winter solstice

turning turning
in an instant
all this flotsam
in the current
finding as the
sun has set
all that hasn't
found us yet
winter's chill
has settled in
summer's gone
what might have been
laying down
our weary heads
one last time
upon our beds
wondering what
the morrow brings
warmer winds
or songs to sing
go we gently
into night
or find within
the strength to fight
on this turning
of the year
are we grasping
hope or fear
darkness rules
this shortened day
can we trust
come what may
as long as we
have breath to praise
write the story
of our days
turning turning
with the tide
rise we now
what e'er betide

kicking leaves

happiness is a drug 

euphoric liquid coursing 

through my veins 

my arms are wings as I 

create bring beauty 

I soar though 

tomorrow I may find 

side effects I cannot 

see beyond this 

today I am the 

Shunammite 

though life may 

kill my hope He 

resurrects 

so I can take heart 

even laugh through 

the sorrowful night for I 

know joy will come in 

that Advent morning 

and all will be well

*this was originally written in a spiral but i lack the skills and/or computer program to reproduce it so you shall just have to imagine the spiral :)

Side Effects

Some mental images never leave.
During the time I spent doing disaster relief in Lousiana after the hurricanes I chatted with an AMR driver about the worst calls he ever had. He talked about how drug-related vehicular accidents were by far the messiest ones, and he shared one story where a man high on Crystal Meth and perhaps under other influences had been hit by a car. The man was in the middle of the street flailing broken limbs and resisting medical help. Blood everywhere, a scene of carnage that I could see reflected in the eyes of the EMT whose memory I now imagined as well.
That memory--borrowed as it were--haunts me still and I think provides an image of how we often react as well in relationships. Emotionally, we have most likely all crashed at some point. Through intentional or accidental careless driving we have been struck and are lying, bleeding and broken, still in the thoroughfare. But instead of acknowledging our helplessness and hurt we are waving independent arms around, protesting our abilities. Should medical help arrive--care and concern from healed people or the Healer Himself--we bat at them with our disjointed members, causing more pain to ourselves in the process. We long to be rescued, appreciated and loved yet we have bought the lie that we must not show weakness.
We break our arms to fit the needs of those around us, or allow them to break us into their desires. And all the while the drug--the lie that this is who we truly are--numbs us. Often we can't even feel how busted-up we are, and the elixir is so strong to the point that we are convinced we don't need others; we are that strong and independent.
And we wonder why we are so tired.

when waiting seems long

what do you do when the days grow short
when the only sound is the crunch of leaves
and your fingers chill to the autumn breeze
how do you find some comfort

what do you do when your friends far and wide
walk their own paths leaving you all alone
and the wind whips up with a plaintive moan
when there's no one by your side

can you remember though all may seem lost
how to stay strong and fight on in the storm
holding to hope that can still keep you warm
no matter what the cost

will you bow down under long waiting days
choosing to worship though all may grow dim
singing out loudly all glory to Him
He who deserves the praise

will you endure 'til you enter the new day
discovering all that His love has in store
finding He's rich where you may be poor
blessed in His will and way

A more noble way...

Koine Greek had four words for love: phileo (friendship), storge (affection), eros (romance), and agape (divine). Lately some thoughts have been knocking about in my head with regards to the amount of effort humans put in to preserving each love, as well as how long we stick with others in each category.

Take phileo, for instance. From the time we begin to take our first faltering steps those older than us teach us to share, to not hit or bite our friends. Most of us remember those tearful days when a friend hurt our feelings and how our mother told us to be nice and not throw away our friendship. It's generally agreed that you stick with your friends, even if they occasionally annoy you and even if some days you just don't feel like being their friend.

Or think about storge as well. Generally thought of as family affections or perhaps affection for pets, this love is like a comfortable old shirt. Even if it gets some holes, you don't throw it away. Most families stick with each other even after very deep wounds are dealt. You're family, after all. 

Agape is obviously thought of a self-sacrificing and naturally exhibits a long-suffering attribute. But there are still days when it is even difficult to love God who, we feel, allows such awful things to happen to us. We are nevertheless admonished and it is assumed that we will still push through and love Him and others with charitable actions.

Over the last months I have witnessed and thought on the exception Western culture allows to the one love, eros. While it is considered noble and right to persevere in the other three loves, somehow it is considered our right to abandon relationships forged with romantic love when the going gets tough. In my small current circle of acquaintances I have witnessed more than four divorces in this year alone. The underlying assumption--directly communicated to me by one person who had "fallen out of love"--is that if you don't "feel" it, it's not worth pursuing. Now, dating is of course different than marriage but one might argue that it sets a foundation. After all, by giving up we are saying that this is quite a weak love--the weakest of all in fact. Which is ironic as anyone who has ever been smitten will tell you. 

If we are not willing to work at a relationship based on eros--while we naturally stick with the other three--then how can we find a godly romantic relationship? I have long dreamt of the knight in shining armor and now I find that I'm a bit of the older wiser girl as the song goes. She fell in love and knew the cost and still chose to love in spite of loss. What would marriages look like if we applied a belief that eros was not based on whims but could be maintained, enflamed, and--through the ebbs and flows of emotion--even grow? 

Don't get me wrong, I've seen the committed yet cold and I would not wish it on anyone. I'm talking about something deeper. A paradigm shift that believes two committed people--committed to love!--can be the most beautiful picture of reconciliation. 

Yet, in the end it's not just eros that needs the shift. We need to be committed in all our loves to love beyond ourselves. We must examine ourselves: where are we giving up? Choosing not to ultimately trust that He knows best? Love is never wasted. 1 Corinthians 13 love is never a cause for regret. Unconditional. After all, that's how we long to be loved. That's how He loves us.
May you give and find second chances with those around you and may that be a glimpse of Emmanuel in this dying world.

when it doesn't fit

she stumbles as she steps
shoes slipping off her feet
pulling at the wrong dress
how perfect feels like defeat

helpful voices chiming in
with comments on eyebrows
suggestions flooding in
on anything she allows

she tilts her head and thinks
how do they make it easy
while nothing works for her
and now she's feeling queasy

the chatter fades away
as she walks back to her car
the glass ceiling still in place
she never gets too far

always on the outside
she never quite belongs
in spite of all her doings
she cannot join the throngs

in the end she longs to be
just loved for who's inside
but a hundred wounds cry out
causing her to hide

she stumbles to the fight
Goliath standing tall
and cries for help to come
someone to catch her fall

