~

the trees have caught fire
again with the slanting light that curves
as the sun sighs behind the mountains into the sea
that rolls through my chest,
settles with the wordless whispers
of the fleeting purity of white
foam
trapped air in water, it laughs in white
as it escapes to its origin, the sunlight
kissed air
that smooths the hair of the child
tucked into bed ten layers of years inside me
and when she laughs i forget
the rough sand so far from sea
that grinds into crevices and refuses to leave
the child grins and blows
every grain away
and every joyless word seems callous
and every black pain despairing
and every laugh is present
and every love lives
'it is no longer i who live, but Christ in me'
today i feel
well today i feel like Christ is a child
wrapped in my arms, under the folds
of a soft layered sleeve
He smells like musty flowers and warm milk
and His fist wraps around my finger
fragile Body curled trustingly
and His
Innocence
sanctifies me
who should be chosen to protect Him
and i understand
the heart of a child as the door to heaven
mother mary, pray for me
to know as you knew

"motherhood" by arianne lequay

these are the faltering words
that try to sanctify the despair i've written so fully here in the past
to remember, to show, that life is really, truly, beautiful, full, real. sometimes i get sad, and sometimes i am joyful. i am writing to show that - well - we can't always be hanging onto the past, or looking to the future. our hope comes from the reality of Christ's presence in our humanity, in every moment - in our despair and in our joy, in our hope and in our darkness, in our peace and friendship and work and play. maybe hope (this is, after all, a blog that ultimately seeks to write about hope) - maybe hope isn't about knowing that one day, in a life to come, there will be pristine joy, but about knowing that right now, right now, something lies beneath whatever we are thinking, feeling, dreaming, hoping, or despairing about - something so beautiful and radiant, that all we need is this one moment to sustain our complete existence. God hides so we will seek Him, an expert in Love. He is here. a Hope fully real, fully present, in every single moment of our existence, beneath every feeling, a Reality that sustains our Being, and the Being of every single soul we encounter today. recognize Him in you and in those around you; hope in Him, and love Him, and then you'll find joy.

shortest sentence in the bible

He wept.

in the spirit of st. francis

got this from another blog i follow, The Heart of Things... bitterly beautiful portrait of St. Francis, and our call to the poor and suffering.


THE REAL FRANCIS

There you stand, O prophet of God
Placid in the sun-drenched garden
And never in the cold dank cave
Or bleeding amidst the thorns.

There you stand, poised and sanitized
Air-brushed with the birds
Who once opened their beaks to praise their Maker
And then stood silent to hear His Holy Word.

Why do you too stay silent
Exiled to sacred niche and abandoned
Upon some plaster pillar?
You who glowed naked ashen upon the barren earth
Now need vigil light and fresh white linen?

What is the weak reason everyone loves you?
And who are you, you little wounded man
That everyone crowns your weary wet head with gold?
Are you not a lion now made mascot or lapdog?

Your bitter life has been made palatable
And burlap garb soft to the touch.
Marketed for the masses
You stand sweet and surreal upon the tattered page.

How do you feel being everyone's plastic saint?
Pulled this way and that
Like puddy shaped
and shoved into the mold of many little minds.

Everyone: old-timers and new-agers,
Left wing liberals and right wing Republicans,
Industrious Amish and lazy agnostics,
Catholic school kids and Protestant preachers;

Yes, the whole lot of us who make up life;
Communists, ecologists, vegetarian, veterinarians, silver-haired hippies and bow tied bankers,

Everyone owns you as no one knows you.

Yet God knows you, you broken tiny man.
And you know Him, do you not?
Resting in crib or burning on a cross,
Hidden behind wafer and wine and Holy Word.

So, as you now stand, pale and listless
so too my poor soul,
far from the sharp thorns and the bright snow
Where you found your Christ.

Yes, you who stumbled along Assisi's stone streets,
And wept while staggering like a drunken man,
Speak to me, a sinner, who feasts on rich fare.
Speak to me of the poor God - of GOD!


peace-

st. francis and a knockout reading trio

hey folks,

it's been awhile! per usual, i am going to be exceedingly productive writing blogs this evening, for precisely the reason that i should be preparing for a presentation and midterm next week. ah well, maybe the two can intertwine a bit (one of the many glorious blessings of being a religious studies major).

so today's the feast day of one of the coolest saints in church history (seriously) - st. francis of assisi. so his prayer was running through my head today (in a similar fashion to which it's been running through my life for the past 21 years or so)... and even if you know it, i'll retype it because i think it's kind of impossible to pray this prayer too often. read it slowly; let it sink in.

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace
where there is hatred, let me sow love
where there is injury, pardon
where there is doubt, faith,
where there is despair, hope
where there is darkness, light,
and where there is sadness, joy

grant that i may not so much seek
to be consoled, as to console
to be understood, as to understand,
to be loved, as to love

for it is in giving that we receive
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal Life.

how hard it is to live this out! to love, believe, forgive, hope, shine, be joyful, console, understand, and give, to die to everything we want for ourselves every single day - i know i've been doing pretty much the opposite of that for quite a while now - even while hearing the prayer run through my head i could feel myself protesting - why should i be the one to be strong? especially when, as is inevitable to happen if you love as uncompromisingly as Christ's life calls us to, the same people you are trying to love are the ones who hate you for trying to be strong or, worse, don't even notice? maybe they should be taught a lesson, i feel myself say. what's the point of excessive love? i'll withdraw, then they'll see, then they'll be sorry! (note to reader: they won't be sorry - just disillusioned. imagine if Christ decided on Holy Thursday to do the same!! how different life would be.)

there's a line somewhere in the Bible that says that when someone asks you to carry their pack for a mile, carry it for two, and by your excess in love you will hurt them - teach them a lesson, if you will. someone in one of my seminars pointed out that this is more like passive aggression, not love. but what is love? isn't it nothing more than moving another soul closer to God? didn't Christ look his torturers in the eye and openly accept it? didn't He know that one of the soldiers would cry out as He died, "surely this was the Son of God!"? what could have moved the soldier to cry out those words except for Christ's obedience, excessive acceptance of suffering with love? perhaps part of Christ's love was the knowledge that the guilt stirred up in the soldier's heart would lead to his conversion. was that passive aggression, or just a part of a fuller God-oriented love?

it's difficult to accept this teaching - every fiber of myself that doesn't love God protests against it - because it's a call to the cross. it's a call to death. and it's a call to trust, that the prayer of st. francis speaks the truth - that we will be pardoned, we will receive, and we will be resurrected.


the readings today were beautiful - the first was how Eve was taken from Adam's side, because "it is not good for man to be alone," the second reading was that Christ joins us to the Divine and the Gospel was that man cannot separate what God has joined [now that Christ is with us]. it finishes with a blessing of children. very Theology of the Body - man and woman complete each other, but are united to God through Christ in the Sacrament of Marriage, and can now never be separated... but Christ's unification itself is defined by suffering love. whew. a lot for meditation, much more than i can fit in here - and very good for my romantically-dispositioned self. here, at least, is the second reading, from Hebrews - so beautiful.

