2/23/18

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Day 71

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God,
What beauty did
Bartimaeus see when You
Healed him from blindness—
What will I see after this cataract
Surgery? Will the sun be brighter?
Will flowers hold more color? Will
The shadows disappear I sometimes
See? Will I still have to hold things close
To my face, or be jumpy when someone
Comes close? What I don’t understand
Is having to be awake for tpphe whole thing—
I kn(ow You will be there in the pre-op appt.
Next Friday & whenever the surgery is. I’m
afraid, Lord. I know it’s a routine surgery,
& it’s just a laser & it will be okay because
You will be with me—I don’t like being awake
Even with whatever they will give to relax me.
“Hey, let’s look at your eye & take that cloudy
Away, okay? Now whatever you do, don’t blink
Or move.” Yeah, that sounds so fun. Especially
With how jumpy I am. Lord, I Would really like
A friend to sit with me during some of the recovery—
To make me laugh and maybe read to me You already
Know what I said I’d like yesterday. It makes me laugh
Still If You did it, I think You’d get a shout of joy—remember
I said I wanted to see when a shout of joy escaped my lips?
Could You do this with this request? Please, please. Thank
You for being here now, anyhow. Thank You for knowing my
Fears & not pffting them aside, or my request for comfort &
Laughter & presence. You are good to provide them all—
May I take note & thank You because it all comes from
You.)

Love,
Your tender-haired girl

fmf: beauty.  ( is where the timer stopped.

 

 

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control, I’m not. 

I smell this gardenia,

calm & unassuming after

a fall. Lord, I watched or

I felt my body turn back 

as I went and missed the grip 

for the counter–mom’s voice 

a complete gasp as I hit the floor on my 

side. I don’t know

how You did that. The pain asks

me now to stay with the whiplash my 

head feels. Bring 

more of your comfort won’t you, please? 

The fall reminds me yet again in

fmf: comfort.

I’m not sure if it’s the fact I’ve had a bit of a summer flu this week or when trying to grab the counter with my weaker, I somehow do a twirl and wind up on my side on a carpet that covers part of the hard wood floor (thank you, Jesus), but I really think being still is good. I also find it fascinating that when I fall, i just go down. No words. And then just want to stay there.

Jesus, help me be still. Help me rest in you and wait expectantly for you. Please. I’m tired and my head is like, you need to put the phone down but I need to get this out. Thank you for catching me when I fall and for the carpet even though the pain was still there. Thank you that mom and I can recall lots of other falls I’ve had.  Thank you she was there to help me up and put on sandals so I won’t fall again. Even though you and I both know I’m not getting up any time. Thank you that all the pain brings straight to you. As in when I fall, I immediately apologize for trying to get up and wash my hands. I’m a silly girl who’s still trying to get falling is okay. You’re still going to – want me. You still love me in this broken and my aching body, head will never keep you away. So come to me Jesus. And yes, it’s a little like Ellie’s song, rescue:

It’s like I fell into a hole to deep to climb out//And I looked up to the sky and saw you reaching down/Reaching down

Reach down and rescue me with your comfort, Jesus. I’m not sure if anything would be a comfort right since I’m trying to distract myself from the weird feeling in my head. But thank you for being with me. That’s a comfort even if I can’t physically feel it right now. Okay, stopping. Love you, Jesus.

truth is, you love me quiet

o great God—
be small
a breath,

in-out
light above
doubt night

cares tell
you’re not
here. holy

gaze never
slumber. precious
in your sight, i un

move you. how
well pleased
you are. Son

i am not dove
descending
blessed shoulder;

appearance never
brought you asunder
as hu(man) heart

you treasure. living
water springs up,
cooling grievance

i asked never
bear. hear me
now, tiny inside

early morning
darkness—mercy
your child pleads.

My friend, Michelle made this, and it being 3:30 a.m. (this won’t go up til ten, because i’m finally sleepy..) i decided to write a piece based on the title. it’s beautiful. i probably could write a lot of poems on that alone. Thank you, Michelle, for being exactly who you are–creative, beautiful, compassionate. And shining that lovely light. 🙂 there’s something magical about writing this early with Ellie Holcomb stirring up my heart. So much peace.

Where’s Joy?

The way I am wishing

to become a winter song.

When words fall out my

lovingkindness drawn mouth,

they will be quiet welcome.

Snow collects on dirtied soil

without asking: May I rest here

awhile? We must be okay with the

chill, because we carry left over cold

as a souvenir for our hearts. We

point out past wrongs, you left

school, you won’t go back.

You’ll never hold this down,

pay this back. You’ll never be like

me. You’re a jerk. Idiot. Asshole.

Sucker. Now replace that with an F.

This is what I hear. I can’t lie, saying

complaint doesn’t rear it’s ugly

blackhead, pimple I am sure will

need popped by week’s end. I can

never see them, but they are as

painful as these words slain on a

cross. More bloody than the slightest

whimper I make about hurt I can’t

control. Joy is hard to swallow,

especially when I’m handed this gift

daily. I fight to believe the way other

people talk, never has to be

normalcy. People I don’t know well.

dare to call me sweet, beautiful,

friend, as I swim up a current, so

don’t fall into conformity. If I am

honest, I have overthought more on

God’s love for me, believing every

day, His love is the same as my

family. The quick snake tongues

never pride empty. Strike. Strike.

Strike. It’s not a turkey, I’ve only

bowled once perfectly.

It’s me, trying not swing back at their

falsehoods to produce a grand slam

belief: this is the way life has to be.

Lies After Meeting Beautiful Souls

You look at little ol’ me.

You see, darling, your every bit of lovely.

The tears I find meeting my tongue,

I place my hope You see them.

Spurting streams carrying a silent

thanksgiving: thank you for bleeding

my priding death, so I may dwell

forever in the house of God, Your Father & mine.

Wash me clean. Again. Again. Again.

You are My gold. Secret found

inexhaustible when darkness falls upon my precious heart.

When my brokenness was all

I saw, still see, You reassure

this isn’t the end. You won’t give

up holding me for brevity’s sake.

We are eternity lovers.

Father and daughter.

Beloved to me, the despised.

By myself and the serpent seeking

my kill.

Though the liar comes intentionally

planting seeds I don’t wish watering

with salted belief: she’ll leave soon as your life gets tough.

You think she cares about you?

That was a one time deal.

For being her number one fan,

that was a really impersonal response.

She didn’t really look at you.

How could she anyway?

You were a mass of nerves,

unable to utter anything except

your name. Classy for a girl who is

just like you.

You don’t have fame.

Your own house

Oh, you also haven’t graduated college.

You have a whole lot going for you.

A poetry book selling 13 copies.

Please.

Look at the girl who sings for Jesus,

signed your poster, that will never

be you signing books.

You couldn’t handle it anyway.

You would cry.

You take forever

signing your name now.

That won’t change.

I only wonder what you would do

if someone came up to you in a walker the same age,

and their friend had to tell you

she’s your biggest fan for her,

because she was too chicken

to utter thank you.

Some friend.

Embarrassing you.

But you did want her to know, right?

You’re just like everyone else.

A person in line

waiting to see someone

who inspires you more than she knows,

but you can’t say a word or look her

in the eyes because you’re another face among the many behind you,

wanting to say what Jesus already knows.

That you’re a baby.

You just want attention.

I must expose these thoughts

as there are: lies.

Last night held depth beyond

my understanding.

Love beyond my blindsides.

Friendship born after a wait

to see Your sweetheart face

once again meet mine.