He's coming fast and strong
His eyes are flaming fire
He loves no strings attached
He lifts her from the mire

she lifts her hands in joy
reminded of His price
His all that she might live
to love His sacrifice

whirligig

the not-yet-risen sun

illuminates wispy clouds

faint pink brushstrokes

hushed heralds of a new day

I wrap cold fingers around

warm familiar ceramic

breathe deeply the aroma

of memories and more

hope for new mercies

always there not always felt

thankful for small blessings

reminders I'm cared for

this too shall pass and I

shall be as tried gold

soft, bendable and beaming

I lift up my head

feel the stirring in my heart

though none go with me

still I will follow

through days of pain and toil

inviolable promises remain

so I spin today in joy

grateful for the eye of the storm

and the One who sees me through

just before the dawn

when did this begin?
i remember days of joy
the way you laugh and joke
thinking nothing matters too much
when did the love stop?
little things scream out angrily
we don't look the other way
pettiness becomes practical
when did i chose my safety?
trust is given and earned
being shut down one time too many
now i don't even try
when did you run away?
i would have stayed with you
fought alongside against the night
now you've just given up
when did the door slam?
it's locked as well
no trespassing and i lost the key
to your heart if i ever had it
when did the pain grow?
it would be so much easier
if i just didn't care
walking away into the dusk
when does it end?
hope that is seen isn't hope
love bears all things
joy comes in the morning

monday

it's monday morning and i'm eating breakfast in
my cosy kitchen. the air's turned cooler and i'm
thankful for walls to keep out the chill.
6.30 my toast pops and you huddle in the bushes.
i first thought maybe you were waiting in position
but then i imagined you must have hidden until
the last minute.
6.41 and i'm reading utmost and thinking about my day.
if i hear the whistle it's only subconscious because
after all, trains go throughout the day and night. sometimes
i barely notice.
but you do. this train is special and you move quickly.
7.00 and i'm riding under the tracks at van ness and
wondering why the train is stopped on the tracks and the
4 sheriff cars are flashing beside the tracks. you know or rather
you did.
later i'm thinking what it takes to come to that end and
give up so completely that you rest your head on steel
and i read the story in the paper but it's different
when headlines become heart lines on the rails
and i am just blocks away.
i pray, let hope come to the hopeless and let it begin
in me.

chosen

there's something about that bride
standing expectantly eyes radiant
focused on one person only
completely confident that he will say
i do
because he chose her
in spite of her flaws and mistakes
he said not only does he love her more
he commits to fight for her
i do
even when he doesn't feel like it
if she's wise and trusts she knows
it's the promise that holds
through rough seas ahead
i do
secure in his love and honour
she can stand and grow more
glowingly beautiful every day
because his love brings freedom
i do
bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things, endures all things
until the dim shore is bright
never fails his chosen one
i do

Dying Summer's Psalm

white flags.
medic.
somewhere quiet to turn
my face to the wall. surrender.
no more battle. this hope thing
costs.
who fights for me? wounds
unable to be sewn shut.
mistakes. words i cannot
unsay. after all maybe
i was wrong.
maybe.
a butterfly. no, two.
fragile creatures sustained in this
hot twilight.
jet stream saluting the
waxing half moon. hidden.
growing daily until
its luscious full orb,
harvest-ready, appears.
beauty.
arrested by sweet reminders of
the love of my Warrior King.
surely
You are right.

green smoke

that day may come My Child
when you cannot breathe
your eyes open on a hazy world
the struggle to see pains your head
I pray you push on My Child
past well-meant diversions
and barkers whose end is death
though your heart is drawn
I hope you lean in My Child
find the hidden Rock in the fog
let truth light each step
and in the end, still stand
I ache for you My Child
for the journey is not easy
even the best fall prey to doubt
yet pain can be a blessing
I know this will not last My Child
a brighter day is coming
you have but to trust and walk
My promises never fail
so when the way is dim My Child
remember Whose you are
wrap your arms around My love
the smoke will fade to victory

foretelling?

this was in Mr Hearst's library...interesting title and author on the blue book...

tender places

she emphatically justified a decision
just a choice
to go or not to go
yet the shadows it cast are long
a missing face
an empty place
and deeper still a wound
like words you can't take back
we seldom weigh our acts
not knowing or not caring
how long they may linger
i find the days grow shorter
i find my memory grows dim
yet in an instant it can come
a finger pressed
a tender place

we can't live on eggshells
our feet are too soft
perhaps we can instead
bring healing where it's needed
maybe staying, praying, waiting
our gentle hands used lightly
quick to forgive
slow to offend
maybe next time a different choice

is my comfort worth your pain?

fearless

years ago i remember my cousin, an avid footballer, talking about how his coach tried to teach him to run faster. as the coach's theory went, when children run they are not afraid of falling and so they lean slightly forward--into the run--and thereby using gravity to their advantage they actually run faster. as humans grow they learn that falling hurts and they lean back slightly, resisting the gravity that pulls them down. the fear slows them down and they can't run as fast. my cousin's coach worked on his running to help him un-learn this fear so that he could improve his speed. my cousin never went pro but the technique stuck in my mind.
the other day i talked with a doctor who said our risk of cancer in many areas is determined in the first twenty years of our life. example: melanoma (skin cancer) is directly linked not to current sun exposure but to whether you burned and tanned before you turned twenty. if you had a lot of sun exposure then your risk is high, regardless of how well you take care of your skin after that. someone commented on the doctor's theory by saying that as young people we are fearless, not taking into account how our choices will bear fruit years down the road.
and i thought, i am more fearless now than i ever was before.
as a child, i remember times of uncertainty and trepidation. i remember years of never eating at restaurants and even getting the charity basket at Christmas--which shook me because i thought that was something we gave to, not received. but as the years passed and i saw how His hand provided i began to let that slip through my fingers, to choose the attitude of treating friends whenever i could because He knows where my next meal comes from and i can freely give.
i remember years of loneliness as i said goodbye to my best friend at age 6 and struggled with shyness. if my heart could be laid open for examination the scars of broken relationships would crisscross its purple membranes as over the years i have loved and lost many times. yet through every heartache He has shown me His hands and His side and i have touched His love. and the friends and family that still encourage, call and stick with me are more than i can list on command--and all dearly loved. so i can open my heart again and again with less fear now than as a child.
i remember physical limitations and times when i refused to try for fear of failure. i remember an hour on the ski slope failing miserably as a child and refusing to take the lift up and try again. but now, i would. i've fallen and He's caught me. He has given me the strength to run a half marathon, to travel around the world, to climb a mountain, to bike over 25 miles just this morning, and to walk and not faint.
i am more fearless because i chose years ago that if i refuse to try something out of fear--especially something He is asking me to risk--then that fear is what rules my life. and anything, ANYTHING other than His Kingship is death.
living recklessly fearless is risky. but what He asks is worth it, and the only truly safe place is in His arms. 