"Brothers and sisters:
He "for a little while" was made "lower than the angels, "
that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. "

[though we all die, we will never, i believe, be as alone, as isolated, as Christ in the instant before His death, in the instant before He conquered death - "Daddy, why have you abandoned me?" - we do not taste death like He did, because He conquered it, and death and Resurrection are now the same for those who consecrate themselves to God)]

"For it was fitting that he,
for whom and through whom all things exist,
in bringing many children to glory,
should make the leader to their salvation perfect through suffering.
He who consecrates and those who are being consecrated
all have one origin.
Therefore, he is not ashamed to call them “brothers.” "


beyond words. suffering, love, equality with God, and in the context of the Sacrament of Marriage, all of these things as the living Doorway to the unification of man and woman in Christ, which no man can separate, souls joined forever, through the kind of love St. Francis writes about, only possible if given without reserve, without bitterness, without selfishness or a sense of being wronged - a senseless passionate love for everything that lives, the kind of senselessness that makes one end up nailed to a tree - and the kind of senselessness that, in the end, makes sense so perfectly that only Satan is baffled, the kind of sense that triumphs over death and opens the door to Eternity through the suffering, throbbing heart of love of Jesus Christ.

Amen!!

mixing it up

:)

hey folks

so i've decided to relax a bit and incorporate more of my life into these blogs; it's only fair that you understand where it's all coming from. plus i need to reinforce the idea (for both of us) that loving God is not necessarily melancholic - the whole idea behind Opus Dei (yes, like in Dan Brown's, minus the evil and embellishment) is that God works His way into the details of your life, especially if you let him - and your whole life is details! as i move to reconcile the abstract with the day-to-day, i'll take you along for the ride.

at least i have a good story to begin with: exploring a certain system of tunnels underground. adding to the thrill was that last year an accident occurred in these tunnels that made them look uncomfortably similar to the fires of hell:

gratefully, we did not encounter such excitement in our escapades (compensation came later during rooftop-exploration), but you did feel a bit like a WWII soldier or ninja turtle as you sprinted through the winding tunnels.

secondly: i've decided to re-complete the 110 things to do before you graduate list... pictures and all. we'll see how it goes :)

i'll keep you updated.

peace-

two messages to pass on

as i was praying during the student mass yesterday (for some reason the chapel always makes me sentimental), there was a moment where two things were realized at once - one of hope and one of criticism.

first, that while i had feared that God was allowing me to become strong only to break me down again, i came to a thought that perhaps instead of the total annihilation i'd feared, it would be different this time around - not the total emptying of self, scraping the callous black carbon-coated bottom of despair - but a more real, living pain - becoming strong in order to more fully feel - Christ is the living sacrifice - those words resonate more profoundly with me now. in some ways more terrible, more consuming - more room for pain, but pain mixed with love - but in many ways a relief from the hollow inability to feel. and as of yet, i have not faced it - the groundwork of joy, the hint of the ultimate prize, has been swimming around in my Being, which is coming to love solitude, peace, and being myself without too much worry about the impression it will leave on people. the change to the next wave of suffering - i haven't lived long, but i've lived long enough to recognize the cycles of suffering and joy - i suspect will occur on a primarily internal level - the fullness of choice to open myself, a day that i feel rapidly approaching. i hope i will be strong enough not to fall into the craggy comfort of bitterness; when i am honest with myself i recognize that i have not passed this test in even the smallest aspects of my life - perhaps i should start there. sometimes i feel tired and old, even at 21, like a crabby old lady who feels she's been dealt more than her share of suffering, and a movement back to more consistent peace and joy that come with humility must precede suffering if i am to emerge stronger.

the second realization, less encouraging, was this (be prepared for some disturbing imagery, but it exists to convey a truth): a vision of myself, head back, with terrible spidery crags, like long jagged rocks, bursting out of my chest, dazzling like glitter but chintzy somehow against the reality of my own flesh, laying down roots inside of me and bursting out - my own pride. as soon as i realized its existence i became aware of how entangled i am in it - i immediately congratulated myself on my own supreme self-knowledge to be able to find such a flaw, and began outlining in my mind how to present it in an endearing and artistic light -yes, to you, reader - before coming to my senses, that even in the realization of the existence of pride, pride had found an opportunity to expand! and then, would you believe it, no more than twenty seconds after i'd realized my mistake, i had fallen back into my self-congratulation as though i'd never realized it in the first place - and thus, i am faced with the apparently difficult task of conveying to you my own fallacious nature without allowing myself to be proud about it, and most especially ensuring that you will not part from these words with a higher opinion of me. i shall do my best to present it tersely and in the brutality of honesty necessary to convey the reality of its existence. for every "aha!" you might allow to leap triumphantly in your mind, i hope to have beaten you to it and pointed the accusing finger at myself.

i want, most of all, for you to realize my own brokenness and Christ's supreme grace - that though i am writing these things, it is nothing more than the sum of a God-bestowed love of writing and communication, and a benevolent grace enabled by Christ to even be able to speak one word about Him. i am really nobody, made somebody by a forgiving God, but i don't want you to get any silly notions in your head that i am good or holy - Christ Himself said that only God is holy - and that i myself am perhaps worst of all because of my pride, and perhaps you are closer to salvation than i.

i ask again for your prayers; also, that you take whatever messages away from these reflections independent of the writer; there is nothing in me that allows these words to grow, but rather, anything good you find here is the product of God.

peace-

the attainment of joy

"Our true self is the face of God that looks upon us at each instant of our existence."
-William Chittick, Sufism

In continuation of the contemplations on love and isolation, I've decided to "face the east," as Chittick would say - face the sunrise and the joyous side of the sky. Today I want to talk about joy (yay!) which would be not the means to healing, but a symptom that one is beginning to heal, from self-isolation and loneliness.

Let me first describe joy - I don't mean just happiness; happiness is circumstantial. I mean real, pure, joy - that combination of deep peace, warm comfort, intangible happiness that runs deeper than blood and is situated further inward than heart. The smell of autumn seeping under your window, the understanding of a good friend, a quiet morning and a cup of tea, being surrounded by people you love and who love you... the daily manifestations of joy, in the quiet things.

