A false security

"Come to me continually. I am meant to be the Center of your consciousness, the Anchor of your soul. Your mind will wander from Me, but the question is how far you allow it to wander. An anchor on a short rope lets a boat drift only slightly before the taunt line tugs the boat back towards the center. Similarly, as you drift away from Me, My Spirit within you gives a tug, prompting you to return to Me. As you Become increasingly attuned to My Presence, the length of rope on you soul's anchor is shortened. You wander only a short distance before feeling that inner tug- telling you to return to your true Center in Me.

Hebrews 6:19; 1 John 2:28; Matthew 22:37"

~Sarah Young,  Jesus Calling 

This was my devotional last night. And while I was pondering the length of my own rope I realized that I do not only have one anchor. 

I am a boat with two anchors attached to the hull, a boat attached to two docks. 

On one dock stands My Lord.

On the other stands this world.

One rope is shorter than the other. 

And it is not the rope that should be shorter.

I feel trapped between the two, and try as I might to pull myself closer to the only dock of importance, I cannot grow nearer. 

Not without breaking one of the bonds.

I grow exhausted in my attempt to wear out the chords on the side of little value, knowing that if I can only snap the shackles my Lord will pull me in the right direction. 

I have nothing to sever the rope, and part of me does not want to look for anything to try.

The part that does not want to leave the second dock behind.

The part that feels safe in the in between.

But I know I am not safe without a captain, and that the world is unable to offer me one. 

So I suppose I must start looking for something sharp to sever the ties. 

When the mental permeates the physical

I think it is odd how our bodies and minds are so interconnected.

A blush is caused by a feeling of embarrassment. Nerves will make the hands sweat. I mean even thinking of a horrid smell can make people gag.

For me, I feel like they are very connected indeed.

If I cry I will end up getting a migraine. I think that is part of why I hated crying for so long. I despised the idea of allowing my emotional pain to become physical.

The problem is, that bottling up all of those emotions made my body struggle even more than crying would have. Earlier this year when I was dealing with the loss of someone I dearly loved I barely cried. Instead I began to get terrible stomach pains and lost all of my appetite. I ended up losing a lot of weight and had to go to the doctor and get several tests done.

Following the appointments and test results I have realized that my contempt for crying was rather stupid, because one of the main reasons was actually amplified if I did not give way to my emotions.

But even after learning that I need to be okay with the tears and the swollen eye balls, my emotions and my body are still extremely intertwined.

For example, last night all I did was think a single thought, and my hands and legs started shaking, I felt nauseous and dizzy. All as a result of something that found it's way back into my mind.

This feeling went on for about 2 hours.

And even though I forced my mind to abandon the thought, it persisted.

My stomach started to hurt again and all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and sob because I felt like there were no other options.

Problem was my parents were having thirty people over for dinner and I was enlisted to help.

Therefore I am trying to work my way through why God created us to be so fused.

And while it is rather silly to ponder why God does anything, because the answer will somehow come back to the fact that He loves us, I think I might have stumbled upon one of the probably numerous reasons.

When we are filled with the Joy of the Spirit we become like lanterns in the darkness. Something physical changes as a result of the emotional and spiritual shift. And so I think it must go both ways, for the bad and the good must always be served together.

So while I may now leave the dam open for my tears to flow through I still have no more control over the way my body responds to stressful thoughts and situations, however I am working on it.

Just like I am working on everything else in my life.

We are Risen Indeed

Colorado is a wounded heart.

But it is a heart that is still beating.

Half of the state is filled with ashes.

The other half struggling with inhumanity.

The shooting early friday morning goes along side all of the tragedy we have seen over the last few years.

Columbine.

Fires that destroyed countless houses and families.

And now a shooting, in a place where most people run to in order to escape their problems.

At least, I go to the movies in order to escape from reality for two and half hours.

But what happens when bitter reality pierces the illusion, kills twelve and hospitalizes sixty?

What happens when one of your dearest friends was there to witness it all?

What happens when you once talked about seeing the movie together?

I don't know that she remembers but a few months ago when we got together I mentioned how I was sad I had no one to go to the premiere with, and as she is a very good friend, she extended me an invitation.

When the time drew closer I realized that I would have an early morning the next day and I decided to not follow through with that offer.

Part of me wishes I would have.
Part of me is grateful I didn't.
And Part of me wonders what I would have done if I had.

I think God planned for me to be too busy, because if I was there I have a feeling I would've done something stupid.

Like running towards the shooter stupid.

Because he was only firing for 90 seconds.

And if I was crazy enough to run straight at it, maybe he would get distracted, and maybe, he would have spent more of those 90 seconds focused on me, meaning he wouldn't have had the chance to focus on anyone else.