42 degrees celsius

long summer shadows
dry heat of the sun
creeping up slowly
when day is done

not a whisper of breeze
the whole world awaits
in hope that the night air
some solace creates

like parched weary ground
the waiting soul knows
how long a day seems
and how the thirst grows

when off in the distance
the size of a fist
hope clouds are brewing
rain still does exist

though temperatures soar
the wait seems unending
don't give up too soon
on the showers He's sending

when nothing remains
no self-strength or glory
He'll work the impossible
and finish your story

awakening

my heart is once again
back up upon the shelf
a little worse for wear
i only blame myself

the gypsy heart believes
in passion with no limit
yet deep down truly longs
for someone to commit

i pack my bags each time
since no one bids me stay
carefree can be an act
along a wounded way

yet in this midnight hour
so lonely i still find
a deeper lesson learnt
cones sweetly to my mind

though friends and loves forsake
heartbreak a bitter pill
there is Someone who stays
and He is sweeter still

the best is yet to come
when sorrows are no more
these failures fade away
in light of what's in store

just a glimmer

Untold lies and confusion
Never knowing how to trust
Surrender dearly bought
Each breath brings me closer
Everything let go for You
Now I walk in freedom

Today is filled with prayer
Rejoice again in life
Eternal choices made
Amazed at hope anew
Sure promised are mine
Unseen though they may be
Recklessly forgiving
Each wound a mystery

blue moon 3

once in a while

i hold up my cup

with all of its cracks

the liquid used up

lifting it slowly

i tenderly wait

to see if it fills

with treasure so great

the moonbeams shine down

light invades the glass

and peace settles in

whatever may pass

imperfect vessel

yet fashioned with care

learning to carry

the glory somewhere

reckless abandon 

i walk without fear

holding to hope

in spite of the tears

when i'm poured out

with nowhere to turn

i'll hold it up still

and pray that i learn

my cracks may be many

but He can still fill

to overflowing

as always His will

blue moon art

blue moon 2

the moon is full
the night is still
the world is old
i wait until
the air grows thick
and darkness grows
sweet notes of hope
that no one knows
for i can see
around the bend
a new day waits
it's not the end
my story goes
i've found the key
to keep the dreams
to live so free
i placed my heart
in heaven's hand
and knowing Him
is how i stand
when heartbreak comes
like waning light
i choose true peace
so rare and bright
time ebbs and flows
the night won't last
blue moons will go
part of the past
beauty remains
memory sweet
glowing treasures
divine heartbeat
until that day
when hope is found
i'll cling to Him
my solid ground

blue moon 1

idealists dance outside the normal paths
carrying a crazy dna that dreams wild
in the face of despair and defeat
they manage to hope again
such weak strength
they believe they can shoot the moon
that blue moon that hasn't come
for the last 3 years and won't come
until 3 more have passed
after all, it only takes one to win
one moment
one chance
one hope
one blue moon

so ideally they keep their chins up
but realistically discouragement crouches
hungry for a rich snack of optimism
bringing down an idealist is rare
but oh so tragic and hinged on patience
for there is the crux:
those who shoot for blue moons must wait
wait on the only One who brings them
wait on Him to sustain their weary hearts
hearts that long for a draught of hope filled
one dream
one morning
one glory
one blue moon

off-key

mornings can be like this
when the world's out of kilter
the sun doesn't end the nightmares
each step feels a bit too heavy
yet my lungs still take each breath
my heart still beats in time
so i can lift my hands a bit
though not quite high enough
i need You to pull me up
sing me back in tune
remind me of Your goodness
of the hope that lives in You
how someday my lips will sing
of Your great love to me
teaching broken dreamers again
leading dancing with freedom

but until that day dawns bright
i'm holding on and singing still

"Fog" 10 July 2015 aLight

Fog is one of the most dangerous conditions in which to drive. It reduces visibility so much that even at slow speeds a driver may come upon an object--another car, a person, a bend, etc.--with no warning and at too close of a proximity to stop in time. In areas where this phenomena exists, it often huddles in pockets, meaning that drivers can be speeding along in clear conditions and dip down into a low-lying area and be suddenly encompassed in a zero-visibility situation. Additionally, drivers are encouraged to increase the normal 2-second vehicle spacing to 5 seconds, yet this is extraordinarily difficult when the other car is not even visible. Even the trusted headlights whose job is to illuminate the darkness are to be used counterintuitively in fog--low beams or fog lights that are less bright actually help more. Truly, fog can cause even the best driver to get hopelessly confused.

Fog is not only a physical phenomena but a spiritual and mental one as well. The current generation especially in America has whole-heartedly embraced the journey of life in a fog of self-absorption [Courtney]. We awake into the constant weight of a world that encourages us to focus on our own needs and problems, to default to what’s best “for me”. Living in the weight of this fog little character flaws like small critters who find the cover of fog consoling begin to increase. As we focus on ourselves and neglect those around us, these character flaws alienate us from those around us. 

Sadly, as we are created to be relational people, this very fog that promises us self-promotion pushes us away from others. It whispers that we can do everything ourselves; not only from a perspective of ability but obligation as well--we should be self-sufficient and independent [Andy]. By the time we realize that our strength is woefully inadequate to the task, our friends have given up on us due to our constant refusal of help. Feeling abandoned, we cling to the lie that we were right all along: we can’t trust anyone but ourselves. 

In trusting ourselves we determine in the fog what is right and wrong, blurring the lines of truth. After all, things look different from where we are and so shouldn’t we know best? We become our own authority, our own pastors and embrace wholeheartedly the message of postmodern relativism [Charis]. As we wander in our selfish paths, we wonder why we have no leaders to encourage us, unaware that we have rebelled against them so completely that they lack the freedom to correct or protect us anymore. Many of them are of the same generation and refuse to speak absolutes to anyone, knowing that to do so would be to admit that they are also held to a standard that is not self-determined.

In our completion of Maslow’s hierarchy, we pat ourselves on the back as we sit in lonely self-actualization. Our counselors, psychiatrists and psychologists provide adequate justification for this foggy prevailing spirit of the age. After all, any problems we do have were probably caused by someone else and we just need to focus more inward in order to be healthy. As we increase in our own estimation we leave aside Biblical teaching that clearly says we should give rather than receive, take up our cross, and lose our lives for His Kingdom.

The Kingdom suffers in the end as our testimony is compromised in the thick pea soup of self-consumption. We miss the whole reason for salvation, namely serving, bringing people to Jesus [Jeff]. Christianity becomes religion, where everything is about us, about looking good and getting something for ourselves. The majority of converts are not committed because we often come to Jesus in negotiation saying “I will serve You if You give me ____.” If we truly want Him, He will out of His immense love for us put His hand on that very thing that we insist on--what we consider our true self’s desire--and demand that it die on the altar. He knows that anything before Him will kill us and cause us to lose in the end the very self that we are seeking.

