Feathers and Hope

These dreams nestle softly,
curled within crystal shells,
they pulse with hope and ideals
in the warmth of trust.
Knowing they will hatch
into actions, decisions, choices,
I rejoice that today
these dreams nestle softly.

These hurts shatter the nest of dreams,
breaking crystal shells.
They scream for hope amid tumbled ideals
and cling to trust.
Knowing they will grow
into actions, decisions, choices,
I rejoice that today
the nest of dreams is shattered.

This hope upholds these fledgling dreams
amid sharp edges of crystal shells
they test the span of their ideals
and preen the layered quills of trust.
Knowing they will fly
as actions, decisions, choices,
I rejoice that today
these fledgling dreams live on.

This storm shakes the shelter of fragile dreams.
They tumble together amid a tangle of ideals
and fall from high among the crystal shards,
yet hope catches upon their outspread trust.
Knowing they must survive
as actions, decisions, choices,
I rejoice that today
these dreams are made strong.

This hope lifts up the ideals of dreams
with gentle warmth upon their crystal vanes.
They sweep the sky with joy
and soar upon trust toward the future.
Knowing they direct
all actions, decisions, choices,
I rejoice that today
these dreams have taken flight.

A Quick Thought

Dreams spread their wings
to enfold the wind
and
tomorrow begins
a new day.

Image:  Roots, Photograph and digital painting, 2009

The Reason for Pain

We know it,
the raw sensation
that springs in the surprise of a moment
and shocks us aware.
Sometimes it waits on the edge of our senses,
building to a peak,
then borders our every thought through time.
And always the secret message, embedded within,
whispers to the heart  that all is not well. 
And it seems unfair that we must suffer
while our pills and injections strive
in empty defiance against a world
gradually crumbling from within.
For still the echo of pain
calls us back to the knowledge
of a something better that must exist.
We have seen that loss of pain is worse,
and the body forgets what causes harm
if it does not suffer a consequence.
We all know to look for the cause to learn the remedy.
And in the end, we search for the healer 
who promises  to replace evil with good.

---

Image:  a photo of a sketch, drastically altered in contrast, but not purposely colored or textured in any way. I was rather surprised at the result. I may have to play with sharpening and exposure more often!

An Odd Dream

I followed my companion, stranger and friend, through great glass doors and looked further, into the great room beyond where bodies lay like puppets dropped mid-play. Within a breath the sight faded into the expected activity and I knew it remained a vision within a vision, unseen by my companion who now proceeded on her hurried way, alert for some trouble which I knew she need not fear.

Upon the upper floor we paused, surrounded by a crowd mesmerized at the sight of a great jet just beyond the wall of windows, still in flight but turning in place as if suspended by invisible ropes and slowed by a net of air beyond comprehension, its great wings swung close to the glass, too close. My companion fled the wall where impact seemed impossible to avoid and I followed, knowing that all was well behind us despite the fear permeating the atmosphere of the place.

Again I glimpsed the puppets fallen amid incomplete motion before the rush of life returned. What could it mean?

My companion swiftly approached the doors of a glass elevator, or perhaps a causeway. They swept open before her and there was no path beneath her feet. I reached out too late to stop her, but she stumbled upon a narrow landing with a shock of terror and relief, and looked far down to the pavement through the diamond pattern gaps in the metal beneath her feet.

Unsurprised by her safety, I leaned through the door beside her and looked to the right. A black-coated companion stood on a second landing on level with us, calmly resting his back against the glass wall, holding a white tube between his fingers. He glanced over at me with raised brow and I felt he knew also that no evil would befall this place on this day.

I awoke and considered that it has been too long since I've had such a fascinating dream. I love remembering them! It's very surprising I've recalled it in such detail after an entire day. Nifty!

Giving Up Choir

As my children grew I hummed to them a song.
As I worked my voice would often sing along;
and I waited through the days,
through the years, looking for ways
to join the voices' gathering,
and I waited long
though my heart would sing.

At last my time was free to join their song
and I sang the chords with joy carried along.
And swift days passed by
as sunshine filled the sky
to greet the weekly gathering
as our hearts rejoiced
before our Savior King.

It seems just now that God has said to wait
and my throat is closed by heavy weight.
By weakness I'm restrained.
By His strength I am sustained.
Yet good will come from my King today
and my heart will rise at every note they play.
Perhaps a path won't open now
to join the choir and sing somehow,
but if all alone in my home the song
echoes as it has all along,
then it remains an offering
of praise to my eternal King.

---


I hope you don't mind this one being a little rough. I don't really want to polish it because then it would be too shiny for what I feel.

Oh, how I hate to admit it, but choir is too much for me just now. When I collapsed after the over-exertion of the Easter presentation, I never thought it might be my last time to sing with everyone. I thought things would get better with time, but life didn't follow the pattern I'd set out. It turns out that I'll have to wait longer, after only one season of choir.