It is not that I do not care about my life do not get me wrong, but I have a very protective nature and I think it would've gone into hyper-drive.

But what God has been telling me the last few days is that He has something different in store for me. Something I cannot even imagine.

And so tonight I attended the prayer vigil in Aurora.

I went to help remind myself of how blessed I was to not have been there, to not have experienced the gore.

I went to support those who had lost loved ones.

I went to support those who came to the rescue.

And I went to embrace my friend who had merely been wanting to watch a movie.

Because I still had the opportunity to. And that seemed like enough reason.

Colorado is a wounded heart.

But it is a heart that is still beating. 

Half of the state is filled with ashes.

The other half struggling with inhumanity.

But tonight thousands of people came together, all in pain, all grieving, in order to rise above the agony and suffering. 

In order to regain hope. 

And as praises were sung and prayers lifted, our spirits rose as well.

In those 90 seconds we became a unified family.  

And in the days, weeks, months, and even years following we will continue to lift each other out of this darkness.

Not only do we rise, but we ascend with the angels. 

Sanded and Sure

So last night after my nightmare (which I probably won't discuss here because it was one of those really realistic ones and I would have to go into detail about other people and honestly it's still kinda in my head) I was trying to fall back asleep and praying to the Holy Spirit (who I've taken to calling Sarayu after reading "The Shack" because it so much more personal than the Holy Spirit) to take control of my mind and rid me of all of those thoughts.

Well to stop my rambling and get back on track Sarayu did take control of my thoughts, and to replace the ones she had taken I saw images of the hand's of Jesus and His Father.

Jesus' hands were rough with the toil of His profession: carpentry. They had callouses and cracks and were filled with splinters. I could tell that they were strong and sure. They looked far from soft and smooth. The most notable feature of course was the holes however. The holes He willingly took for my sin. The holes that not only bared His weight, but the weight of the world. They were beautiful in their ruggedness and breath-taking in their purpose.

Now God's hands were even more ragged and worn. His skin was thick and tan from His ceaseless work. And God's hands were whittling away at a piece of wood. My piece of wood. He was carving me to make me His perfect creation, His perfect daughter. He was shaving away all of my defenses and all of my comforts, but He was making me undoubtably a beautiful sculpture.

And can I tell you, His rough hands hurt. They were steady and powerful, but their firmness was far from comfortable. And it reminded me of a favorite passage, from a favorite book of mine, written by my favorite author:

“Then the lion said — but I don’t know if it spoke — You will have to let me undress you. I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was jut the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off.  You know — if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place.  It hurts like billy-oh but it issuch fun to see it coming away.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Edmund.

“Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off – just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt – and there it was lying on the grass, only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me – I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on — and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again. . . .”

~C.S Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

So even though His claws are sharp and His hands are rough, it is merely to help exfoliate and cleanse us. It hurts, but after it is all said and done, after the carving is complete, all of the pain will have been worth it. 

Wise Words

"Promise me you'll always remember:
you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think"


~Christopher Robin said to Winnie the Pooh

Tidying up

The glass shattered.
The bottle broke.
Only fragments are left behind
Where trust once was.

The pages have been torn.
The book ripped apart.
Only the confetti
of the lingering of a broken dream.

But the mess cannot remain
the ash can no longer coat our surroundings.
Order must once again be restored.
The chaos needs to fade away.

But the piece of glass pierce the skin.
They prove difficult to sweep.
And even more difficult to find.

The pages have turned to ashes and dust.
Scattered every which way.
Constantly fluttering out of reach.

Avoiding entrapment.
Avoiding despair
Avoiding loneliness.

The process is grueling.
The dance exhausting
The effort draining.

But necessary none the less.

Treading in the Tempest

For what seems longer than eternity,
I have been victim to this storm's torment
The flashs of lightning always forcing me to loose my bearings,
The thunder deafens and disorients
Gushes of wind tear me from my footing
The violent waves without cease.

My clothes are soaked in the biting tears
My hands rubbed raw from clinging to my makeshift raft
My bones frozen and stiff from the cold
My mind can see no avail.

The wind deafens my thoughts
with its vicious scream
The salt water stings in bitterness
All that remains of calm is a vague memory
a drift in my mind.

My lips are cracked and bleeding for the constant attack
My eyes swollen and red
My lungs cry out for a respite
My heart cries out for some help.

A ray of light
A seagull's cry
provide a break in my endless night

The smallest rainbow
is seen through the single beam.
My personal reminder
I will again see the light of day.

This pocket-sized promise
holds springs of hope eternal

The rain will eventually halt.

And in the midst of my tempest,
My darkest nightmares come to life
I am not alone in my fight to survive.