Fog is serious and frightening but it does not have to paralyze us. Just as we can be taught how to drive cautiously and prudently in the fog we can learn to walk wisely and carefully in the pervading selfish fog we continually awake in. The key is the Holy Spirit; learning to walk moment by moment in discernment and relationship, listening to His voice and trusting that He alone knows best. Moreover we can guard our hearts and minds, think on things that are Godly, encourage and seek out wise relationships, and cultivate a deeper relationship with God. Drive carefully, be aware of the fog, and choose to be aLight.

make my joy complete

when all my dreams are tarnished
and lying in a heap
when giving up's too good
i cannot even sleep
i find my way back up
to the altar standing firm
i lay my everything
according to Your terms
i'm kneeling in surrender
and waiting for Your fire
again i've pushed Your grace
my life's down to the wire
but Your mercy never fails
to that alone i cling
the death that brings new life
Your glory still i sing
and when my life's complete
each moment bursting free
of trust and beauty rich
i pray the world will see
so today i take this step
tomorrow come what may
Your love is all i need
forever and alway

unguarded moments

I stood behind the oak trees
that framed the sunlit meadow
and watched the warrior princess
kneel down beside the water
her unbound hair flowed free
but did not hide her eyes
and as she wiped her sword
my gaze was on her face
instead of great rejoicing
as comes with victory sweet
I saw the tears and sadness
run streaming down her cheeks
I wondered at such sorrow
in one who seemed so strong
where was the cry of triumph
whose echoes still resound
I looked a little deeper
but the answer was much simpler
alone she cleaned her weapon
alone she faced new days
like Deborah she will stand
although that's not the plan
she'll fight the Kingdom's battles
reluctantly resolute
I prayed behind the oak trees
as I watched her walk away
for men to grow in honor
who choose not fear but faith

have compassion on the lonely
lady who does not go gentle
who might have chosen other
had a man first chosen right
in these last days of darkness
we ask for kings and warriors
for Davids not for Baraks
and hope He brings them soon

Bearing With

My dear friends who I love and find living the ins and outs 
of this crazy mortal life at my side, when that moment comes 
and one of you stumbles and fails to be all that God has made you to be
and you find yourself more in need of grace than ever,
the others of us who are seeking to hear His voice 
and know His Spirit in each moment of the delicate dance,
we must re-store, bring you back to the provision of heaven
our hearts open and desirous of His best in your life,
not tied to our own agendas or opinions
not assuming that we know how your story ends,
but humbly recognizing that we too mis-step sometimes.

We must shoulder the weight of the lives He gave us,
recognizing that we are walking in the way of love,
love that unconditionally went to the Cross 
even in the face of betrayal, abandonment and rejection.

Let none of us think that we are above helping each other,
that we have a right to sit smugly in judgement or self-protection,
for the moment we refuse to love is the moment we live a lie.

paraphrase of Galatians 6.1-3

Summer Solstice Past

The brown maple leaves crunch under the feet
As a dry wind rushes out of the azure sky
Heat that sets the world into slow motion
Sucks the very heart out, evaporating the will
Not so long ago the days were lengthening
Pregnant spring evenings growing with promise
Then the day of appointed turning came
Expectation and growth over in moments
Golden hours full of hope now fade away
The sun began his weary march south
Once more to abandon the northern reaches
Forsaking budding harvests just blooming
The world seems in sharp relief again
Like the early dying autumn days
Clinging to memories of what might have been
As they yield up their fruit in sacrifice
The light both welcome and harsh
Tells of dark days yet to come
This ache of seasons past and present
The life undone a glimpse of heaven
The soft kiss of farewell yet tinged with hope
Sings in the shortening day's embers
Living the aching now in light of forever
Heartbreaking footsteps into tomorrow

besotted

what's in a word?
the fascinating dance of language
funny telling allusions
when esposas means not
more than one wife
but handcuffs

sot: noun: a habitual drunkard
besotted: be + sot
be the act of existence of course
the two combine and twist
forming the past participle of
besot: foolishly affectionate
must be a happy drunk
who can't stop smiling
forgets to sleep for joy
awakes early in anticipation
only one elixir satisfies
the sound of another's voice
the touch of their hand
all thoughts flee but one
the intoxicating nearness

the analogy endures
well into the morning after
in the absence of the cup
a colossal hangover

A Comment Made

"Memory is cheap,"
He said with a grin.
"It costs but a tear
And that's not a sin

"Or perhaps just a laugh
That fades over time.
You won't even notice
The quality's not prime."

I looked at his wares.
I thought long and hard,
A small price to pay
This persuasive bard.

"But what if I'm sorry?"
He froze at my voice.
"You're sorry for what?"
"My casual choice.

"What if it costs
Much more than you say?
What if it costs
more than I can pay?"

"Rubbish," he said
With dismissive hand
And gestured again
Out over the land.

"How can it crush
When it weighs not at all
And you won't ever see
The effects of the fall?"

Before I could say
He packed up his things
And tossed me a bag
With painted-on wings.

"This cost you a worry
Of what might have been
And now I am off,"
He said with a grin.

Memory is cheap
Though we pay all our days
In heartache and laughter
A myriad of ways.

heat

trudging
all my willpower directed
with extreme concentration
at the simple action of a foot
step
step
droplets meander down with haste
deserting the desert of my skin
the path shimmers ahead
in
out
i ponder anew the meaning of mirage
cool water running away from me
how life can exist in such conditions
shimmer
blaze
each footfall stirs up a little dust
confetti to the march of perseverance
i lift my eyes with the end of hope
help
strength
the path dips, straightens and i see
an oasis of relief and rest
this season too shall pass
drink
deep

just for now

sometimes if you're blessed
the road you walk reveals
through lessons slow and steady
how much you've yet to learn
sometimes if you're willing
each time the light comes on
a chance to grow emerges
to lay your selfish down
sometimes if it's heartbreak
you find you still can heal
and further down the path
your scars will help someone
sometimes if it's glory
you can't contain a song
and joyfully spill over
to everyone around
sometimes in the silence
you simply find reflection
to see how much you've grown
or what still lies ahead
sometimes in the clamor
you have to fight for truth
to know your limitations
to find the humble place
sometimes if you're ready
tomorrow becomes today
dreams become the present
you learn to live in grace

hearthside

I'm looking in the window
of a Norman Rockwell scene
the table nicely set
the children squeaky clean

their heads are bowed in prayer
the blessings all abound
they have no needs or fears
and love is all around

I glance down at bare feet
I note my dirty rags
I think of all the things
I've stuffed in mended bags

my heart belies my hopes
and scorns my optimism
I know I don't belong
my past will bring a schism

like Antony I'm pausing
just beyond the threshold
wishing to come in
be safe within the fold

my ears can scarce believe
the voice comes low and strong
"Come in, you're missed!" I hear
could it be I now belong?

walking wounded

her voice grew soft and stumbling
her eyes sought the floor in shame
i struggled to hear how the story went
slowly, gently the flesh parted and i saw
her heart
marks of many shapes and sizes
bearing names and dates and faces
wounds carved into her very being
by those meant to love and trust
her heart
so sadly i gazed at the battlefield
the chaos of fumbled meetings
wondering how she faced each day
with so much pain inside
her heart
then i looked closer still and saw
each lie a wielded blade
i spoke truth into the darkness
saw His healing start to grow
my heart
i find inside are scars unnumbered
results of careless words
the whisper of the enemy contained
in words of friends and family
my heart
i can be a vessel of healing
His instrument to stitch closed
the wounds that years have told
to bring life where death now reigns
our hearts
we join in living praise to Him
we can be the light of love
we bring hope where none now dwells
we touch eternity in His name

chronographic harmonies

when all my days are numbered
the sand has slipped on through
i'll see my life was just
a simple song to You

for all i have You gave
each shining golden hour
You clothe me in your love
with beauty like a flower

through ups and downs i tread
my hope to live each day
a melody of praises
for how You led the way

come sorrow or come laughter
i'll patiently await
Your arms to draw me close
Your grace is never late

so teach me now to sing
and be ever present
Your goodness to proclaim
until my time's all spent