I must admit, with this new realization, I'm asking God once again why he has allowed this weakness. This loss will become a part of beautiful. I only hope he'll let me see how.

Answering the Devaluation of Virtual Relationship

"Why waste your time on virtual interactions through the internet?" it is said. "Focus on real life and leave that dangerous world, full of pretenders and misfits who might be anyone. You can't tell if they're lying, and those shallow interchanges aren't going to encourage you to grow in faith or challenge you in good works like real people do in normal relationships."

I know I'm speaking to the choir, here, but this is my preparation for facing these questions from someone who seeks to mentor my growth. And while they have a valid point about my daily schedule, I find the above summary of the opinion they evinced conflicts with truth in many significant ways. Please contribute your insight in the comments, since I want to be prepared with an answer both humble and wise.

---

While there are many good points to be made about the obvious differences between written and face to face interactions, I am concerned by the sweeping categorization of local as good and distant as corrupted or insignificant. The internet is no more deceptive by nature than any other structure within society.

It isn't the internet that causes lies, it's the hearts of those who seek to hide their true intentions. And it is clear that such deceivers inhabit the halls of our schools, bow in the sanctuaries of our churches, walk the same paths, and work in the same companies.  We encounter them daily and think little of it. Sometimes it seems that we are no more capable of seeing through such facades in person than online.

Often in face to face encounters we are inclined to trust based on physical perceptions rather than the ideas and ideals communicated. We are influenced by smooth stories and social skills in exactly the same way as the initial quote claims to be the danger of online interactions.This is why we hear so many shocking stories on the news of this or that well-liked church or family member, who has been exposed as evil of intent and action.

But focusing on the shock factor of such obvious evidence assists in strengthening the day to day ignorance we cultivate in a society that shuts down the potential for true communication with superficial give and take. It is so prevalent that many mistake casual acquaintances for friendship and thrust away true friendship as nosy and interfering. Even within the church community there is a tendency to expect a simple answer to questions that might otherwise sound caring and meaningful. It is no wonder that so many reach out to the internet in pursuit of true relationship.

When the exchange of heart-truth is stifled by self-interest, ignorance, or avoidance, this is what creates a virtual relationship. And such relationships can be maintained for years without a computer or internet connection, even within families. They also exist online, but they are sourced in the perspectives of those who maintain such connections, not their location.

Where, then, do we find meaningful relationships and how can we develop and maintain them?

While actions are clearly one source from which to build knowledge, words have also long been known to *expose the heart. Most often they slip from the tongue and shape the air as they travel to a listening ear, but throughout history many friends and mentor-ships maintained connection through letters. Some of these relationships were so real, so enriching and challenging, that their interactions have been collected into books so we, in turn, may learn and grow by reading them.

When it comes to the exchange of ideas, the same processes of pursuing understanding and wise discernment of intention must play a part whether speaking face to face or reading written thoughts. First, one must seek to communicate about meaningful topics, and secondly to continue questioning and listening in an attempt to understand the perspectives shared. Actions may be communicated through words. We can't share our lives without exposing our actions, biased as our perspectives may be. With discernment the bias often becomes obvious.

It can be said, also, that most conflict comes through opposing ideas, even in such close quarters as the home. Frustration over a jostled elbow grows because of the perceived intentions and attitudes behind the gesture. These same misconceptions of intent or even genuine disagreements abound upon the internet, challenging belief and promoting growth in those who are wise enough to face them with godly council and the Bible in hand and heart.

While the commitments of family and work must be considered most valuable, and opportunities for local friendships and service ought to be pursued and actively maintained, I think that none of this should obscure the value of the purposeful encouragement and support that can be found within the words we share over the internet.

There is a world of distant people who may be helped and encouraged in ways they cannot find at home. How can we ignore the opportunity as irrelevant when we have been called to share the meaning and life of Christ? While it isn't the same as moving to Africa to assist the poor, I believe computer networks have expanded our reach into the masses of hearts who long for meaning, truth and love, and the command to share the gospel easily extends through any means at hand.

*Luke 6:45
--I know this next sentence is an extreme slimming down of perspective ... and mildly manipulative, but I couldn't resist a final example which I have been intentionally following in my internet interactions for quite some time.--

After all, God is the ultimate pen-pal; he is invisible, and we know only what he reveals to us through our relationships with him as we read and respond to his Word. 

--Though I have to admit that perspective ignores the immediate help he is in so many practical ways. But, then, since when have we ever been able to explain all of who God is to us with just one example?--

Art:  "Confusion" on 3x5 card;  a random sermon sketch--I thought the background words "Extra Info" made a fitting transition.

Found

Voices rise in raucous rebellion
in clean homes
filled with bitter stench
of self-love raised high
for worship.

All who enter must bow low
to the emperors of everything,
and weeping faces speak the loss
of taxed love,
torn from unwilling hands.

