2/6/18

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Day 66

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God,

Here I am 

on this Tuesday 

surrounded by Your love –

it comes steady, concern 

from two friends asking if 

I’m okay. How do I say, I’m 

being pushed by fear to believe

the worst: I’m too much. I feel that way 

at least. I give so much & I’m so afraid 

silence 

is what I deserve. I want to close myself 

off from anymore 

rejection. It’s perceived, I know this. It’s 

always good in the giving, then the 

waiting. And honestly, it’s fine. Until: 

whoa. What’s all this emotion for? You’re

crying? And then the silence. Not a word. 

And I tell myself things like, they’re

busy. It was good in giving. Shouldn’t 

care about response. But my heart 

screams, I want to be loved. Why do 

people have to leave? Why does it have to 

hurt to risk closeness when you put your 

heart out and say, ‘I love you. I want to be 

with you.’ But it never seemed quite 

mutual? And then to put yourself out 

there again, and something will not let 

me stop, Lord. Even tho the enemy

screams louder and louder & I want to 

hide away, You will not let me. 

Help me see what You see.

Help me believe I’m worthy of love.

Help me see my beauty. 

Love 

your tender haired girl.

Ps. I know You are faithful and good. This hurts way more than I understand. This feeling of rejection from years ago. Help me let it go, Lord. Please. 

denying as I may be.

I watch her–

gray stretch across

my blue jeans, the fur

of sorrow pass me by.

I ask her, please don’t

go, but she can’t stay–

walking so slowly away

with one last look back 

at me–June, I say. She 

turns away, slowly giving 

way for joy I mustn’t see,

fmf: pass

today’s inspiration comes from a cat. I originally wanted to write about this verse, but this came too quick.

Music and outside is an excellent conbo. 

Where Apology Won’t Grow Relief

I lay here in this garden,

watching petals downturn their view.

We are quiet, waiting with what

some call the ghosts of

Gethsemane. There was a teacher

and His disciples, whom He

instructed to pray. For sleep would

take them as the Enemy willed.

This teacher became weighted

down, sorrow filling the house of His

troubled soul. He said again, watch,

your flesh is weak, but you have a

willing spirit unable heed to

tempter’s call. Stay with me, won’t

you? This unknown prince, went

before His Father: if it is Your will,

please take this cup from me. Your

will be done, not my own. Going

back, He found His students

sleeping sound. You couldn’t spare

not one hour awake to My grief?

He went again to the secret place

He and His Father communed,

If I must drink from this cup, without

choice, Your will be done.

Again, He found His friends well

worn in dreams. He went a third,

final time to speak with His Father.

The same fervent prayer upon

grieving lips. He came to these

lazed comrades, You are still resting,

sleeping as if today was sent to

waste? The Son will be delivered

into all hands who sin. Come, my

betrayer waits to observe this grief.

To You, My Astronaut

Tomorrow you will board a plane,

carrying you further than the eight

hours we share between us now.

Between bites of fluffed pancakes

drenched in syrup, I sang the first

song you, a year ago asked me

if I would echo: it is well with my

soul. I stared ahead, a scarecrow

waving a friendly, permanent smilie.

Tears found their way later, holding

the cat to my chest. I wanted

answer to a question she could

never understand: why does

goodbye seem to hurt worse

when we’re already far apart?

She purred on. Oblivious to how

I wore this purple blanket you left

by accident months ago, around my

waist. Reminding I am royalty,

worth brusing, scrapes, and death.

Chosen by our beloved Father above

to speak life over this sorrow,

wishing me weak. I don’t know how

else to tell you while this moon

captures me outside my

window, I miss you. I pray He loves

you through every person daring bid

you hello. I pray you wow one of

those people with random facts

you happen to pick up. I pray if you

ever feel low and the temptation to

give up hope begs to pursue you,

a garden with orchids, magnolias,

and any other sweet scented flower

finds you. Sit in the rain at least once

and remember how alive our

laughter mingled with the earth. I am

thankful you’ve walked with through

this life with tenderness, grace, and

quietly confessed truth. Here is

another you know so well: I love you.

Dear friend, may Jesus bless, keep,

and shine His face brightly upon you.

May I know this isn’t the end of our

friendship, but another step toward

joy unspeakable.

A Prayer From Your Ungrateful Child

Joy looks softly, what’s wrong for real?

You upset because you complained?

You’re human, honey.

That’s not all, I say, my bottom lip

turning down any request I made

with myself to remain quiet, unheard.

My eyes rain truth only an ungrateful

child speaks fluidly.

I don’t want to go home.

I say this holding a chicken nugget

to my mouth, as answer comes

I never know how to take.

Enjoy the time you have now.

I can’t. I cry, looking straight ahead

at the empty seat. On the right,

someone rises with compassion

open wide enough to engulf all

sorrow I have grown accustomed to,

even before I allow You to quiet me.

My Friend, I can’t enjoy Your

company, without thought,

He’s going away. He’s leaving you

lonely.

He doesn’t love you. Why approach

His thrown with such a ridiculous

request: I want more of You. No

tears stroking my face. No sighs

making a liar laugh at my distress

waiting for you to shine bright upon

my face. I want to enjoy You on

earth, before I remark how my time

is gone with color photos of my

youth. Show me, Jesus, seventy

times seven, how much You delight

in me, Your small, weak, and needy

child, asking joy to become

accepted rather than wept.

Tender Pulse

“You seem, I don’t know, sad-”
strings not native to my ear
echo a foreign land I’ve yet
travel.
Though I heard we tread
Heaven, our bodies have
not caught melodies
the soul splendors.

I cannot imagine a place
this entangled body becomes
weightless. I am afraid of higher
regions beyond what is presently
seen.
Oh–to dance these notes
spun in a garden scented
lavender & cheery blossom,
honeysuckle my palate’s joy-

Mother, it is a sorrow
I cannot convey,
only a silent pluck
at a dream musing
symphony for those who
have yet to hear the song-
sympathy.