Icarus

"Don't fly so high," they warn you
but the sky is so alluring
and the breezes tease your wings
as the treetops you go touring.
"Beware the burning sun,"
their voices caution you
and like a fool you soar
straight up into the blue.
The wax begins to drip
but you take it all in stride
and climb a little higher,
ignore the cries outside.
The sun begins to burn
as feathers one by one
float freely in your wake
before your strength is done.
Suddenly you're falling
down like a simple clod
distrusting now your way
and crying out to God.
Before you hit the ground
before their stricken gaze
the world begins to turn
and move in different ways.
Although the end is near
and they did tell you so
you find it matters less
in light of what you know.
For after all the flight
is but a moment's breath
uplifted by His wings
a prelude to sure death.
If you have never flown
nor felt His strength so true
then you will never know
He won't abandon you.
Mistakes are ever made
old as the setting sun
forgiveness ever new
sure as the day is done.
When all your dreams are gone
or when the days are bright
remember still His hand
will guide through every night.

lead me not

i read a line
"did i get it right this time?"
i thought of how i ask
always searching, wondering
when the answer is right here
"did you see Jesus in me?'
my words, my ways, my life
i won't always get it right
but if i seek to bend my knee
He will rise above
in all i do and all i say
will show forth His love
i'm tempted to set rules
place law around my path
as if it's rigidity could stop
my feet from wandering
when instead of artifice
i bow low and listen
moment by moment i hear
Him whisper in my ear
out of surrender comes
grace overflowing
to me and through me
and i get Him

maple leaves and white bark

around the block i go
from burning concrete step
to shady leaf-kissed step
even in uncertainty
the blessings come
the way the green green leaves
dance in breezy blue skies
the white bark drives hard
down into the brown earth
amidst lush green grass
i gaze in wonder in the desert
amazed at His creation
the harsh sun will strike my face
but not forever
cooler steps are coming
just around the bend
whether in oases of joy
or valleys of despair
i give thanks, oh, i give thanks!
around the block i go
marveling at His mercies
today He gave me life
tomorrow is in His hand

seaside

here i've lived
beside the sea
it's soothing song
so pleasing me
i rise and sleep
through all my days
enraptured by
the sound of waves
but now i find
a deeper way
You call me out
so far to stay
upon the seas
with waters deep
and fears inside
i cannot keep
i've loved the sea
from this safe shore
but now i find
it's safe no more
and so i step
Your love my ship
and come what may
i'll never slip
yes storms i'll find
and things untamed
but through it all
You are the same

hump day

it's wednesday again
that middle day they talk about
i forgot how it can feel
when tuesday's still beginning
and thursday's almost done
wednesday just is
the joys of weekends past
the hopes of coming fun
lie buried with the dawning
of a day to just get over
but as i lift my head
shake off the troubled sleep
i remind myself again
that wednesdays do not last
my choice to overcome
to lean in hard to arms
that never will let go
each wednesday and forever

bring your own garden

Perhaps it was due to the fact that the first couple of times I visited this city I was a passenger but regardless it has taken me a while to find my way. Since church is a main destination and Kermie isn't a speedy car I quickly found that the road that parallels the railroad tracks (Weber--pronounced as if it were webber) was both enjoyable, simple and fairly direct. Over a month ago I noticed an RV parked just down a side street beside an open field. The car alongside rather than the RV caught my eye as it was something like an El Camino with two large palms in the back. I would have later forgotten about it but the next time I drove I saw the pair--RV and car--again, but in a different spot. Time after time I see the mobile dwelling with its portable garden, changing locations but always near the whistling trains. Bring your own garden, even as you may not have a permanent address in the desert you can still have some green when you look out your window. Green hope, that someday you will find home. We are all in some measure at some level looking for a resting place, trying to find our way. I know my way better now and I wonder at the roving RV garden man--does he long for a people who smile when he opens the door? For arms that wrap around him and tell him no matter what, I won't let go? Somehow the El Camino garden puts this wandering soul in a different category than the usual vagabonds I see--as if he stands apart because he chooses to cling to decorative items and not settle for just getting by. Stop for a moment and smell the roses; gaze at a butterfly. Open your heart to beauty and hope.

today

in the midst of making
cafe con leche, scrambled eggs
the view arrests my eyes
out the curved kitchen window
the awakening eastern sky
greets the day and his Maker
a bird sings praises in the distance
he knows Who brings each worm
I love this sight so new and fresh
my eyes can only look up
this day, this special day
all the wonders He has wrought
so I sip my coffee and give thanks
He knows each step I take
and I will keep my eyes on Him
my eyes above the waves

garage sale

the cardboard box flops open revealing
one life's treasures now put up for sale
frames and frames of memories
faces tied to stories
perhaps to moments best forgotten
or maybe defining changes
the life now lying buried
sees not the strangers' staring
careless hands toss photos
that were once carefully selected
a long-lost love, an estranged child
dearest friends and family
one after another they depart
coins given for priceless thoughts
squares of wood and metal
now repurposed for another
until someday they find their way
into another box and it closes
the cardboard flaps now sealing
another life within

pause a moment and remember
the words that linger still:
"as you are now so once was I
as I am now soon you will be
remember these words as you follow me"

from the eye

in the midst of the storm
days come when you arrive
peace in the eye of the hurricane
the winds may be near
so close you could reach out
watch all you know blow away
but the small circle of sea
all around is calm
looking straight up into the blue
you can see forever
stagnancy is never an option
moments rest between
the roaring waves and you
yet joy bubbles up and over
you know the One who said
"be still"
be still
be still and wait
trust that He knows best
no matter how the seas tower
how the furies rage
He gives to His beloved
and I am His
blessings without measure
strength for the torment
grace for each day and hour

in the end
Jordan is waiting

liminality

that train sounding in the night
rushing speeding steady
going determined places
at indeterminate speeds
driven by gears and settings
conductors merely passengers
brakes in working order
or so one hopes
I've forgotten where the lever is
passing, passing, passing
cars and boxes and tanks
romantic hobo dreams forgotten
in the evanescent now
simply riding ever onward
sometimes quickly maybe slowly
the moments never ceasing
clicking rhythmically along
jumping tracks never my issue
finding stations there's the rub
that train keeps running forward
steady as the night
I know not where it's headed
but I'm carried for the journey

