward strokes
and bind it's feet with wire.
i feed it promises of comfort,
pillows and vices and crutches and such,
hoping to appease it's hunger.
the gnawing within.
but there it is.
here it is.
tall and proud
short and hidden
lurking
lurking
leaving me wounded.
i'm maimed and broken,
tears coat my eyeballs
and dance upon my blinking eyelids.
i'm a mourner in a black veil
i'm a loser in a broken world
i'm aching aching aching...
i look upon Glory,
i feel traces of the Wind,
my fingertips melt from Fire,
and i lick the Oil from upon my lips
these Ones are the messengers,
and the Ache is the scroll they unveil.
watch him LEAP from the pages,
scurry across the floor,
and make room within my ribs
and take laps within my veins
and nothing can exist without it.
i'm diseased,
i'm toxic,
i'm wasted away by its pain.
and there is not much i can do.
i'm a helpless baby locked up in a crib,
watching through the white wooden posts
what could be, should be, shall be
and knowing i am still
only
a helpless
child.
the Ache is beautiful, even in its pain.
it's the words of Isaiah,
the songs of Solomon,
the fire of John the Baptist,
and the promise of He who shall come again.
the oceans of california,
the serenity of love,
the trees of all the forests,
and the hands of all the friends
only pull back the curtain
and make the Ache sing.
"I am only but a vapor,
reaching for a King."
yet
i looked at the Ache today,
and we spoke over coffee.
i laughed, he cried -
and we pondered the meaning of life.
we sat and painted these words on the wall,
even if with invisible ink,
"I exist to know a Lover,
and you, dear Ache, exist to take me there."
the Spirit (in all its Aching) knows how to make the Bride say, "Come"
Even so,
Come Lord Jesus
(and finish, this Ache, that you started)
heaven sewn to earth in Christ
Your love is strong.
Your love is invasive.
Your love is unrelenting.
Oh, the wonder of God dwelling in the frame of man.
Dust encasing glory,
flesh concealing light.
I can never stray too far,
for Your spirit haunts the home of my blood and bone.
For I am Your temple.
no diamonds.
no gold.
just rib to skin enfolding the Creator.
How can this be so?
You have wrapped your arms of love
around the soul of my self
and refuse to let go.
I awake and You are with me.
I fall asleep and Your stirring in the depths.
Your love is unyielding
Your passion is all-consuming
Your jealousy is more dangerous in what it demands,
than that of the grave.
Simple, mundane moments become
humanity kissed by HOLY, HOLY, HOLY.
You in I.
I hidden in You.
The spirit of the Son of God raging to end the visible separation.
Let Your nearness,
Your fierceness be seen, be known, be feared.
For You are not passive.
You are not impatient.
there is no shadow of turning with You.
I can not escape You.
I can not escape You.
I can not escape You.
the curtain torn,
the bridge built,
the debt paid.
Your blood beckons me.
Your righteousness calls out.
Let God enter man.
& dwell therein.
till eternity passes,
and on and on it goes.
Your love is invasive.
Your love is unrelenting.
Oh, the wonder of God dwelling in the frame of man.
Dust encasing glory,
flesh concealing light.
I can never stray too far,
for Your spirit haunts the home of my blood and bone.
For I am Your temple.
no diamonds.
no gold.
just rib to skin enfolding the Creator.
How can this be so?
You have wrapped your arms of love
around the soul of my self
and refuse to let go.
I awake and You are with me.
I fall asleep and Your stirring in the depths.
Your love is unyielding
Your passion is all-consuming
Your jealousy is more dangerous in what it demands,
than that of the grave.
Simple, mundane moments become
humanity kissed by HOLY, HOLY, HOLY.
You in I.
I hidden in You.
The spirit of the Son of God raging to end the visible separation.
Let Your nearness,
Your fierceness be seen, be known, be feared.
For You are not passive.
You are not impatient.
there is no shadow of turning with You.
I can not escape You.
I can not escape You.
I can not escape You.
the curtain torn,
the bridge built,
the debt paid.
Your blood beckons me.
Your righteousness calls out.
Let God enter man.
