heart hope faith peace

heart on a string
is pulled
twisted
swaying by a third
thin strands
attached to broken pieces
swinging in the wind
shuddering in the cold
creaking as it moves
heart on a string

hope on the line
is shaken
torn
moving by a third
weak support
holding shattered hopelessness
shivers in the wind
goose-bumped in the cold
rocking as it moves
hope on the line

faith like a rock
is rolled
crumbled
sliding by a third
cracked earth
carrying too large a weight
rocks in the wind
as steel in the cold
reverberating as it moves
faith like a rock

peace like an ocean
is tossed
is tumbled
flowing by a third
fluid in motion
unable to bear the crash of waves
droplets in the wind
freeze in the cold
solidifying as it moves
peace like an ocean

heart on a string
twisted
hope on the line
torn
faith like a rock
crumbled
peace like an ocean
tumbled

what is left of me?

disclosed

what went on in my head is indescribable.  

the thoughts battering and clanging like a crazed convict yearning to be set free from the prison.  i made a list in my head about all the things that could go wrong, that should have gone wrong, that will go wrong, but i forgot about all the things that could go right, that should have gone right, that will go right.  and so, i slept.  and woke.  slept.  woke.  and the cymbals continued reverberating until i could bear it no longer and fell victim to the never-ending cacophony in my head.   the sounds rose and beat against my eardrum, against my forehead, against my heart (how'd they get down there?), until all was silent.  

i left the world of cement and painted lines on asphalt too hot to touch - the world of stoplights, street signs, traffic, and stench - the world of earthquakes and news stories telling of pain - i left that world.  

and entered a new one.  

i stepped into the world of grass and painted daisies rising from the rain-quenched earth - the world of fireflies, giant trees, bugs, and fresh spring - the world of thunderstorms and beautiful stories telling of love - i stepped into that world.  

and inhaled. 

filling my lungs with refreshing air i so desperately needed.  filling my hands with droplets of water straight from the stream.  filling my ears with the brushings of tree against tree, leaf against leaf.  filling my eyes with visions of brightly-colored butterflies and the black and yellow stripes of bees.  filling my mind with thoughts renewed.  

and exhaled.  

thethoughtscamerushing.  screaming.  scampering.  sliding over crevices and mounds of long-forgotten words of hope.  thethoughtscamerushing.  rolling.  racing.  residual effects of life gone wrong...or just different.  thethoughtscamerushing.  bouncing.  bending.  breaking my heart.  

my heart. 

scattered.   

shards. 

slivers.  

slices. 

and all was still.  

except my heart. 

my heart.  

two butterflies danced in the sunlight.  (thump)

a yellow orchid blew softly in the cool breeze.  (thump)

a little child's voice longing to be heard.  (thump thump)

the crying of the lost.  (thump thump thumpthump )

i inhaled. why this dichotomy?  why the confusion?  i either know or i don't.  i decide or i decide not to-no choosing in between...nothing's there.  the fence will always be in the middle and if i choose to sit on it...and wait...i've made my decision.  one of the choices will come to pass.  i exhaled.  

life isn't always greener on the other side.  

maybe it's greener....right where i am.  

july honesty

I remember waiting in an airport. I think it was Salt Lake City. With my dad and both of my sisters. We were bored, waiting for our flight to Riverside, California, where we would be, most assuredly (although none of us probably understood the seriousness of the situation back then), saying goodbye to our mom's mom, known to me as "Grumma". I had just turned nine and couldn't sit still for a moment. I asked my dad if I could look at all the books in a nearby store to pass the time and he agreed; the store was only feet from where we were waiting at our gate.

I can't give you a play-by-play of the event, but I can tell you that I got as grounded as you can get in an airport...and that's saying a lot, let me tell you. There was a book that explained how to play poker. In the middle of it, there was an insert with scratch-off playing cards. You didn't know what the cards were until you scratched them off. I happened to have or find a coin and began scratching the grey off. Dad called me back to him - our flight was now boarding. Placing the book on its shelf, I ran back to where my family was hurriedly gathering our baggage.