Reckless Forgiver

dawn came early with shrill cries
a raucous bird singing a new day in
and i am awake
thinking of this new song by Jars of Clay
pondering even as i want
to use the bird for target practice
how reckless forgiveness is
retribution is a sure thing
i deserve that
but forgiveness, His forgiveness,
that keeps coming again even
when i'm beating around the same bush
when i've stumbled for the millionth time
i fall at His feet and He's offering
that reckless forgiveness
that love that throws caution to the wind
embraces me like the prodigal
caresses me like a lover
and i, i have done nothing to deserve it
in fact the opposite often enough
and as the lyrics run through my head
i am thankful

why there isn't a pause button

perhaps i am the only one but i often find myself at moments when i would give some inordinate amount of money to have the ability to pause my life. you know, like in a scene from x-men when the professor freezes all the non-mutants while they have a chat about what to do now or while they simply escape--i've felt it both ways. sometimes it can be about freezing an amazing moment, making it last forever as the poets say. but often i simply want to take a moment to breathe, to think about where all my choices are taking me, to think about how i can do this right.
instead, every minute is the same sixty seconds and i have no choice but to live life forward. detached, that is a word that comes easily to mind when part of me rebels against this lack of time-outs (not due to a surplus of red cards, mind you). i came across a sentence that i wrote a bit ago and thought how picturesque it is to describe when you want the ride to stop but it's impossible (and how your emotions only complicate matters):
"Then, as I realized that this was indeed a storm brewing, as I saw--and still do--the clouds piling up over the crashing waves and my crazy little heart sailing merrily out to meet her fate, I cried out again [to Him]."
not only is the pause button conspicuously absent, but the fast-forward and rewind are nonexistent as well. there is only play. but play is intentional, and realizing on this speeding train that can seem to be only steered precariously by decisions and dreams that in fact Divine grace can be our Conductor if we give Him control and we can sit back and rest in the knowledge that His heart is good and His every thought toward us is love. 

The Oceans of Today

There's water all around
My island of today
Deep billows of the past
That always seem to stay

Ahead I see the breakers
Uncertain whitecaps loom
The rising waves of futures
Speak loud of bliss or doom

I cannot stay here long
My island's ever sinking
Its quickly passing sands
Keep me often thinking

Then above the sea I glimpse
One unswayed by past or future
He's walking calmly toward me
And suddenly all is sure

He knows the hidden steps
With Him I walk above
His word can part the waters
His every act is love

There's water all around
My island of today
But I've no need to worry
For my Lord knows the way

step between

have you ever noticed how much hangs
in the balance of anticipation and how
try as you might you cannot shake
the sinking feeling that you should know
what to do and how to feel and yet
in spite of all that you get lost in the
maybe, in the could be or what might
have been or did i really hear that or
am i still dreaming and is that an alarm
lurking beneath my subconscious
and now that i am face to face with
another face can i really see you or
have i made up my mind and lost
so much more than i could gain if
only i would give you just a little
a lot less in fact than He gave me
but a little nonetheless of grace
the space to be yourself and time
because after all it does heal quite
a bit though maybe not all since
some wounds require special
attention like what i am giving you
freely now should your heart open
as mine opens and we meet as we
are two souls before His throne.

hunkered down

even in California
there are long slow days
when the sun hides his face
choosing to rest behind clouds
give the dry earth a break
I pull my coat closer
unready for the weather change
not sure how I got here
under overcast skies
the sun will come again
especially in California
but the memory remains
the blustery shadows
those uncertain moments
dark without rain
the way hope can hide
like the light behind the grey

on the ridge

the silence is alive
fitful breezes tease the grass
fat grey squirrels plunder conifers
the dusty trail bakes in the midday heat
distant motors sound like a memory
forgotten noises from another world
sparrows dance in the blue
riotously enjoying the bright sun
butterflies flit lazily from bloom to bloom
and my heart drifts along

thoughts and prayers
dreams and fears together
another year past

this good, good friday

He showed the way
the pain feels like a field
an invisible barrier
something from a scifi movie
suffering is the price
loving is the motivation
tearing the thorns from
the hearts battered and down
inevitable opposition
merely following
that cross, that cruel cross
that cross so beautiful
He chose and so can i
letting the wounds this world
inflicts without mercy
be opportunities for grace
salvation carriers

in the heat of the evening

this five o'clock sun is relentless
though its rays belong more to the horizon
than the sky it heats my skin quickly
yet I embrace it
a gentle breeze comes at even's cusp
tempering the dying solar flames
this ending mix of pleasure and pain
then I pause awhile
another day is over and I cannot retreat
I walked and talked with choices every hour
words and deeds I cannot erase nor relive
but I can pray
let this my evensong be as the night comes
I may grow and be tomorrow newer still
the mercies fresh with the rising sun
and I will glory
my soul is one day closer to my Maker
Who loves me past my understanding
He who makes all new will daily with me be
so I can hope

Goodbye, tree

Today outside my window a tree met an early death. Its sole crime was growing in such a way that the gate could not be opened inward, and vanity demanded that it do so. During its long life--for trees grow slowly upward and it must have taken years for it to reach such modest heights--it provided a lovely shade to the kitchen window. Mornings, when the fierce California sun beamed in through the east-facing panes, its small leaves tempered and softened the rays to make the kitchen cheery. In its absence, the sun blinds the hapless dishwasher standing at the sink exposed to the undeterred blaze.
My heart has a green tint, the result perhaps of formative years spent in western Oregon. The more trees, the better is my natural inclination and here in the dry valley so unlike the moist green land up north I shed a tear that one less tree stands to lend a modicum of relief to a sun-baked wanderer.

one ring at a time
steadily upward
you grew
defying gravity
and sandy soil
you clung
to nutrients
hard won
you fought
the long drought
and neighbor's scorn
you flourished
lending soft shade
to morning breakfast
you died
unthanked and unsung
relentless iron's victim

bulwarked

if I lay out the boundaries
my strong, impenetrable fortress
carefully baring every door
am I safe?

if my dwelling has the latest
cutting edge security system
even lasers and hair triggers
am I secure?

I can outline every safe zone
build walls that none can scale
but if my heart lies out there
I am at risk.

to what I give my heart
I will treasure without fail
and should that thief come knocking
I will open.

either I can lock my heart away
or give it to One whom I trust
no other option remains for me
to be unassailable.

sump

there is a hole in the ground
behind a house somewhere
its sides purposed and formed
I know not for what
the edges of its low walls
testify of intention past
jagged crowns missing something

into the shallow depths I gaze
a pond of rainwater hosts
decaying leaves and scum
small pinkeens dart around
the only life still moving

did once it please the eye
was it a well or fountain
made with loving hands
the center of this garden?

naught but a shadow remains
gathering dregs of days gone
and glory long forsaken

when the night falls

past the tree around the house
a light shines in my window
i pull the shades and close the blinds
and wonder at its brilliance
it shines so bravely in the dark
in the face of gathering gloom
as if for all the world to see
that naught can quench its glow
i turn from gazing on its shine
to contemplate its meaning
how when all seems so lost and drear
i can press still bravely on
another flips the switch that powers
i know it can but beam
and yet i too must draw my light
from Another's glory
so i lay my head down soft to sleep
the light shines ever on
and in my dreams i walk head high
down paths lit bright as day

dry rain

distant sounds
pulsing sirens ebbing
a baby's whimper
closer now
a chime
music played
by angel fingers
but above it all
my heart leaps
the rustle
whispers and sighs
i think drops
steady and strong
and then realization
dry rain
the false wind
dancing in spring
with dying trees
mocking hope
heat invasion
before the first full moon