Coarse hands, clean hearts

Punctured hands wash our feet
rough and calloused skin scrubs away the dirt
The clear water becoming opaque and cloudy.

We are Israeli doors in Egypt
Your blood on our brows
Sin's plague passing us by
Washing in the blood of the Adonai.

Waiting on Rainbows

So yesterday was a rough one.


Yet again.


But after I sobbed for a few hours (this time in the privacy of my own room) God showed me a little reminder of His love.


Saturday night I was reading this book called "Heaven is for Real" by Todd Burpo (which I highly recommend) and I was reminded of the Childlike faith we should all have (which I have written about previously). Anyway this little boy prayed for God to send him a rainbow and it was a concept that I really liked. So that night I prayed for God to send me one as well.


And as I was sobbing yesterday afternoon I realized that I had forgotten to look for it. 


I had no doubt that God would have sent me one, but I had forgotten to search for the gift that was inevitably coming. I mean it had rained a lot that morning so I thought I had missed my chance.


Which of course made me even more upset.


But after dinner we were driving to watch the sunset and my mother (who has an incredible eye for these kinds of things) spotted a beautiful rainbow with all of the trimmings.


I (for the second time that day) started to cry and announced that it was a gift specifically designed for me.


My mother (who is also very intuitive) asked me why I had wanted a rainbow.


My reply was as such:


I wanted a reminder that my storm will not last forever. That I will not drown in the flood. That the sun will eventually shine again.


And most importantly, that I am not in the storm alone. 

People at the Airport

I've always loved airports. 

Not for the long lines and dirty bathrooms or for the idea of being locked into a small space for hours at a time in the most comfortable seats imaginable. It isn't for the smell of body odor or the security screenings. 

What I love about airports is the transparent nature of the people who step across the sliding glass doors. 

The way people interact in airports is always predictable. 

At airports you always know what to expect:

The people are always coming or going.

There are always tears. 

There are the tears of loved ones saying a somber goodbye; there are the tears of bliss as arms stretch toward arms of the people who have finally made their way home after what seems like an eternity.

But of the entire array of people in airports the most transparent are the children.

There are two very distinct types:

There are ones running around with an inability to sit still because their excitement is bubbling over. They are the ones who view airports as a magical portal that will take them on new adventures in strange new places. They revel in the idea of something wonderful happening in the vast unknown.

The other children are ones who adhere to their parent's leg, cautiously keeping their watchful eye on every stranger that walks past. To them the unknown is scary and dangerous, full of nightmares. They depict airports as what tear them apart from the same, familiarity that they desperately cling to. Those children grow up to view airports in the same way they always have. There are still the men and women who jump for joy as their plane is finally being boarded. There are still the businessmen with sour looks across their faces because they would rather be back in the office they know. 

Airports are this magical land where façades are broken and people come alive. And not always for the best. And I have always been the one to watch and observe the actions of others.

But yesterday, I am fairly certain the people in the airport were watching me.

I could feel their eyes on me in the moment I just wanted to escape from the world.

Honestly, I still want to escape from the world.

To be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The problem was, even though I was escaping my physical tormenters, I was unable to shake the  mental.

So I sat in the airport, fully aware of the eyes on me, wondering what I would think if the rolls were reversed.

Because I would surely notice. I would try to tear my eyes away, but I know I would've been unsuccessful. So I cannot in any way blame those who also could not.

Plus I was giving them quite a show:

Tears were streaming down my face

My body shaking with my silent sobs

Blue notebook in my hand

pen fervently moving across the page.

Writing things I can't quite post yet.

Things I am not ready to face.

Things that keep me awake at night 

and haunt my idle thoughts.

They are my constant nightmares.

The shadow trailing behind me, never allowing for a moment of release.

Not giving me the chance to breathe free of the weight that stifles me.

There is no respite from my pain.

And there is no tearing away your eyes from a sobbing girl in the middle of an airport.

Victim of Doubt

Silent, the Creature sneaks past my defenses,
Effortlessly hurtling my most complex barricade,
The Monster slithers past my watchmen unnoticed,
Until with a single bound forges my keep;

There is not even time to scream.

Terror sinks with the weight of an anvil,
Embedding all I was, am and can hope to be
Leaving me in a state of trauma
As I simply stand idly by while my power is overturned.

No blood is shed in the Coup.

My hands tremble as the feeling returns,
My mind spinning as if struck,
My voice without avail tries to penetrate the silence,
My hope dead in the sight of the Beast.

Everything is bound by invisible chains.

The dread weighs upon the heart,
Allowing no room for the lungs to breathe,
The sight suffocating
The sound of stillness unbearable.

And without a struggle my sanity is lost.