& dwell therein.
till eternity passes,
and on and on it goes.
kiss my ears and let them hear
they compare beauty to
emerald lipstick and all those gaudy
ruby rings you find in the plastic,
vintage candy machines.
i'm looking for a 747 to be my carriage,
and swing me to some ethereal tree-houses
or boathouses made out of crystal
floating in the middle of the sea.
dear adventure,
i am waiting for you to return my letter
post-marked four hundred and thirty seven hours ago.
you promised to be quick in response,
but i'm still waiting here
with my neon yellow carrying case
and six hundred summer dresses.
my right leg is falling asleep from crossing them
for fourteen plus days.
and my hair smells like summertime,
and this glass jar of fireflies' sign no longer reads
vacancy.
when will our carousel arrive?
love, longing.
i'm shedding skin like a snake
on the inside.
and things are changing like those plastic toys
kids place on their eyes to watch mini slideshows.
dinosaurs change to butterflies change to firehouses change
to the big question mark painted with pastels.
click, click, click.
when you squint you can see what its asking,
"is this change where He wants me to be?"
"did i catch the right train?"
"what am i doing wrong?"
and i don't know really,
for the smell of chlorine makes me cry
and my dreams are filled with mountains and fairies
and romantic, ethereal, elegant & dainty sort of movie-esque,
momentary after-dinner conversations.
or something like that.
and if you peer through the crack in the golden wall,
you see him eating His dinner alone, with these spoons and forks
that seem too elaborate to be practical.
ya, he knows you are watching him, and he's inviting you in.
but i'm just sitting here at the side of the road,
with my journal and pen,
waiting for something that might never come.
but when i close my eyes, i see.
and i feel the sun licking my skin, it's spit the freckles that merge
together into a cluster of islands on the sea.
but when i close my eyes, i see.
he's drinking that red wine that smells sorta fragrant,
and i can taste it in the air.
he's on a mountain of buttons that will close up all that's
gaping wide and exposing my shame.
his table is turquoise.
his chair is on fire.
and i think he knows i'm watching.
and slowly he raises the cup, and starts to speaking.
but he's moving his mouth, and now he's weeping.
but i can't hear a sound.
i can't hear a sound.
my eyes suddenly open, like the draw back of the shade
rolling up all violently,
and i hear the cars go by. they're drowning out the sound.
cats are crying, and men are yelling, and the clouds seem to be
playing music that fills up my mind. it's the cake in the creases.
so much traffic. so much ebb and flow of this symphony.
martha put on mary's sweater and hear your master luring.
i just want to swim in his wine, and ask him why he's crying.
i scream something under my breath and kick my suitcase in
front of the coming cadillac. i lay down and breath into the sky
to push the clouds out of the way, and start eating the rays
of sun.
i take the key and lock my eyes into the chambers of darkness.
he's weeping. he's calling. he's beckoning. and he knows i'm watching.
and all the letters on the buttons on the remote have been rubbed out,
because time's been wearing them down,
and i can't find the unmute button.
and there he sits, like a king in his castle, and a peasant in his shack.
he's got the wine. he's got the wine. and he's roaring in silence.
something is wrong here.
and i want to pull out my eyes and make them cry.
i want to find the strings of my heart and play them into
feeling. feeling. feeling, whatever the silent man is weeping.
and i know his tears mixed with the red, red drink of choice
will heal my soul,
and sit me at that table
and make me whole.
but i can't interpret what he's saying.
and my spirit's not glowing.
your tears are flowing beneath my feet,
and the waters cold.
you are shivering.
the words weave up the cemented door that
invite me into peace of mind.
"this is who you are,
this is where you are going."
or something like that in poetic nature yet to
enter english language.
the words are dancing.
the words are breathing.
the words are wrapping around my limbs and pulling me near.
it's the vines of the lamb.
it's the vines of his name.
it's the vines that keep growing - paused in time.
i will be your grape, and i will be your vineyard.
make me into wine.
take me where it's you and i.
man of silence shrouded by my busy mind.
your my lover. i'm your chime.
when i hear you, my bells begin to sing.
you love me and i do not understand.
the cement in the doorway tastes like candy-cane.
the vines are growing in slow motion.
i want to be with you where you are.
you promised.
i'm a failure.