Parallel Tracks

I know a baby whose eyes
hold steady as the trains
that whistle in the night
unsettling
what does he see
past the screen I constructed
to my very soul?
to really gaze in a person's eyes
to hold unswervingly
beyond a passing glance
vulnerability
letting go of what I expect
opening my heart to see
and be seen
I cannot see what he sees
I cannot know what he thinks
when excuses die upon the lips
I still myself to just be
to really look in another's eyes
the steady baby teaches me
the price of open windows
will I see love?
will you?

johnny-come-lately

Have you ever stood in a crowd of people listening intently to a joke and when the punchline came you didn't get it? Behind your forced laughter you desperately hope no one notices how artificial it is. Or perhaps you arrive to a party and find that your frock is so last year. Maybe the people are too nice to say but you see their sly glances and the mocking comments made not quite in sotto voce.

I am not one to swim upstream. No, I'm more the type who hops out of the water and bushwhacks up the bank. Unfortunately, sitting on the edge of the river croaking (pun intended) is not the most comfortable place. It's nice to be one of the crowd, to have the Dufflepuds surround you with hearty agreement.

History exalts the very people who pioneer, who refuse to stop thinking in the face of mass stupidity, and who persevere when everyone else goes home. What history neglects to elucidate are the long days and nights when those trend-setters trudge wearily back to their home, barely fighting off the mounds of discouragement that build after yet another set-back, yet another chorus of nay-sayers, and yet another day without seeing dreams come true. History is mum on the dreamers who never made it; who, with the stars struck from their eyes, submitted to the burden of conformity and let others realize their ideas.

I've stood in that crowd of people whose eyes quickly glaze over as they cannot understand the passion that burns within another person. I've been called too intense, intimidating, just plain wrong. I must learn from my mistakes, yes as all must, but to not go gently into that great night. I must also accept that being present and stepping forward lacks the clarity of hindsight.

There are measures of success and there are books in which my name must be and others that matter not beyond this life of striving breaths. The types are not mutually exclusive but neither are they necessarily inclusive.

I don't fit. I never have. At times I do belong. Other times, not so much. Ofttimes I am suspended between wonder and stupefaction at the antics of my "fellow" humans, as if I were an alien. Standing on this stage of life and finding the script in my hand doesn't match those around me. My lines are off, I came in at the wrong cue, and I'm forever losing my place.

In my charade of confidence my favorite prop is semantics and my heart thrills when I meet with another soul who cherishes the nuance of a exquisite turn of phrase. They do exist, other ones climbing the bank at my side and I am eternally thankful when a good conversation reminds me.

does universal appeal mean it's bad?

Fresno, CA hosts the first franchised McDonald's (by Ray Kroc, recognized force behind making the brand the success it is today). The building is actually a replica on the original site since sometime in the past they tore down the original to modernize it, and then later opted for historical preservation and tore down the modern building to re-build the older version. But that is not the point I wish to make. McDonald's holds the current record as largest fast-food chain in the world. It can be found, with variations that cater to local palates, in 118 countries. Many discerning consumers of food (yes, you reading this) may at this point hold back a horrified scream that we should have so successfully exported such filth to the world at large.
The idea that because something cheap becomes widespread makes that something bad has become pervasive among many westerners. Starbucks is railed against (and to be fair, there's a lot more milk and sugar than coffee in most of their drinks) and when you nail people down (personal tastes aside) it seems that their popularity is indeed their crime. After all, they are not more expensive than your local hipster place, in fact, probably slightly cheaper. The local hipster place will have a similar disproportion of non-coffee ingredients and, sadly, the quality isn't that much better. Coffee, to some great extent, is a matter of taste. My taste lends to really dark SE Asia coffees. I can generally get that at Starbucks because I know what and how to order. But I digress.
What those critics seem to be saying is: Success means selling your soul. Yes, while we are all here in the gutter we dream of "making it big" but when someone does, the mud-slinging begins. Take Andrew Lloyd Webber, for example. For many, he IS Broadway. For the masses, that is. The rest whisper his name with a shudder, lambasting his music as "all sounding the same." I've heard the same charge directed at artists such as Taylor Swift, Mac Powell, Hillsong, etc.
Taste, quality, sound. All these are personal preferences to some extent. And had not McDonald's, Starbucks, and Webber hit upon something they would not be successful (and I didn't even mention Walmart!). Not everyone who enjoys their offerings are mindless. And perhaps those that rail need to take a harder look at what they themselves are offering: if it repels people and makes them feel stupid for not understanding than how is it good?
McDonald's took off when the founders saw that they did one thing good: the cheap hamburger. They stopped the bar-b-q and they focused on that. Starbucks focused on employee training so that, in the words of one of my friends, you can walk into any Starbucks in the world and be assured of the same quality. Universal appeal based on dependability. And simplicity. Maybe it is not always bad that most songs by an artist are in the same key and have similar cadences. It makes it easier to sing after all.
Maybe before the next comment about the "evil" that is _____ we could all take a moment to think critically--perhaps the very charge for which we are faulting their fans--and recognize that it's not all bad. 

lean in

the sickening crack
as the tree trunk snaps
and the tempest mounts
lean in, my child, lean in

driving rain now blinds
the world grows grey and dim
one step is all that's left
lean in, my child, lean in

when you cannot hear
when you cannot see
when you feel despair
lean in, my child, lean in

though the night is dark
and the way unclear
as you fight the fears
lean in, my child, lean in

invisible arms
will carry you on
when your strength is gone
lean in, my child, lean in

this storm will break
new days will dawn
you will breathe again
lean in, my child, lean in

in a dry and weary land

There is something about not having it that makes you want it all the more. I had heard about the drought in California; heard tales hearkening back to Steinbeck-esque days. The hushed chatter in the supermarkets in lush Willamette Valley spoke of wine prices soaring and oranges becoming treats for stockings once again. But somehow when late winter rains drench the soggy ground with yet another soaking, dry and sunny can seem like a tale out of school.
Then I moved here.
The highway miles slipped away like drops of water in a stream, broken only by the slow-down for a border crossing more difficult than entry into some countries. After assuring the efficient officer that the last thing I was doing was smuggling lemons into the state I sped on to find a rest area to enjoy some lunch and fill up my water bottle.
Did I mention they have a drought going on in this state?
The welcoming rest area sat beside a scenic wetland. Well, according to the sign it was a wetland. Now it was more of a dry-land. The worst was yet to come when, thirsty from lunch and miles of driving I optimistically pushed on the drinking fountain. Dry. Completely and utterly dry. Enormous signs in the WC proclaimed danger to anyone attempting to drink the water coming out of the tab as it was somehow clean enough to wash your hands but too dirty to drink.
I soldiered on to the next major town and drove through a fast-food joint to buy a drink as an excuse to get a big water as well. They informed me that the water, should I desire it in anything other than the 2-sip size, cost just as much as the soda pop. Dry.
Signs line the highway in the central valley; farmers protesting the lack of water. As if the government could make it rain. Reservoirs look like muddy valleys (see the above picture). I jealously guard my water bottle and keep it near me often. Even when a rainy day cleans the air and breathes just a sigh of hope, someone reminds me it is not enough. Here they need years of rain to undo the dry days.
I long for the rain, for drenching downpours and water to drink until I thirst no more. Once you have lived in lush, green wetness you can never be satisfied with dry. I have tasted and seen. The marvel is that in spite of the dry, flowers bloom. Even in the midst of hardship He brings blessings, and unlike nature He never fails.