And then there is loud joy - the wild thunderstorm, crashing winds, utter exhilaration. The mute loud joy of experiencing God's Love, blasting away every bit of yourself and leaving only His intention, His Breath, a slowly perfecting cocoon of Being.

There is a wellspring of Joy inside us that keeps us alive - God is Beauty, and Beauty's purpose is to arouse Joy and Love and draw us deeper into Existence and the crowned, broken, resurrected Heart. Beauty Itself holds us in existence - if we could only grasp the Beauty now, our hearts would break of joy.

But-
we are incapable, as of yet.

our souls are-
so small.

we must stretch them,
like the legs
of a small
child.

We can only know joy through suffering - this is evident. Every pull away from God makes us cling closer to Him if we hold on to faith.

do i dare to be joyful?

to be joyful is to be vulnerable.

what if it means that i am content?
-suffering will draw you forward
deeper.


i'm drawn into the abstract, the metaphysical. but perhaps it is okay, for now; there are nights when i'm lost in the bitter and mundane as well, and i have inheritance to both. don't hate my joy; it is not because i'm righteous but because right now i am still, and God is moving me away. sometimes it hurts, but love transforms it into a deeper understanding - of both pain and joy. if one has the courage to deny cynicism, they inherit suffering and joy.

but perhaps, in the suffering Christ, suffering and joy can become united.
to embrace suffering with love.


the process of joy, phase 1:
become yourself.

there are three elements that make up one's life - God, self, and others. to know God is to become one's truest self, to become one's truest self is to then offer that self to every person you encounter, and to give oneself to others is to participate in the active agape love of God Himself.

so really it should read:

phase one: love God
phase two: let Him strip away all that is Not-You, so your truest Self comes to life
phase three: love actively, in your immediate life and in the social sphere against injustice


joy should not be sought for its own sake; it is merely a byproduct. joy proceeds from recognition of Beauty - seek then Beauty, and joy will follow.


i will speak soon of suffering and compassion, those uniquely human qualities that made God weep with love for us. i'm not ready to speak of them, and will never be while my feet touch this earth, but soon i will try. for now, rest, and be encouraged - in the end lies joy that i could never deserve or come close to grasping, holding, encountering, a pure unadulterated union with all that Is.

Love and Discipline

Structure and growth in the most basic life

It seems that, despite my best efforts, I will not be getting to sleep tonight. It's probably my own fault for allowing myself such a lethargic day, but I'll try and get out all this nervous energy this evening... or morning, rather.

I've been doing a good deal of thinking this evening on the interrelation between Love and discipline. It's not something we hear too much about, and I know that it's not something I've really incorporated into my life. I mean, I've been trying to work out the philosophical nature of love since the 9th grade, and I've had my share of both guided and misguided attempts to love other people, but to be honest it feels like I hit a plateau... or rather, a dead end that required me to turn around and glance at the map again. As I've vaguely referenced in past articles, about a year ago I reached a pretty low point. Although many elements played into the difficulties, I'm pretty sure what tipped the scale was a very long, very one-sided relationship that I had to finally admit couldn't be sustained simply by 'loving.' So then, I had to go back to the drawing table - what does it mean to love another person? How are we able to sustain such a love, especially in the presence of pain, without becoming selfish and taking care of ourselves?

What seems to have been missing, essentially, was a definitive sense of discipline and self-control - of thoughts, desires, emotions, and even day-to-day actions. And of course, it's the unprotected mind that is the most vulnerable to corruption, and in an honest evaluation of that particular situation I could say that I was corrupted, even torn apart, by letting unguarded and undisciplined emotions define my entire life.

Several months later, I met and started dating someone I am perfectly convinced was placed in my life on special commission from God - someone who embodied kindness, purity, forgiveness, and self-control in such volumes that I was utterly astonished. The dignity he afforded to others and to himself as complete human beings flew in the face of every cynical thought that had formed in my mind in the past years. We've recently mutually agreed to continue our discernment independent of each other, and honestly I think it's only the combination of love and self-discipline in our relationship that allowed us to part and remain on such good terms as friends. The year of knowing him set me on a crash course to learn the relation between love and discipline, the fruits of which I hope will come to pass in this upcoming year.

Love without discipline is like trying to grow snap peas without a lattice. Anyone who's ever gardened knows that when you plant peas, you should plant them near a fence or wire to give them a direction to grow. If you do it right, you should have neat rows of pea plants twisting upwards with delicious little pea pods dangling from their vines. (It might be time for a 4am snack). And, in the picture above, if they grow upwards, they also gradually grow closer to one another. But if you don't plant them near a fence or wire, the vines grow everywhere, and wrap around the first thing they come in contact with - the ground, or another pea plant, or itself - and basically becomes a tangled mess. If you don't fix it, the plant dies. It's the same with the heart; without the structure of discipline, it grows in every which way, clinging to anything it happens to come in contact with, and oftentimes tangling up and making a mess. If it's not fixed, the heart clings too tightly to itself and those around it until it loses its life and fades away. In discipline, the heart grows further and further upwards, closer to the sun and to other hearts, more and more capable of truly loving.

I've found myself struggling with old habitual sins. And the longer I wrestle with them, the more I know that I really hate doing them. Why I fall for the temptation over half the time it presents itself, I have no idea - I pulled out a piece of paper earlier and scribbled down every single effect the action has on my mood, thoughts, and demeanor over the short and long term, and I honestly could not list a single pure enjoyment that came from it. It seemed like I was describing the most empty, unattractive, desperate version of myself. And yet I continue. Why? Because of the simple fact that I am enslaved to it, and have not yet developed my love for God, others, and self that is required to live a virtuous life. My lack of discipline has led to the development of a fickle love, and the lack of a true love has made discipline especially challenging - it's all one big cycle! I could try to start with trying to make myself feel as though I love God, to spark the cycle in the right direction, but in the long term that isn't enough. Some essential changes must happen in my daily habits, schedules, and demeanor in order to sustain any further growth in love. Something as mundane as bedtimes and waking times could have an impact on your spiritual life - most of life is made up of the mundane, and to assume that the everyday doesn't have an impact on our essential nature would be, I think, a naive and serious oversight.

