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.
“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.”
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.
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.
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: email@example.com if you are interested!
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.
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.