Wednesday

No one understands
the knot my stomach constructs
when asked to complete tasks.

I hear each request:
change this.
Ask sister to pick up this.

The clock begins ticking back
seconds I have for my performance.
Applause congratulating meeting
audience expectations.

I want to do well enough
to be loved in the time frame
a human sets.

If I don’t live up,
I immediately condemn myself.
The letting down someone else,
a lack of caring enough.

I know this is crazy-
all these conditions I place upon myself.
Trying to carry out perfection
is so much work.

We are to bear crosses
when following Jesus.
He never said: carry yourselves
in your own strength. Work for love.

He said: You can do all things through Me who gives you strength,
love without fear of reproach, and
infinite rest in your weakness.

Jesus knows this knot,
hanging from the cross
with expectation from myself,
everyone else and Him.

Three nails pinned undeserved.
Dying for my new beginning.
I sit here wringing my hands,
failed expectation aching control
over me.

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Ms. Alabamy

I know a gal
who lives in Alabamy.
She is smart, witty with glasses
reminding me of Ingrid Michaelson.

We met through an art site,
where I stumbled upon her poetry.
Her style–a slow, easy southern
welcome into memorializing life awoke my curious mind.

She had written a journal entry,
challenging anyone to use three words of her choosing in a poem.
I took a risk, politely asking for stretching outside my box.

I sat outside on my grandma’s deck, beginning the task of weaving a piece about a garden and God-
if I remember correctly.

I somehow blew her away.
To this day, I still don’t know
what she saw in those meager words in all their unedited glory.

This has never stopped
my continuos asking,
More words please?
Her hospitality kindly pushing
my dreams up-rain or shine.

A silver lining can always be found.
Don’t give up quite yet,
it will come.

I may never get to sit on this swing,
listening to her strum uke strings she’s s still learning to play.
Maybe close to Be Ok.
Or write a poem in sweet tea sipping, gentle rocking side by side
southern time.

I do know she’ll never stop embracing me as if distance doesn’t separate kindred spirits.
My heart reciprocating thankfulness
for friendship equally resonated.

Author’s Note: To Rachel–thank you for awakening my love for poetry. For seeing something in me I didn’t see. For always supporting me in this crazy dream. You will forever mean so very much to me.

Tuesday

I read the subject line:
RE: (POETRY) Human vs. Divine.
My stomach turns with anticipation
I forgot was there.

I message a friend, letting her know
a response has come. Nerves tingling, I wait until after seven to find out of 1700, finalist I am not.

They say the caliber of work
was exceptionally good this year.
They are grateful for a chance to read my work.

After maybe 5 rejections within months, I should have a thicker skin than this. Granted, I’m not bawling as I did with my first, but the tears came regardless.

Mother said over penne rigate tonight,
the next magazine I submit to, I must also submit the outcome to God.

The hardest lesson in life
is waiting without your will met,
your dreams on hold in hopes
something better comes along.

One Lovely Blog Award

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Today, my lovely friend, Hailey nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. πŸ™‚

The rules are as follows: A nominated blogger must (1) link back to the person who nominated them, (2) list these very rules and display their award, (3) share seven facts about yourself, and (4) choose some indeterminate number of blogs to nominate.

7 Facts

1. The inspiration behind my blog name came from a song called, Carbon Ribs by John Mark McMillan. The lyrics “One day I will sit a cripple at your table, a cripple by Your side” really struck a cord with me the first time I heard them. Having Cerebral Palsy makes me see how patient, kind, and understand Jesus is in bearing this cross for His name. If you’re interested in the song, listen here. πŸ™‚

2. I love staring out windows. It doesn’t matter if I’m in the car, or sitting at the kitchen table, I will stare for hours if it’s quiet enough. I end to writing a poem generally within a few hours. There’s just something about letting your mind wander that really gets me in a zone.

3. I had a dream of sitting out in the rain in a field, fulfilled in May.

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I wasn’t very clear in this post about who each girl was. I’m to the left, Gwen is to right.

4. I have a slight love of books. If I walk into a store where I know there may be some, I will most likely walk out with one. Even though I haven’t read ones I have. Ask my mother, she is the one who has to say, “Keep walking. Nothing to see here.” πŸ™‚

5. Speaking of my mother, she is an amazing cook! (I know, I know, everyone loves their mother’s cooking), but her baked Mac n cheese, crepes, PIZZAS, etc make me like this:

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6. My dad (without him knowing) got me into Veggietales (which I still watch), during our weekly trips to the library every Tuesday. And reading, too. Thanks a lot daddy. πŸ™‚

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Since I don’t have any pics of us on my phone now, this will do. You can Bob, okay Dad. πŸ˜‰

7. My new favorite word right now is Selah. meaning, pause. It has to do with music, but it accurately describes me. To a T. πŸ™‚

Nominees

1. Busymindthinking
2. resonantbellworld
3. redgladiola
4. tornadoday
Check them out! πŸ™‚

Thanks again, Hailey! πŸ™‚

Undeserving, But Loved

Truth I don’t have to understand, nor am able. But oh, how He loves us πŸ™‚

The Reflection

Lord, why must you love me the way You do?
I’m not worthy, nor do I deserve this.
Sins, desires, lead me away from You.
I’m strung along by this worldly death kiss.

Tied up in the lies, the failures, the wounds
Of this human life, I fail to escape
The evil clutches that want to consume
Me while I battle, beat-up, cut, and scraped.

Yet, You see something beyond all this mess,
Beyond the glaring errors that I make.
You find beauty in me, nevertheless,
Something worthy to You, not a mistake.

Through your life, death, and life, I awaken.
Freed by grace, I’m no longer forsaken.

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Bitter Dream Aftertaste

I was in Paris-
at an outdoor cafe,
umbrellaed from the sun.

I watched the bustled city.
People walking, laughing,
speedily passed by moped riders.

I paid no mind
to the food in front of me,
suddenly taken by a warning voice:

“Don’t be surprised if your friendship
drifts away. It’s life.”

Before me, stands my grandmother,
whom I hadn’t seen years before she passed.

Her white hair,
serious tone
still the same.

I looked at her warily.
“Why are you telling me this?”
I began to cry.

My vision blurred.
I couldn’t catch my breath,
gasping for composure.

I wanted to tell her,
I know life paths don’t mean
steady, parallel pattern.

Human relationship can’t
replace loneliness only
Christ can comfort.

I continue sobbing,
staring into her expressionless eyes,
my mouth stuck in a hard frown.

A minute passed.
She turned away,
walking into gay Parisian life.

I cried under cover,
drinking tear salt,
wrinkling my face, a black sky
falls over me.

I open my eyes
to the early morning
gray.

Now

I cannot hush
my heart busy skipping
beats for memories past.

It was not in love,
but fear clanging
drum lines against my tensed ribs.

I have not dipped down
sin’s tempting line:
who cares if the Son’s watching?
It’s not as if He’s helping right now,
come on.

I am looking up,
the light encompassing
my trembling frame.

Perfect love
casts out fear
expecting punishment.

God, this is not then.
Quiet me in Your love,
shepherding my thoughts, joyous
in the truth of Your right handed protection from falling out.