Yes. Perhaps I will be able to offer a more moving contemplation when it is not 4:30 in the morning... and I swear that this is still linked to the love and isolation topic... but these are my thoughts for now. Maybe one day they will grow into something beautiful.


peace-

friendships

I'm a bit too tired to theologize tonight, but I do want to write - maybe even just so we can get comfortable with each other :) haha

I've been struggling lately with the idea of friendship; what constitutes a true friendship, what was a true friendship but is no longer, what is a casual 'friendship' and remains thus, and who are simply acquaintances with whom you are friendly. I attempted pretty vigorously over the past year to identify my true friendships and invest in them particularly - relationships with people that were truly give-and-take on a real and essential level, that I could expect to last for a long time. Apparently this move - to look for friends who were interested in giving back, rather than unambiguously sharing myself with everyone - was interpreted as selfish by some people I considered to be close friends, and, unexpectedly, led to them terminating the friendship.

I could analyze this further, but I do want to refrain from too many details or allowing this to degenerate into complaining about the situation - although it is a very troubling and difficult one, trying to figure out if it's my fault or theirs. However, I'm too tired to really think of anything else to say and be able to be sure I won't want to delete it later (yay 1:30 am posts). So I'll end with a quote from someone much better at friendships than myself: "I just try to cherish whatever friends I have in whatever situation we're in." Thanks Dec. I should probably just relax and do the same.

love and isolation

dear friends,

i wrote quite a long blog on this, but decided to save it for later - it would be best served to be prefaced by a testimony, because often a story conveys much more than logical words ever could.

i wrote this in the spring of my first year at uva - february 1st, 2007 - following my first trip to honduras with the missioners of christ. i will post it here, and then try to forget that i've done so - it's exceedingly personal, but i put it here for you, because i believe that when i get down to the core of who i am, it's remarkably similar to the core of who you are - and if that's true, then God needs to speak to you just as He spoke to me.

remember that this is over two and a half years ago, and i have changed and grown since then- but in order to understand who i am and thus connect with anything further i can say, i think one must understand where i'm from - and so i post this. it was titled, "there is something beautiful here."

+ + +

there is something beautiful here...

i remember that night, and yet i don't… day after day of traveling through the village, experiencing the love and the grace of the people of Honduras… night after night, kneeling in front of the Blessed Sacrament, becoming increasingly aware of how utterly unworthy i was to be there, to receive such grace, but it came relentlessly, it filled my heart to the point of breaking and it was torment, wonderful, terrible… night after night of empty words flowing from my mind – i thought i was praying, i was praying in the only way i knew how, telling the Lord to please take my life, just take it… i was out of my league, uncomfortable, i didn't know how to deal with… with everything. with church every morning, with prayer every evening, with that chapel in the center of the house with no walls and no roof, all-encompassing and ever-present, a constant reminder of God. i had prayed before, i believed that i had given my life to God, but suddenly God was everywhere, in every minute, every person, every word… i was overwhelmed, and confused, and… distant.

distant.

who was i?

i didn't care.

who are you?

i could laugh with you, sit down and joke around and be crazy and talk your ear off… but when you left, you were gone. i didn't give a damn if you were upset or sad or frustrated. i was too impatient to care. i had found the solution, i had found the escape – my heart betrayed me, it hurt me. so i left it behind. i was "taking myself less seriously." if i don't take myself seriously, then when i start to feel sad, i can discard it. throw it away. it becomes nothing. it has no power over me. i thought this made me free. now i could flirt freely without danger of breaking my heart, i wasn't too shy or scared to meet new people, because people couldn't hurt me anymore. they couldn't touch me. and that made me powerful.

but i was still missing something. there was an emptiness, and i became agitated and irritated that there was something that could still make me feel empty. well then, i probably just need some friends… maybe a guy too. i'm reasonably intelligent; i know what qualities people find attractive in others. so i started to construct myself: funny, outgoing, nice, generous, spontaneous, dry humor, witty, confident. well, i say that i "started"… in fact it had been a work in progress for years, without me ever fully realizing what was happening. but now, here at college, with so many people to experiment my personality on, it exploded and grew exponentially. oh, and it seemed to be working. i became "friends" with dozens of people instantly, i was learning how to catch a guy's eye… i would become more and more energetic around my friends, and they would respond likewise, and i would get an emotional high, and that was the closest i got to filling the emptiness.

and the night would come, with its lonely silence… and i would sneer at myself with contempt for my melodramatic tendencies, and pack up and go to a friend's suite and stay in the light and noise until i fell asleep on their floor or couch, then make my way back to my room hours later and fall asleep before i could be left alone with myself.

this new me was fun to be around… i had every right to be fun, didn't i? i saw it almost like something noble – to resolutely have a smile on my face despite hardships that came my way.

but kneeling there, in the chapel, the silence pressed in. i knew that something deep within me loved this God i was praying to. the first few days, praying was pure bliss… losing myself in His Presence.

and then He started to stretch me. praying became stressful and exhausting. prayer in the morning, the afternoon, the evening, and talking about God in between. i felt heavy, tired, weighed down. i started to think that maybe i got more than i bargained for when i told God to "take my life."

but God, God wasn't taking anything. God never takes anything. He says, "you must give it. and not by cheap words or a quick prayer. We mean, you must truly *give* it, actively, actively, in every moment of every day, you must give your life to Us, if that is what you desire."

so if God wasn't taking my life, why did i feel so… drained?

He looked at me, and perhaps He knew that there was a seed of sincerity in my prayer, as naïve and simple though it was, and as He listened to my prayers He eventually had mercy and He whispered, "my child, my child, how can you give Us yourself… when you have lost yourself? What is there left for you to give?"

but my mind was filled with tumult and noise, and i didn't hear the whisper.

and yet still, He had mercy.

i remember that night, and yet i don't… there i was, i was kneeling…..

and suddenly it was like a… a tidal wave. or something. just… slammed into me. my whole self-construction… my delicately arranged personality, my ideal person, my idol… just… blasted away.

gone.

and i knelt there. and I was afraid… horrified. what have You done?! my beautiful… my beautiful work of art, so painstakingly constructed… in ruins. can't i keep any of it?! it was beautiful, wasn't it? please, please, can i keep any of it?

no.

but… that took years! and… doesn't it enable me to spread Your Word to more people, i can reach out to more people when i'm not afraid of them? i can be a better servant to You if i keep this, can't i?

but there was silence. nothing beyond that first, resonating, no.

something inside was screaming like a child throwing a tantrum, furious, panicked, helpless.

and then…

fine.

i was sad, heavy. the water from the tidal wave hissed away, leaving muddy puddles and broken debris. But beneath it all, i felt a needle of shock – recognition. it was as though i recognized myself for the first time in years, myself as i used to be, a long time ago, someone that i hadn't even realized had faded away, or who i'd thought had died with my childhood.

