I feel like I am at a crossroads.
An impasse.
A mighty wall I can't seem to find a way around.

On the other side of the wall
I hear birds chirping and laughter,
But there is no end in sight,
No alternate route to the joyful noise.

A heavenly light beams from the other side
The sky is  blue and bright,
Warm and welcoming,
But the wall provides no grooves to climb,
For it is sleek and solid
Meant to be impenetrable.

I am at a crossroads,
I can't go forward,
I refuse to go back.

So I remain stuck.

All I can do is sit and ponder a way

To get to the other side.

I search for a sense of clarity to illuminate a way 

Over my roadblock

  In my fear

and

  In my frustration

I forget

I have already been told the way

yet,

like some distant dream

I cannot remember the words that were once spoken.

I feel like I am at a crossroads.

                                             

Searching

For the words that were lost,

For the message I know so well,

For a way over the Wall.

Pursing Perspective

We all have those days when we seem to be pushed to our limits. 

Those days when we are frustrated, exhausted and at our wits end. 

There are the days when we feel like ripping our hair out because that would somehow make it all easier. 

But what I have discovered in the last two weeks is that no matter how hard my life gets I have been blessed with so many opportunities.

 I have been working with the outreach organization NightShift and as I walk the street, cold even in all of my layers all I can feel is grateful. I am forced to forget all of the tedious worries of my day and just take the time to bless someone else in any way I can, even if it is a simple as a cup of hot chocolate, half a muffin, and an open heart.

            I don’t think you can truly experience how privileged you are until you answer the call of service, because it is only when you are encompassed by true hardship you don’t realize what it is. Until you have the ability to listen to the stories people tell and witness how empty their lives are you can’t see how the three midterms you have that week are not really important in the scope of life. 

There are so many things the people on the street deal with that are so much worse than anything I could even imagine. One girl we talked to had been on the streets for a few years and was sober 6 months and counting. She had just had a baby boy. Her third. She is twenty. She also just found out that she has a rare disease that she passed along to her middle child. 

And she feels responsible.

 I could never imagine having to bear that burden, let alone at the age of twenty. And she does it all from the streets. Luckily she does not do it alone and she has her boyfriend’s help, but you could tell she was searching for something.

 You could tell she was searching for God. 

We asked her if we could pray with her, over her, and I was shocked to see how willing and how desiring she was for the hand of God. And it was in that moment that I knew that I couldn’t let anything stop me from coming back to pray for Kate, or any of the other “street friends” as they are so called. No assignment or workload could be important enough for me to miss the chance to bless some one else the way that God has blessed me.

            I think that in our busiest moments, amidst the chaos in our lives we need to volunteer ourselves more than ever, because when we bless someone else, God always seems to bless us in return. And when we bless someone else, when we shift our focus off of ourselves, if even for only a few hours, our stress melts away. It becomes just our new friend, the Lord, and us and that is the way He intended it to be. 

With a few Meager Words

It's been a while since I've written. I'm not really sure as to why.

Maybe when I went home I took a hiatus from the world outside my small radius.
Maybe I just needed to place everything on hold in order for me to rearrange and put everything in it's proper place again.
Maybe I just had nothing new or interesting to say.

I do not know why I stopped. But to look fully at that I think I must examine why I started in the first place.

First off, I don't really know how not to write.

It's a bit like breathing, the constant in and out that we forget we are doing until someone or something reminds us of it. Like breathing, writing helps me survive. It provides the oxygen to my brain, my perpetual yet calming process of organizing and articulating thoughts. In a way, writing clears the clouds from the sky and provides a serene clarity that I cannot gain in its absence.

In fact, when I am unable to write my mind becomes cluttered, littered with the shards of my incomplete thoughts. It becomes a stuffy room short on air.

It is as if I suffocate without the power of words at my fingertips, the calming smell of ink wafting towards my nose, and the all too familiar feeling of the pen gliding across the paper.

Writing is a part of who I am.

So why did I stop?

I mean, writing helps allow me to continue in a chaotic world. Words are the lantern that provide a light when all lights are extinguished. My words allow prayer and hope and honesty. They bring me closer to my Maker who created me to be entranced by the inexhaustible power of written word.

Words permit an escape from all that haunts the dark corners of my mind, and the beauty is in the usage.

Because words are utterly meaningless when aligned in a row or shuffled in no particular order, but when placed in the hands of someone who can use them well, they hold infinite power. They can lift spirits, drop bombs, break hearts, form love, cause wounds and remedy them. Without them the world would find themselves lost, without purpose.

Much like how I felt about myself without them.

So why did I stop?

Why did I suddenly decide that they were no longer important to me?

I think it was because I needed a reminder. I needed to hold my breath until I was dizzy in order to remember how important my innate inhaling and exhaling was. I mean it got me to ask myself why I write, and I think here are the real reasons, boiled down concise:

I suppose I write with the hope that one day my words will speak wonders to someone, that they could console a broken heart, or shed some light in the shadows.

I write because so many words have found me in the darkness, in the exact moment I needed them to.

I write because I do not know how not to write. The words are embedded so deeply within me.

I write because I cannot escape their power, nor do I really want to.

I write because when my hand slides across a page, or my fingers press some keys I am elevated to a place where I am drowned in God's presence. It is where He blesses me with perspective and perseverance. It is my Heaven on Earth.

And I dare not risk losing that again, for it is far too important.