The cashier from the store came out of nowhere. She (or he...it might have been either, I don't remember) asked Dad to come back to the store with her/him. Confused and a bit frustrated by the interruption in boarding, he followed the cashier and asked me to come with him. The cashier showed Dad the book I had held just moments before and turned to the insert, where grey dust was caught in between the pages. The cashier was mad; Dad had to buy the book; I felt somewhat guilty, but mostly frightened.

The book was green, with playing cards on the front of it and the title included the word "Poker". I remember the cover of the book - I memorized it as it flew from my dad's large and intimidating hand into the silver trashcan just outside the bookstore.

I also remember shopping at Mervyns with my mom. Top floor, little girls' section. I was 7, maybe 8. I was with my mom and we were looking for black jeans. Now, these weren't just any black jeans. I was looking for the black jeans. The ones that looked exactly like my mother's black jeans. I didn't just want black jeans. I needed black jeans.

I stayed at home with my mom until I went to Kindergarten. Just her and me. We got close during those years and I did everything I could to emulate my mom, including wearing black jeans. She listened to country music back then. So did I. That was all she ever listened to. She didn't care for contemporary Christian music, no rock, no oldies, no pop. So did I. Just country. She loved everything Western (and still does, except her "nothing but country music" has lessened). So did I.

Apparently, little girls didn't wear black jeans back then. I felt sad and mad and that's when my mom had a great idea - to go to the little boys' section. At first, I thought that might be weird. Wearing boys' pants? How awkward would that look? Not so bad, if I do say so myself. Although I had to get used to the backwards zipper and more material near the top, I couldn't be happier. So was Mom - a happy child is a happy mother, I guess. We bought them right away.

I remember getting rid of those, by then, old jeans. I remember feeling somewhat guilty for doing so. Somehow, in my naive little mind, I thought that maybe I was also getting rid of wanting to be like my mom. Or maybe that was just my mind in later years, remembering the way the rough black jeans felt between my fingers and the awkward backwards zipper as I put them in the "donate" pile.

I often find myself wishing to go back in time. To experience certain situations and feelings once again. Or maybe twice or three times more. I want to think that I'd respond to these experiences in better ways. But I can't help but also wonder if those little moments of learning have made me who I am today. Would I then change my reactions if I could? I'm not sure.

Fast forward a few more years and you'll find me in my junior year of high school. I'm dating the class clown and I feel wonderful. Then, I wake up one morning and poof! It's gone. He's gone. "We" are gone. What I thought I knew and understood is now being chucked out a 3rd story window. The sky was dreary that day. Cloudy, cold. March. Almost April. I took off in the car I borrowed from my parents to get back and forth to school everyday, headed to a listening ear and a big hug from my sister at her apartment. I didn't understand a thing and I found myself driving down the freeway - 65 miles per hour - tears clouding my vision. I nearly swerved off the road and began to think that life was over as I knew it.

In a sense, I was right. I was still me. Life would keep going. But I had learned. I had taken another step in growing up. I now understood more about what it meant to be human. Hearts get broken. People hurt. Tears fall all over the world and there's nothing anyone can do to stop them.

I finally got to a point where I could forgive him. It took a lot of time. A lot. I still didn't fully understand why he did it, but I came face-to-face with the fact that I probably never would. I remember driving home from running errands with my mom. Summertime. The sun was out - a stunningly beautiful day from where I sat in the passenger seat. I remember saying, "It's ok. I'll be ok." I felt peace wash over me. I could finally move on.

I think there are times in our lives when our actions don't make sense to us. Instead of seeing ourselves as human, we see ourselves as, quite honestly, someone who should have known better - and that doesn't sit well with us. If you're anything like me, we analyze and critique - attempt to find reasons behind this or explanations behind that. If it doesn't make sense, then the analysis must deepen, it must mean something.

Why is it so easy to feel guilty about the things we did or didn't do in the past? About the things we said or didn't say? When will we figure out that we're human?? We do stupid things and we learn from them. We go through phases and then we leave them. We love...and we lose. Human.