there was no joy in the recognition; just sadness and weight, and a quiet murmur of acceptance of this person that had found no place in the fast world i am living in, someone who did not adapt and who was not fit to survive. there was something sad, almost sullen about the reunion. but apparently this was what God wanted… for reasons unbeknownst to me, God destroyed my glorious construction and wanted me to repossess this homely, quiet, unexciting and un-glorified self.

i should have been collapsed in my gratitude for the restoration of self, but all i could do was lament the loss of my creation and think about how much more attractive it was than God's creation.

but the fact remains that God is good and merciful, and despite my lack of gratitude He did not rescind His gift.

and so i slowly grew into myself again, convinced that it meant the sacrifice of every attractive quality i had developed. i dreaded coming back from honduras, i dreaded going back to uva – i would have to learn everything all over again. and now that my constructed self was gone, i was convinced that most of my friends would fade away when they saw my original homely self. but this was what God wanted, and if there was anything that I did right, it was that i tried to accept this and cut my losses.

and then: a miracle.

i got it all back.

my cheery smile, my dry sense of humor, my ability to strike up a conversation with anyone… all of these things i had tried to make for myself. before, they had been a part of my construction, and i thought they had been destroyed. but now, they emanated from my heart, more Real and genuine and loving than ever before, and i see now that every quality I tried to cultivate in myself was just a shadow, a poor imitation, of the True Qualities… like a child who hacks away at a block of wood, trying to imitate the grace and beauty of the Sculptor's work.

and that heart, that heart that He gave me back, it is beautiful.

There are still remnants of my old self here, and I feel that He probably has many more layers of Self to strip away from me before I am the person He intends me to be. it's a bit terrifying, knowing that He will annihilate the person that i am right now… that i, as i know myself, will cease to exist eventually.

but i see what He has done, i see the treasure He has restored to me like a diamond among rocks… and I know that a cut diamond does not belong among rocks, that the imperfect must be cleared away so that the perfect may exist in quiet splendor… and i am imperfect, and i must be cleared away… this is what they mean when they say that you must die to self.

but in my own annihilation, i will not cease to exist. by some miracle, this diamond within me… is still me. in some ways, it is more "me" than all the rest of me put together. i, as i know myself, will be destroyed. but in the restoration, through God, i will become more Myself than i could possibly imagine. and that is the beautiful sacrifice.

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life…

peace,

meg

+ + +

suffering and beauty

Violet Horizon; Peter Wileman

Before I proceed, I want to address something from my last post that could easily be misunderstood: I mentioned that in the past, suffering and beauty and love were always intertwined for me. It is very easy for people - Catholics and non-Catholics alike - to misconstrue this as a justification for being miserable or depressed. After meeting a few people who inadvertently follow this logic, and after falling into it myself for awhile, I feel that it is necessary to explicate the notion of beauty and suffering further so that both you and myself can have a fuller understanding of what exactly it means.

I began to liberally quote Pope Benedict XVI's "Contemplation of Beauty," but my summary expanded interminably and ultimately did very little justice to his actual words - so I recommend you read them for yourself. I will principally deal with one quote that summarizes his theology:

"Beauty is truth and truth beauty; but in the suffering Christ man also learns that the beauty of truth also embraces offence, pain, and even the dark mystery of death, and that this can only be found in accepting suffering, not in ignoring it."

It is this that will serve as my launching point: that suffering is inevitable; it is one's reaction to it that varies. Buddhists, for instance, seek to detach themselves from the world in order to escape suffering. Postmodernists also seek to detach themselves from it in a peculiar way - something darker than 'ignoring' it, I think... attacking it with apathy at best, but ultimately degrading both suffering itself and the part of oneself that experiences suffering as worthless and weak, something worthy of abandonment. The rational becomes divorced from the sentimental - conquer and succeed at everything, but emotionally invest in nothing; let organization, hard work, and persona compensate for a lack of genuine love and investment.

A whole society of schismatic characters arise from the chaos, individuals who have been hurt and have decided to be strong, not by embracing the hurt and growing through it, but by discarding it, spitting on it, cutting off the part of them weak enough to be hurt and leaving it behind, or simply building a thick concrete wall around that person, leaving them alone and scarcely alive, and constructing a new one on the outside, a person that others will love, enjoy, find attractive; a person that will succeed.

What one finds, if one is blessed enough to come back from such a hollow existence, is that even in the avoidance of suffering, there is the greatest suffering of all - the terrible endless loneliness of your true self. After all, your true existence is defined by your soul, which cannot help but feel. Your only two options then would be to either live in a state of awareness that you have silenced an essential part of your being (a state which would cause insurmountable pain, cynicism, or bitterness), which would of course defeat the purpose of escaping from pain - or you can even cut yourself off from the soul-consciousness that you are even in pain - completing the severance and leaving the individual with an undefinable, scarcely audible sense of being hopelessly lost, or not knowing who oneself is.

It is for this reason that I say that suffering and beauty used to be intertwined for me, and that this was a blessing - not that the suffering by itself was a cause for joy, but that my own reaction to an inevitable hurt was a full embrace of love; not rejecting the part of myself that feels, but rather recognizing it as the part of myself that can truly be redeemed; learning and remembering in my very biological composition (90% of one's memories are hardwired before the age of 7), in the roots of my soul, that a movement into suffering with love and trust results in a beautiful - tragically so, but beautiful nonetheless - testament to the true essence of Life, of Love, and of Beauty itself... that moving into suffering with Love changes knives into instruments... that we are like blocks of wood in the hands of the Maker, carved by suffering into something beautiful if we only trust. We cannot lose faith halfway and harden our wood in resistance, feeling the cuts ever more crude and brutal, to run away, only half-hewn and rough, taking half-finished work to be hideous scars, and resolving never to return to the brutal Artist who sought to mutilate us and left us so ugly, so lost, so broken. It is only through patience, trust, surrender, waiting, waiting, waiting, until the Artist is totally finished, trusting until the very moment of our death, that the lifetime of carving will finally be revealed as something beautiful... I had the tragically beautiful blessing to see those final moments, see the final work of art before it was whisked away, and to know, to know, that God does not abandon those that trust in Him - and despite everything, to hold fast, to plunge into every suffering with love, and know that He is making us into a Masterpiece.

suffering - redemptive and otherwise

"Sanctity lies not in saying beautiful things, or even in thinking them, or feeling them; it lies in truly being willing to suffer. It is so sweet to serve our Lord in the night of trial; we have only this life to practice the virtue of faith." - St. Therese of Lisieux


Before I begin I would like to first apologize if this is too self-oriented. I try to draw from what is most familiar in my own life, in good faith that others may relate to my struggle and from there the Holy Spirit (God-willing) will allow my words to ascend to God, along with anyone else who latches on :) I try to refocus myself on the loving Otherness of God, but please alert me if this becomes too personally-oriented such that the message is lost. Other than that, please consider my words as one of your sister, moving in the same journey as yourself, flawed and sometimes misdirected, but ultimately attempting to move towards God. If you are reading this, I have prayed for you and for me, that these few minutes will move us both closer to the Truth and Love.

