Children of Christ

This is a collaboration I did a few days ago with my mother. I love getting to collab with different when writing, it helps me to look past myself and accept others and myself as who we are. If you would like to collab with me, feel free to comment this post.

In the streets of questioning the trees rejoice,
swaying with wordless truth:
Love is not hidden when the Son shines
so vibrantly from heights where longing agonizingly remains.

Shining beckoning from behind the clouds, the truth is known for He already set forth for all of us to see.

Come, stand inside the light-
face up to sky with outstretched hands,
hear the crying hearts looking for release from a war relentless with fight unable to end in strength only our own.

Take strength in your belief in Me, I will guide you through the winding paths where I am forever present, you need not fear the darkness My light will guide you.

After I am forever present,
My light will wrap its arms around you to warm you with My presence.

A Look Inside My Mind

“Wow, you really have crippled yourself.”
“What?”
“Well, besides the fact you can’t walk that well, your mindset makes it real easy to bring that lovely complexion two shades lighter than the moon.”
“What is it you’re trying to tell me?”
“You’re really pale.”
“I can see that. Thanks for stating the obvious.”
“Just trying to help you.”
“Yeah. I think there was more to that statement.”
“About your falling ability? You’ll never know how much joy I get from those moments I make you less. You know that morning you were going to try for a “miracle”?
“Yes.”
“You wouldn’t have fallen in the dirt so quickly if I wasn’t such a master manipulator at making you believe God or anyone else will ever accept the sinner that is you.”
”A real charmer you are.
“I’m charming you with daily false truth aren’t I?”
“Why not just call them what they are?”
“Because any way I twist it, I still manage to fool you.”
“I should really go pray now.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’m trying to believe in things above not below.”
“That’s where you’re going one day, you know?
“This body, yes. Death isn’t something I want to contemplate right now.”
“I can make it happen for you. Quick. Painless. Easy.”
“Every time I believe you, I feel myself slipping into a slow, panful death, hardening with the passing days. How does that fit into the ‘helpful’ category?
“It does comply with your outer appearance. I’m more known for stealthily stealing joy away. Haven’t you read the Bible?”
Yes, but I haven’t read in depth about Adam & Eve, and how tempting you made that apple sound.”
“Better believe it. I’ve been feeding you sinful apples since high school. All that fear holding you captive, as you watched your parents consumed by my fire, ending in the destruction of your family, that was me too. You’ve always had me wanting the best for you.”
“God, I know You’re always listening. Please tell me this isn’t true.”
“Bet you $10 He doesn’t answer you.”
“I can wait.”

Fight, Flight, or Growth

I can look up into my Father’s gaze,
bright & forgiving-
or hang my head as my feet stay
planted, hesitancy never absent
in the dread of continuing.

The battle for my life already was won
by a man spilling rose blood.
Every morning the sun finds my face,
I know His aroma has never smelled as sweet,
for the sacrifice of perfection led to
inward flowering, despite how I view my faulty body’s outer withering.

Mercy

A ten dollar bill sat in my pocket, form-fitted, & harder to reach that envious paper, whispering, “Hold to me, tight.”
They say because I’m weaker physically, I need to take what I can get.
Washingtons & Benjamins won’t be provided freely forever.

The government can’t be your well of sustainability plays like a symphony-
swelling waters from my eyes, each night when reality looms into my dreams.

God, I’m spending my nights staring at the ceiling, wanting to throw every ounce of green away, away, away-

dig a hole & bury every selfish aim with numbers adding to hundreds I can’t handle properly-I’m using it as a safety net, aren’t I?

I’m entangled in a web only I could weave-constructed with the words of those that don’t believe someone in the sky can provide love through sacrifice.

Okay, I’m afraid to throw everything so
freely given to me so I may glorify my King & I won’t bother giving empty phrases meant to show for an apology-

my actions must be appalling.

I’d love for comforting,
but the touch of Your hand scares me more than my eyes trying to remember a death at Calvary for my freedom-

look at what dying for protection’s sake has done-opened my mouth to bring spit upon the face free of blemishing.

When He Calls, I Rise

Have you ever had an idea placed inside your head for weeks, but ignore it because you don’t understand it? Or, the fact that you have no idea how to start, and you feel very unqualified? Well, this is me and now the idea has made managed to find a door into my heart, refusing to leave.

Back story: A few months ago, I was taking a walk when all of these memories began presenting themselves in a book-like fashion. You know, beginning, middle, and end. They were all memories of a friendship that has helped me grow in Christ. When I got home, I sat on the floor, writing a poem with moments that had stuck out most to me. Each was centered around vulnerability, where I saw Jesus most clearly. I sent it off to her in an email with the subject line: Snapshots of His Glory.

Days after sending this, I stumbled upon the magazine, Guideposts. I became fascinated with the stories and how much hope was provided after I read each one. I had to stop myself from reading the whole magazine in one sitting. I’m not kidding. I even sent a story to them, hoping maybe I could open other people to the hope Jesus brings. Especially to those with disabilities. (CrippledatYourTable was inspired by my own disability: Cerebral Palsy.)

Still, the title of that poem was in the back of my mind after each story. Today I realized why: He (Jesus) wants me to start a magazine similar to Guideposts, but the focus on those with disabilities, and anyone who has been impacted by someone with a disability and seen His love. To make this different from Guideposts, it would be more art focused (poetry, paintings photography, stories, etc.)