That green book - that terrible foe, but teacher of many lessons - may never leave my brain. The realization of moving out of one phase into another greatly saddens and excites me. And the moment when love walks out on you without an explanation hurts like nothing else, but also makes way for something even better.

Moments that teach you, that move you, that make you challenge who you are and perhaps even who God is, are worth remembering...even if it hurts.

Newness

One baby
Turns quickly into two.
Two little ones
Crawling
Walking
Running
Into your arms
Over and over again
One baby
Turns quickly into two.
No time to think
No time to wonder
Here they are
And they are perfect.
They are
you
and
him
In one being.
But now two.
What will she look like when she's older?
What will she look like when she's born?
The questions stay the same
But the newness of life
Is ever-changing
And throbbing inside you
Withing your pounding heart.
You're scared.
You wonder.
You ponder.
You think.
And then you see her.
And then you see her.
Everything comes together
Now.
Everything
Just
Makes
Sense.
One baby?
Nah.  Life is better with two.

walking on eggshells

her mind bends around itself until sincerity breaks.  this is the reason behind why she cannot sleep at night.  settling into her old routine has ceased to produce fruit.  her mind can no longer contain the thoughts she holds inside and her words come out like fire, twisting trindles of light that capture the real and put away the false.  every attempt to hold it in is vanquished in one lick from the flame.  life was not supposed to be like this, she says over and over and over again in her head...but sincerity has been broken and she is not sure how she really feels or what she thinks anymore.

they never say the right thing anymore and even if they did, it would not register.  

chapel in the blue zone

this area is in the top five blue zones in the world.  people here live longer than most every place else on the face of the earth.  research, religious or otherwise inclined, has been conducted in an attempt to understand this phenomenon.  how ironic it is that a talk was given this morning about the statistics of suicide.  it is the 3rd leading killer of adolescents.  i have heard that women are more prone to suicidal tendencies, but that men are the ones who more often follow through with their ideas.

in interview fashion, three people up front discussed suicide and how closely it was linked to them.  both men struggled with suicidal thoughts in their early and/or late adolescence and gave advice on how to relate to friends who might have similar thoughts.  they shared their knowledge with the psychiatrist who sat with them and hosted the interview.  

the stories were fascinating to me and made me really think about my role as a friend, confidant, and companion of the people in my life - including my family, my friends, and even acquaintances.  we were not meant to go through this world alone.  we have been given the responsibility to look after each other and have each other's best interest at heart.  

the men explained that what they wanted/needed the most was someone to just go through their experience with them - to sit down with them and validate how they were feeling.  not to tell them that their feelings were bad, wrong, or crazy.  they needed someone to be willing to be uncomfortable with the insurmountable feeling of worthlessness - the feelings that life was not worth living anymore.  someone who could "sit down and shut up".  their adamant thoughts on this topic made me think about what i would want if i was going through a similar situation.  and then i realized that i have gone through something similar.  even though i am not really sure what i would have wanted or needed if given the choice, i was aware of how uncomfortable it can be to be in the presence of someone who wants to end their life...especially if your life experience has not led you to feel this way at all.  

the blood that fills my soul

so here's how my heart has been working recently:  it takes in blood, drowns every square inch...and then the blood gushes out to all parts of the body - keeping me alive.  and it does it again.  and again.  and again.  and again.  and I never run out of blood.  or oxygen.  or air.  or peace.  maybe not peace.  i feel it now, but lately, it has been absent.  i have run out of peace - once.  or twice.  or maybe three times, because that's a charm.  but never blood.  or oxygen.  or air.  except that one time.  in the pool.  a long time ago.  when i was little.  i was having a contest with my sisters, seeing who could hold their breath the longest.  i was the youngest.  i lost.  but i have never been so happy to breathe again in my life.  peace is like that.  when it doesn't reveal itself, i kind of feel like i have run out of air - of oxygen.  and when it finally breaks through and fills my soul, it gushes outward and i have never been so happy to feel it.

peace.