Today, I will attempt to deal with what has been the most garish obstacle in my soul for the past year - one that I have tried to ignore, reason away, work around, and forget - none of which, of course, actually facilitate the movement of the soul towards God, but rather help me to settle comfortably into my own zone of equilibrium. I am writing about it not because I have succeeded in eliminating it, but because oftentimes mentally acknowledging its existence must precede any chance of gradually expelling it from my system - a process that I feel I am finally prepared to begin.

Before we commence I feel as though I should preface this with some history while still sparing you and myself the discomfort of baring my soul inappropriately: A little over a year ago, I reached a point of the lowest low I have experienced thus far in my life - which is puzzling, since nothing too terrible happened beforehand. Let's just say that there was a perfect storm of every major suffering of my life somehow made very present and very bitter through a variety of tokens, events, and people - like every demon hiding inside suffering had been fed for years until it became a monster, and they coordinated their attack to explode out of each memory into reality at the same time. Just a few months later, a final phone call (during "It's a Wonderful Life," of all things) struck the lesson deeply and firmly into my psyche, and maybe even my soul.

I'm not sure if they won or not. I think that, in any case, they didn't have a full victory, since I still have an active faith life and am, after all, writing this all down with the intent of exorcising it. But I think that they did possess a small victory, which may one day become a big one: they instilled in me a furious opposition to the notion of suffering. What was once associated with beauty and love for me (because God blessed me with a saint for a mother who modeled longsuffering) may have been largely undone by this explosion of bitterness. In fact, one could argue that a fearlessness of suffering could be one of the most deadly weapons against the Enemy, since he cannot actually steal away our virtues but instead must convince us to surrender them ourselves - usually and most effectively by using suffering and tragedy to make us bitter and hardhearted.

Indeed, what might have seemed to me at first to be a full-on attack might have had the simple goal to plant a seed of hatred of suffering. Then later, after it has had time to strike down its roots and begin to unfurl, some horrible suffering will come and perhaps destroy my faith. This would, in fact, make a lot of sense, since I have had an astonishingly easy semester - some challenging discernment, but aside from that, it's been still waters. I've enjoyed nearly every second of it, but I can't help but notice that impatience, intolerance, and tempestuous moods are becoming more and more frequent. And as one who visibly participates in Christ's Church, I know that I have an obligation to those that look to me to set an example of a Christian life well-lived, and to disprove those that scour me to prove that the Christian life is full of self-righteousness and intolerance. And I believe that an essential part of moving closer to God, and being able to set that example for others, is to allow God back into my understanding of suffering, to move past bitterness and simply trust.

I am getting tired, but I think this will become a running theme for awhile. I pray God grants me the strength to hope and love unconditionally, and in the meantime, that He helps me to cultivate patience and kindness.

Peace-

---

A Bible verse from Job 1:9-12:

"Does Job fear God for nothing?" Satan replied. "Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land. But stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse you to your face."

The LORD said to Satan, "Very well, then, everything he has is in your hands, but on the man himself do not lay a finger."

surgery society

organized
green stripes zoom faithfully
down the side of the
upholstery and
mother mary prays solemnly in the corner

used to be i could see her
through the mirror in the living room from my bed
but i moved it to check my
reflection and i can't get it back.

my company tonight is
the sound of cars on the street,
faint hum of refrigerator,
empty rocking chair and clouded glass from dinner

still.
alone.

heartsong, the boy wrote
when you are quiet you can hear it
and it is the most beautiful thing in the world.
i'm as afraid of hearing it
as the world is afraid of beauty
it means your heart opens
and we are a surgery society, prefer
masked doctors in
blue drapes with knives and precision
safe.
prefer
stacks of magazines and 2for$5 and strewn keys
if we know what lies within we think we know what lies within
monsters
but maybe they guard
the light or maybe they keep it
captive like a princess with her bird in a story who cries and they
wait, wait, between the gray stones and dry light
and maybe the darkness stifles
or maybe it drives away the wobbly-kneed, the ill-intended, the dark hearts that
recognize itself and flee
darkness, the unaware watchdog
thinking itself wild but submitting to its master
nothing but the shadow, reliant on the light
hiding in the creases for the distracted wanderer

the fairy tales are wonderful as a child
but when we get old we discard them
maybe we laugh because we're afraid
of what?
that they are false, or that they are true?

so my fingers keep moving
tap, tap, tap, tap
it's at the door, you know
and i'm just stalling for time.

welcome to existence

(the following was written on 5.30.09)

year four.
to enter a child, to leave a woman.
to enter with hopes and leave with direction
to be equipped with memories and education and empowerment and aspiration
and go.

i remember moments when my life was totally full, and i want to make more of those
even moments when i'm on my fifth shot of espresso on the floor of the library typing out papers - that feeling of productivity, hard work, self-fulfillment of potential.
working out at the afc with ana rose, laughing as we figure out how to work the weight equipment as guys with biceps bigger than my head mill around wondering what a girl's doing in the weight room
lunches. with declan, kevin, kate, erin, elyse.
breakfast with ross - cantalope and oatmeal and tons of fruit, microwaved together on cold mornings when we walked 30 minutes to class.
ridiculous dances with elyse in the dining room - i definitely want more of those.
making butterbeer
the b16 society
rooftops
ross in the living room, playing his song on the piano, singing to me in his pleasant deep voice
stargazing
weekend morning hikes through the blue ridge mountains
picnics in the gardens
studying on the bay windowsills of cabell as the light pours in
csm, fireside, ignite, tuesday supper, small group
teaching guys how to salsa, and be gentlemen
hiking the white mountains of new hampshire
breaking into the chem building with ross to watch LOST on the big screen
adoration in honduras
getting lost in the dominican republic, and having to serve as the ONLY translator for 5 college kids, a priest, and a drama professor. and still getting us from the capital to the haitian border!
showering in the first rain of the wet season
the way the light turned white in the blinds of the room, i remember how that saved me

moments.

driving back to charlottesville yesterday, thinking. what does it mean to be happy, how do you become happy?

i think that happiness comes from inside of you, but joy comes from outside of you. and you need - both. karl barth wrote that relying just on human choice is the antichrist, that we must rely purely on the descending power of God. he intended to attack Catholic sacraments as putting too much power in the hands of men. but interestingly, before he died, Barth came back to the problem, and made a third option - analogia relationis - the analogy of relation - which requires divine power AND human response - a relationship.