that stupid dress

i recently learnt, much to my dismay, that i do not see as well as i thought. yes, i'm in good company with 70% of the population but, to one whose personality is only 2% shared, that is not a comfort. it's a little bit akin to the first time you step into a room of people who are all communicating in a language you do not speak. you feel frustrated that you cannot understand and you feel compelled to try as hard as possible to do so. unlike the colors that i see, it is possible to overcome the feeling of being an outsider and learn to grow and belong. you can master the customs and the language, learn to enjoy the food and culture. yet, as with the limitations of my eyesight, i must remember that i can only go so far.
today i stepped into a local shopping chain geared toward hispanic cuisine and felt wonderfully whisked away to another country in which people actually knew what a cherimoya was. as i reveled in the narrow aisles and the language i could understand all around me i felt at home. being a gypsy means you have no home, and so, ironically, you feel most content when that is most apparent.
as my bag grew heavier a sad thought pushed in, marring the experience. i do not see as well as i thought. i am used to being stared at when i look different, but it is most often a look of interest and curiosity. here, in the land where i am judged to be the majority by color of my skin, i felt a bit of hostility coming from some of the people. perhaps merely my perception--no one was rude or anything. but it was as if i did not belong. instead of that not-belonging being welcomed, as my sight cleared i realized that i was viewed a bit as a trespasser--trying to speak a language not my own, enjoy the fruits of another land, marvel at new sights; in short, i was viewed as a tourist.
tourism is all well and good, but i resist that label even when it fits. i like to think that i adapt more, see the culture as it is more, live like a local more. but maybe i do not see as well as i thought. maybe i am blind to my inability to relate to those who feel judged and insulted by people that look like me. and that makes me think all the more that the answer to racism is not being color-blind: it is love. love of a world full of different people with different tastes and experiences. love of a Savior who loves us all regardless.

lead on

the way is long and dark
my legs are weary too
but with my trusty light
i will help guide you

i'm learning as i go
i'm not too far ahead
but all i know i'll share
this faithful daily bread

and when you stumble hard
as i am sure you will
i'll share the time i fell
or wait beside you still

you see though i seem strong
my strength is not my own
i lead because i know
the One upon the throne

the way He led on earth
was serving those around
and so i help you now
on the path we both have found

the way is getting brighter
though my feet are cold and sore
any help i gladly offer
'til we reach the other shore

You complete me

click. with a simple press of a button a shimmering screen transports me to a world where a girl at the end of hope finds her prince has come to rescue her. where the girl who has nothing somehow, against all odds, attracts the the man who has everything. lines like, "i've been looking for you all night. i think, somehow, i've been looking for you all my life," thrill the heart of millions of girls hoping that this imaginary man exists somewhere, apart from the smelly breath, insensitive comments, gamer boys all around. she hopes that he will come, be the one to complete her, to sweep her into his arms, to repair the wounds that a world at war with beauty has made, and above all to love her.
click. the movie or television show always ends. before the dirty dishes and chores left undone. before the words spoken in haste that cannot be erased. before the failures that not only he but she will make. before real life unfolds.
so what then? do we as women throw out the ideal, the belief that some man exists who will hold us, never let us go and always, always love us? do we embrace cynicism tinged with feminism that while it will not keep us warm at night at least it will keep us right? in such a dichotomy my generation balances with frightening efficacy: either we chase an illusion ignoring reality or we accept defeat ignoring hope and both blind us to truth.
the truth is we were made to desire love and when we realise that His love completes, endures, and transforms us we can accept that like us, all whom we love will make mistakes. should we find "true love" in this life we can aspire to be a picture of the One whose arms encompass His bride, and yet we can also offer mercy and grace to each other as well recognise the imperfect world in which we live. 

Sundry Chiang Mai Travel Tips

It is easy to begin speaking in superlatives when you visit Chiang Mai in January. The air is clear (if you get there before the burning starts), the sun is warm, the sky is blue, the trees and flowers are vibrant and the temperature is a balmy 26C/80F on average. Unfortunately, it's no secret how lovely it is here and a short walk around the old town will have you craving a few less tourists. Fortunately, through having a local friend and some good tips I pass on a few ideas to get off the beaten path, save some money, and/or find some peaceful beauty.

A practical tip first off: The Promenada Resort Mall on the east/southeast side of town offers a free, yes, free shuttle every hour to the Thapae Gate. If you happen to be staying outside of the main area, or you want to visit a big mall, or you just get dropped off there by a friend it is a useful and nice service. The Song Taow was clean and there was no catch. I rode it in and then, a couple hours later, rode it back (the stop near the gate is the Amora Thapae Hotel). It stops on the way back at two other places, one of which is near the night bazaar. At the weekend it runs all the way until 22.58. So if you're looking to save some taxi fare and your trajectory includes theirs, it is worth a look.

Near to Chiang Mai is the Ratchaphruek Garden Park, a large (200 acres) garden with a myriad of smaller areas ranging from orchid houses to lotus ponds. You can walk for hours and still not see everything. It is only 100Baht to get in (for foreign tourists) and if you go early enough (as many Thai do to exercise) it is even free. Arriving by 9 or 10 in the morning you beat the crowds and can enjoy the peaceful surroundings. More information.

Souvenirs are often on the mind in Thailand, and one small side-street in the old town holds a hidden gem. Dor-Dek is an organization committed to rescuing street children and educating and employing them. Their prices are reasonable, their items are cute, and you are supporting a good cause. To get there, simply head directly west from Thaphae Gate and keep following the main street until the intersection with Rachaphakhina Rd (WaWeecoffee and Yamaha on opposite corners). Take a left on this road and turn right on the first little side street. It is a building or two in on the right.

Waterfalls dance in abundance in the hills surrounding Chiang Mai, but if you are willing to go a bit further out of town there is one worth the drive. Bua Tong Waterfall is north/northeast of the city about 40km. The stream cascades down level after level of polished limestone, which in most places is not slippery. Take off your shoes and enjoy a climb up the rocks. Steeper/slippery spots often have ropes to assist. This can get crowded on the weekend or when it's hot. Try a quiet weekday. No charge and there are bathrooms and concessions at the parking area. Location.

Chiang Mai is beautiful. I enjoyed my stay and I hope you will as well. Feel free to add any tips you know of to my list!