Potential Problems:. 1.) I have no experience whatsoever in starting a magazine, which means I’m navigating this blindly. 2.) If anyone would actually be interested in reading a magazine like this. 3.) Material for this imaginary magazine. 4,) Money. 5.) A title.

There are probably more, but I’m not focused on those right now. I’m just interested in giving God glory, and He finally made it clear to me how I can do this. Would anyone be interested in helping me with, either by sending material, or partnering to help me make this come to life?

Comment this post or send an email to: j_sparrows00@ymail.com if you are interested!

Teach Me Selfless

Once, I was of this world,
wanting nothing more to own-
to be my own.

Oh, what a glorious day when a card arrived, green as my envy, straight to my hands, no longer grieving for things to fill my need-want, really.
I was grown. I could buy. I could spend freely.

I may sound like a fool to you, but money makes me weary now.
constricts around my heart, like the persuasive snake who dumbfounded Adam & Eve to eat that knowledgeable apple, leaving wonder to a sinner’s prayer: why can’t I reach Your light with greed charting paths, without giving way to my dignity.

Poor, I remember telling my mother, is what I wanted to be.
“You can’t live on the street,” she’d tell me quickly, rationalizing that was the wrong way.
Jesus found who were willing to be His disciples if they dropped earthly delights & taught them the delicacies of love

Here we are holding grass between stingy fingers, hoping our facade won’t turn dusty before a grave hushes agape mouths declaring their glory.

Your rags is where my–our riches should be placed, free of guilt for taking ourselves away from disillusioning spotlights.

In Need

My body is not normal-
tortoise legs & jack rabbit mind.
I walk carefully, cautiously with
thoughts pulling blinders over my eyes,
tomorrow is coming soon.

Better make a decision quick, they say.
I feel the poison, seeping from constant
television screens where demand is hurry.
My mouth aches to scream, “I wasn’t born that way!”
Those caffeinated faces wouldn’t mind,
unable to hear through glass prisons we all so promptly lock ourselves into without need for a key.

Why is it so easy to cripple our minds while our bodies waste in things meant to pass away?

My Lord, how You look at me with such longing-a husband for his bride- willingness to love despite the twisted bone limbs I so desperately wish to erase.

Acceptance of imperfection is
surrender a broken earth will never
volunteer to preach.

Open Confessional

Dear Jesus,

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.–James 1:17

As You already know, I read this morning, all the while thinking to myself: What exactly does this have to do with integrity? Why did the devotional talk about earning these gifts given so freely? Trust? Why do You give these gifts when I feel unworthy?

Maybe this is where the confessions should start: When I work on something, say math or writing, I immediately lean solely on myself. I mean, I sit there for awhile and feel fine. When things become difficult though, I freak out. I feel so panicky, nervous, unqualified, ashamed..okay, yeah, You get it/

What’s the worst part to all of this? I feel like I’m failing You. And therein lies the problem: my lack of trust and complete reliance on my own strength. That leads me to confession: I really don’t like asking for help. Feeling like a burden is part of it, yes, but there is a bigger issue.

Independence. It’s ingrained in my head that. “You must be able to provide for yourself.” You. No one else. It makes me sad because I actually believe it. I know this is an extreme example, but I couldn’t give myself life. From the time I was born, up until now, I have had to rely on people for food, shelter, clothing, etc. In the midst of that, I’m growing up to learn how to be “self-sufficient”.

I know this is where all my anxiety comes from. I shy away from people because of this mentality of self-reliance. So many people think it’s the greatest thing in world to provide for themselves. It’s all monetary. Stuff doesn’t provide joy, more like restrict it. We are all restless creatures after all. The minute we pick something up, we become bored, exclaiming: There has to be something better! Guess it’s time to start making more money!

I bet that’s why I hate money. I don’t want to get into that kind of mindset of, “I did this all by myself!” I can’t even control the thoughts that are illogical at best. You know the ones: I could be famous one day. This desire to write could get me somewhere, maybe. What if I end up not giving You glory, where it most certainly is due?

I couldn’t get anywhere in this world if I was the one leading. We both know I’m cowardly, at best. I won’t lie and tell You I haven’t let the Devil persuade me. I’ve let him pull my attention from Your hopeful face, to the faces of suffering, whispering, “Why even try?” Then, I find myself feeling that little light of hope die out with tears I’d rather hide, instead of letting them be seen.

You say, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Yet, the world makes me feel I have to have this armor that I myself need to craft, because no doubt I’m going to fall, and no one will be there to pick me back up. I hate how it’s spread around, like wine on every si holidays with family, even though I never drink. It’s the talk of: “I did this.” and “I did that.” Pride. I get lost in the talk, quiet, until someone happens to make me laugh. I’m left with the sinking feeling of guilt, of wrong because I can’t formulate words to say: Jesus died for us, but instead you’d rather talk about mindless junk only alcohol can produce. Why are all things so important? Please, tell me.” The whole world can’t be like this, can it? No, much worse. I can’t help, but feel Your sadness welling inside each and every time.

I just wish the world could see this way. Yes, suffering hurts greatly, some worse than for others. Through it all, whether we realize it or not, You shine brightest when we’re down on our knees, with emptied, folded hands. Grace. If my body wasn’t enough proof of my weakness, then the way I seek world’s approval before Your own is foolish enough.

I could say, I’m so sorry, over and over, but all that You would say is, “Hush now My child, for all I have asked you is to entrust Me with your life. I am always by your side.

Let Me be the endless gift of love you had lost.

Resigning to love,

Your Daughter