in order to live fully and joyfully, we must accept God's plan and respond to it.

i feel as though i have been happy, but my heart has no memory of joy. perhaps my heart simply learned to have a short memory, in order to survive (when i was in 2nd or 3rd grade i remember my teacher telling us that we should let go of the past. and i remember thinking, 'what if someone you love is only in the past? if she was wiser she would know that we have to love the past just as much as the present, and just as much as the future.')

but now i forget, and i'm not sure why. elyse says that God provides consolation to those who need it, who aren't strong enough, but it's the true strong ones who must endure without feelings of being loved or feeling joy, so that they can grow through their suffering.

next year i am fostering friendships. i am loving myself, my life, and understanding that i possess power to change the world around me - like the story, where the master gives the servant money and then leaves. it's up to him, and him alone, to do what he wills with his gift.

maybe my problem has been that i've wanted God to keep holding my hand - i've always been a little bit of a child, because it was my childself that knows and loves mom, and understands why she had to go. it's my adultself that is black, bitter, furious. so i keep the child alive. i know she makes me a bit naiive, a bit too trusting, a bit too idealist. but i love her and i refuse to put her in the past. maybe it's her heart, not my own, that will be simple enough, pure enough, big enough, to save me in the end.


there is something more to say, but it is hidden.

good evening

[blog temporarily removed]

blue cells. kazuya akimoto art museum.

purple backstreets. kazuya akimoto art museum.

little windflower. wendy ryan.

blue nude. pablo picasso.

on the heart of women

i wrote a talk today, to give to the girls in lifeteen on sunday. it's about purity - essentially, what does it mean for a girl to be pure? or, even more difficult, what does it mean to guard your heart?

i struggled with this talk a lot myself - what should i tell them? my personal experience seems to warn against getting into any kind of serious, intense relationship while still in high school, even if all physical purity is maintained - the fallout of decisions you make in high school continues to affect you for years.

but then again, some high school relationships end in happiness. my brother's best friend just got engaged to the girl he dated through all of high school and college. so how do you distinguish between a true, deep, real love that will end happily and an intense, deep love that will leave scars?

before i begin, however, let me clarify that i am addressing the danger of women seeking to 'save' men - this process could, of course, repeat itself in the opposite direction, but most of my experience has been with women, not men, who have fallen victim to this danger; it is from those experiences that the following story developed.

the only way to translate myself is to speak in symbols.

the secret part of a woman, the depths of her heart, is like a rose bush... beautiful, dangerous, and a living, growing entity. to love another person means sharing that intimacy with them - a sacred, special ritual of undressing the heart, of revealing the most intimate, vulnerable, beautiful parts of themselves to the man they love.

women, generally speaking, are especially eager to love. genetically wired as nurturers, they want to give themselves to another, please another, and receive love and adoration in return. some women are especially attracted by the prospect of loving someone who is good but broken, kind but tormented, loving but secretly struggling with a dark side... men who want beauty, need beauty, and by virtue of their good works, deserve beauty; the woman comes to believe that she, and she alone, can provide it for him. this 'savior complex' attacks the most well-intentioned and loving of women, and leaves some of the deepest scars.

there are two ways men can enjoy the beauty of the rosebush. the first is that they come to its source and admire it, still living, in its garden. the garden, of course, here represents a true love of and respect for self, grounded in God's love. God, the source of Truest Love, is understood in a secular sense merely as True, Pure Love.

or, the man can coax the woman to bring the flowers to them - convince their lover (and themselves) that they are somehow incapable of coming to the garden themselves. they are too broken to be able to come to Beauty and divine Love, themselves, but maybe - maybe their lover can bring Love to them!

and a woman, if she "loves" him enough, will comply... she clip a rose off of her rosebush and carry it to him. at first, perhaps he will admire the beauty of it, maybe even feel as though he loves her for it.

but soon, of course, a rose removed from its source of life will wither and die.

the man has now lost the flower he so desperately wanted, and is tormented by the recent memory of its beauty. feeling even colder and more alone than he did in the beginning, as though he'll die without such beauty, he implores his lover to produce another rose. painfully, she clips another flower and gives it to him.

that rose withers soon, as well. her own rosebush is now suffering, as the loss of flowers are inhibiting its healthy development. but he demands again, another rose. please, don't let me suffer - all i want is to see beauty!

in desperation, the woman digs up her whole rosebush and carries it to him. he is comforted for a little while, but soon, predictably, the entire bush dies.

give me another, he said, although deep down he's realizing with crawling horror what he has done.

there's nothing left,
she replies. she doesn't know what is tearing her apart more - that she has nothing left to give her lover, or that her beautiful, beautiful treasure is now nothing but a gaping hole in the ground. perhaps she gets angry, lashes out. and the man, already grieving the loss of the roses, and the pain he has inadvertently caused the woman who loves him, reacts to the anger with self-loathing - withdraws, runs away, and hides in his own darkness. the woman, now feeling utterly abandoned, intensifies her anger but gains no relief - he is already gone.

then, he discovers, there are ways to make women love you. if you play your cards right, there will always be women willing to give you their roses. maybe that is the secret to happiness...! to always be reminded of beauty in small, transient ways. unfortunately, these men very rarely find the secret to happiness; when the giver of the rose can be easily exchanged with another, the smarter ones catch on and peace out. and the men are left wondering why the women they love always leave them.


here's where emotional impurity comes in. the key is, if you're a woman, to never dig up your rosebush, or give away too many roses. maybe give away one, so they can see what they're missing, but after that - he needs to come and meet you in a place where you can both admire and nurture the beauty inside of you. he needs to abide by the laws of respect, purity, hope, and love, that govern the garden where it grows. only then will either of you be truly happy.


if one's emotional purity remains intact, i've found that a girl's physical purity follows suit. most girls who mess around and sleep around, at one point had a heartbreak where some man in their life convinced them that they are not worth anything, or that they are only worth how attractive they are. that's not always the entire story, but more often than not, emotional pain expresses itself in desperate acts. the key to a woman's purity is to recognize the link between her heart and her acts, and make sure that men treat her with dignity, love, and respect - nothing less.

one who does more is free...