let's sit together and dine.
emerald lipstick and all those gaudy
ruby rings you find in the plastic,
vintage candy machines.
i'm looking for a 747 to be my carriage,
and swing me to some ethereal tree-houses
or boathouses made out of crystal
floating in the middle of the sea.
dear adventure,
i am waiting for you to return my letter
post-marked four hundred and thirty seven hours ago.
you promised to be quick in response,
but i'm still waiting here
with my neon yellow carrying case
and six hundred summer dresses.
my right leg is falling asleep from crossing them
for fourteen plus days.
and my hair smells like summertime,
and this glass jar of fireflies' sign no longer reads
vacancy.
when will our carousel arrive?
love, longing.
i'm shedding skin like a snake
on the inside.
and things are changing like those plastic toys
kids place on their eyes to watch mini slideshows.
dinosaurs change to butterflies change to firehouses change
to the big question mark painted with pastels.
click, click, click.
when you squint you can see what its asking,
"is this change where He wants me to be?"
"did i catch the right train?"
"what am i doing wrong?"
and i don't know really,
for the smell of chlorine makes me cry
and my dreams are filled with mountains and fairies
and romantic, ethereal, elegant & dainty sort of movie-esque,
momentary after-dinner conversations.
or something like that.
and if you peer through the crack in the golden wall,
you see him eating His dinner alone, with these spoons and forks
that seem too elaborate to be practical.
ya, he knows you are watching him, and he's inviting you in.
but i'm just sitting here at the side of the road,
with my journal and pen,
waiting for something that might never come.
but when i close my eyes, i see.
and i feel the sun licking my skin, it's spit the freckles that merge
together into a cluster of islands on the sea.
but when i close my eyes, i see.
he's drinking that red wine that smells sorta fragrant,
and i can taste it in the air.
he's on a mountain of buttons that will close up all that's
gaping wide and exposing my shame.
his table is turquoise.
his chair is on fire.
and i think he knows i'm watching.
and slowly he raises the cup, and starts to speaking.
but he's moving his mouth, and now he's weeping.
but i can't hear a sound.
i can't hear a sound.
my eyes suddenly open, like the draw back of the shade
rolling up all violently,
and i hear the cars go by. they're drowning out the sound.
cats are crying, and men are yelling, and the clouds seem to be
playing music that fills up my mind. it's the cake in the creases.
so much traffic. so much ebb and flow of this symphony.
martha put on mary's sweater and hear your master luring.
i just want to swim in his wine, and ask him why he's crying.
i scream something under my breath and kick my suitcase in
front of the coming cadillac. i lay down and breath into the sky
to push the clouds out of the way, and start eating the rays
of sun.
i take the key and lock my eyes into the chambers of darkness.
he's weeping. he's calling. he's beckoning. and he knows i'm watching.
and all the letters on the buttons on the remote have been rubbed out,
because time's been wearing them down,
and i can't find the unmute button.
and there he sits, like a king in his castle, and a peasant in his shack.
he's got the wine. he's got the wine. and he's roaring in silence.
something is wrong here.
and i want to pull out my eyes and make them cry.
i want to find the strings of my heart and play them into
feeling. feeling. feeling, whatever the silent man is weeping.
and i know his tears mixed with the red, red drink of choice
will heal my soul,
and sit me at that table
and make me whole.
but i can't interpret what he's saying.
and my spirit's not glowing.
your tears are flowing beneath my feet,
and the waters cold.
you are shivering.
the words weave up the cemented door that
invite me into peace of mind.
"this is who you are,
this is where you are going."
or something like that in poetic nature yet to
enter english language.
the words are dancing.
the words are breathing.
the words are wrapping around my limbs and pulling me near.
it's the vines of the lamb.
it's the vines of his name.
it's the vines that keep growing - paused in time.
i will be your grape, and i will be your vineyard.
make me into wine.
take me where it's you and i.
man of silence shrouded by my busy mind.
your my lover. i'm your chime.
when i hear you, my bells begin to sing.
you love me and i do not understand.
the cement in the doorway tastes like candy-cane.
the vines are growing in slow motion.
i want to be with you where you are.
you promised.
i'm a failure.
let's sit together and dine.
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