"when a man does exactly what he is required to do, he is a slave. when he does more than he is asked, he is free"

i came across this quote the other day, and it resonated with me. i feel as though it personifies my faith life over the past few years... in order to remain free, I must exceed the standards laid down for me; to keep loving more than is asked, even when it hurts, because if I stop choosing to love abundantly, if I try to simply meet the status quo, it dries up. It becomes egoistic, I start tallying up and counting down how much love I owe another person. I am a slave to my own egoism.
"no longer slaves," Christ said. "I call you friends."

what does that mean, beyond the grace of God allowing us to be considered equals with Christ? maybe it doesn't mean that we just sit on our laurels and take pride in our equality with Christ, but that we are required to do more, love more, give more... to whom much is given, much will be expected. maybe what makes us free is that we love more than we need to, serve more than we're asked to, give more than we think we can handle - "if a man asks you to carry his bag for a mile, carry it for two" - our servanthood makes us free.

a man who does what is required of him is a slave. one who does more is free. no longer slaves, Christ said. love one another.


it is sacrifice that makes us free, that makes us full. God is using this lenten season to teach me, remind me, what it feels like to freely sacrifice.

in 'introduction to the devout life,' st. francis de sales wrote, "the world, looking on, sees that devout persons fast, watch and pray, endure injury patiently, minister to the sick and poor, restrain their temper, check and subdue their passions, deny themselves in all sensual indulgence, and do many other things which in themselves are hard and difficult. But the world sees nothing of that inward, heartfelt devotion which makes all these actions pleasant and easy."

and what makes it pleasant and easy? that it is done out of love for God the Other. bitterness comes from selfishness. joy comes from love, and love comes from sacrifice. sometimes our hearts must bleed in order to remember how to feel.

he knows nothing

"energy" by karen gillis taylor


only a fool thinks
he owns anything
in this life

pride and familiarity
bind growth in
their intestines

the wise man knows
he owns nothing
not the air he breathes
the path he walks
the life he lives

but do not let
go, or give
in to laziness;
focus,
with the front of your mind
the top of your head
a mountain stands
behind this confused color-world
one may only find
in discipline,
love,
detachment

do not fight pride
disregard it.
with peace you shall kill it,
with the olive branch you shall pierce it

the wise man knows
he knows nothing
one only knows by loving.

i am an infant in the womb of god

i am an infant in the womb of god

there – light
trembles
nurtures
i stir, closed eyes
warm flesh hides reality, sharp
glory

i tremble, stir, i think
i know so much
about what it means to be alive, after all
i have a beating heart, moving hands, fragmented
thoughts
proud; an infant who learns
to bang her hands on the table for food
see? see how much i can do?

he smiles
sweeps me up when i raise my arms
yes, love, yes, you’re so talented, so smart, so beautiful

suddenly
mother is brushing her hair
i conceive of womanhood
one day that will be me

i wish i were
grown up! i cry
grown ups are wise, they’re smart, everything is
easy, for them

wait, love, he murmurs
there is a price
to wisdom

hold my finger, here,
just here,
i will teach you to walk

and one day, one day
soon,
this warm
comfort will give
way and you will
be
born.

light, exploding

this moment-
the christmas lights are clumsily strewn about the tops of the walls
my fingers are cold - the heat is down and the winter seeps through mismatched windows and old glass panes.
i can feel the words sitting there, about halfway between my heart and my lips, but they're not coming out, not yet. i opened this page hoping they would come out through my hands and onto a page.
something about light. like - pressure is growing in my heart - a blast of light, just concealed beneath a thick warm layer of tangible reality, carefully composed face, captured body.
i want to open my mouth - look up, open my mouth - the light is there, it wants to fly out, it wants to join the angels of light packing this room to the brim, they will carry it to heaven and everything, everything will make sense and God will be
here
and i will be there in all hearts, there with Him, i can feel it, a million hearts pulsing, breaking, trembling, loving, all of them, all of them. to fly into the light is to plunge into the depths, the liquid love. but not - not yet, not yet, my life is a not yet, just wait, not quite. i want to
break through, you know, break
through and into a million nothings and everythings but first
this life has to
die, you know, fade away, pass away, i must dissolve into the
New Being but i
myself, i will die, and because of that i am scared. scared. everything inside of me tells me to leave Him, just - just leave Him. follow Him and you will suffer. you will break. you will die. die. turn back. don't look back, just turn back. don't follow Him, He'll lead you to the cross, He'll take you there and point to it lying on the ground and look at you with those irresistible eyes, the ones that you can't, you can't tell no, and He'll tell you to pick it up. and you will. just leave now, if you're smart, pretend you never knew Him, you never loved Him. but i know, i know, that if i leave Him i'll die, i'll forget what it means to love and live and breathe light and gasp joy and break into beauty, i know that the cross comes before, the resurrection, the resurrection, is so far off. today is palm sunday, i know the rest is
coming
but it seems so far, so far off.
i wonder if palm sunday was the hardest.
the easiest to run away.
you could tell yourself it wasn't fear, you just changed your mind, you just - maybe you didn't hear Him right, you know, things get mixed up between here and there all the time. you thought you heard one thing and you did another, but who really knows anyway? by the time thursday comes around its undoubtable. fear or courage. hope or despair. no more ambiguity. maybe that's why it's so beautiful.
even Christ despaired at the end. the final brokenness, just before death, a complete death, for a full resurrection of New Being.

give me a reason to leave and i'll give you a reason to stay. one foot in front of the other - the marine corps taught me something about God after all - one foot in front of the other. it's the destination. we have a hope, we have glimpsed - heaven - we have glimpsed -
light and love and breaking flowing beauty and grace and hope and
glory
and we know
we know
it is worth every ounce of
blood
and pain
and tears
because we've seen
we've seen.


love.

portrait

there's something about the apples in the snow.

there they were,
one by one, bright
red, last night's ice
and snow gathered around them,
frozen over
them, holding them in
time.
the thin branches of the winding tree
above them wept frozen
tears that didn't, wouldn't, quite
fall.
in all of the gray
and white and black and brown,
these dots of life breathed,
as impertinent as though
they'd just fallen
from the tree,
sit unconquered and
incorruptible
amid the ice.
it was, after all, yesterday that they'd fallen -
had you forgotten?
did you forget that yesterday, just yesterday was spring?
no, the ice -
distracts you, you know, tries to
make you - forget -

and something about that
springtime day,
the lake was still
frozen from the days before
zero degrees, with a high of eighteen,
and then - sixty.
and the half-melted
lake seeped in the sunlight
students walking by so
carelessly, arms gleaming in easy
t-shirts
the light, reflected
off the ice, reminded me that
it's winter and the sun
won't last much longer
but this day of grace, this day of grace.

this moment is mine
soul
ice and light and sun
and air
a frozen lake in spring, and a rose
apple frozen in ice,
this is my life
and it is beautiful