There the children,
in labeled jeans and custom coats,
pure and pristine,
sigh behind the doors
of whited sepulchers.

While neighbors whisper, privilege,
behind hands and eyes of desire
for more than all they own,
together sharing laughter
at the table of plenty.

And past the gates 
and hedges of tended branch
coils the turmoil of a world
gasping for breath
within their less than nothing.

And all, together unbalanced,
scream dreams to the sky
and let go the hands of grace
to capture corrupt shadows
and release real for reflections.

There,  in the depths of broken,
amid faces turned 
this way and that
they seek something more,
while love remains forsaken.

But the echo of perfection rings, still,
in the hollows of hearts, shattered,
and the fragile edges resonate
to the tune of Life;
they seek the source.

Amid destruction, encounter divine grace, 
passionate and holy;
and much more, inside this joy,
is found a generosity greater
than all the cast-off treasure of the world.

---

When we look at the veneer and forget the heart, how blind we become. It doesn't matter how much privilege we see. The true treasure remains Christ. Without it the rich are far poorer than they know. All those who know their poverty more easily find grace, abundant and free.

This poem grew in response to Ann Voskamp's blog entry Where in the world, in all this world, is God?

---

Oh, and this turned out to be a poem I should have held onto for a day. I've edited a few phrases and re-posted it three times now. Hopefully it's better, though most of you won't know the difference. *grin*

The Way I Sleep and Live

Whoa, that was a splendid week, last week! I'm finally recovering,... sortof.

Enjoying myself with my brother and his absolutely-sweet girlfriend meant I was more active than usual. Happy = feeling like I have extra energy. Which I did... until I crashed. So tired was I that I think I slept 16 of 24 hours through Monday, then a full night last night as well. I plan to go to bed early, after a three hour nap today. Augh!

Chronic Fatigue makes me boring. But, I did exercise, and clean the kitchen and most of the bedroom in spite of it all. This counts as a major success in self-discipline, I'll have you know. Tonight I shall finish cleansing the bathroom. Bleh. Someday I will discover that cleaning makes me happy; until then I'll just have to plug away at it in hopes that good will come of it.

And now I'm waiting with bated breath to see if I might win the LOL Cats contest at the DA art community. Because if I do, I'll win a membership, and a membership would mean I could upload my stock photos in bulk. Yay!

Here is one of my entries, slightly intensified and cropped, because for stock I try not to edit much.

Also, I updated my DA Art Gallery with my most recent drawing and a photo of my current work in progress.

Oh, and my friend was fine. The internet for her entire town went out for a week, though. Heh.

This Way to Tomorrow

It has been a busy few days ... joy and laughter and long talks with my aunt, who I haven't seen ... for a while. Years, maybe? She's a treasure, and the time with her was a gift.

After trying to walk around town and woods two days in a row, I remember why I'm trying to exercise in spite of poor health, because walking any distance knocks my feet from under me at this point. Did I really run long-distance when I was young? But I've finally found the way to actually exercise, instead of just thinking I should. Turns out that the automatic desire to move when certain music is turned up is a benefit to the whole exercise plan, so I just turn on the music and dance or clean ... or both. Lasts a whole lot longer on my schedule than yoga, I must say... though if I could do yoga to rock and oldies I might get somewhere.

There is a down-side to long-distance friendships. I'm worried about the health of a friend on the far side of the world, and I can't drop by to see if she's sick in bed, or ask her neighbors if she's in the hospital. That isn't a pleasant feeling.

On the other hand, God has given me a confirmed connection to another weeping heart that needs support and encouragement (such a blessing to actually help someone!) and I'm going to meet a new friend in real life over the weekend.--Concern and Joy--Holding the two emotions is like confining an explosion. Either I'll expand or erupt in a rainbow.

Image:  a sketch
This post is a part of Pleasantly Disturbed Thursdays, run by the Great Scott, who has lived an exciting life these past few weeks.

Courage with a Side of Fear - and guest posting

It is a terrifying thing to fall into faith. It is even more fearsome to pull others after me. And that is how I feel every time I speak of faith, of trust, of God. Each time I consider who I am, I falter, but when I consider who God is, if I see him as greater than myself, I speak. And only he knows how much he has to overwhelm with grace, both in my speaking and in my silence.

I'm finding new confidence from the stories of those who trusted before me, in the beauty I've encountered in experiencing God, and in the abundance that is enough for all those I pull into grace with me. No matter how I divide what I have, there is still too much for me, and so much to share. And now, I've shared with Kelly, who is sharing what I gave to her, with you all.

I'm fearing, leaning, falling,
off the edge of what I know
trusting in eternal plenty,
more than known to overflow,
and the confidence I'm growing
comes from landing in his arms
and finding more than needed,
grace and safety from alarms;
and now, swimming in the surplus,
how amazing it can be
to find enough to share with
all who tremble just like me.

---

 Kelly, dear Kelly, who captures dreams on *film and helps us all to find the beauty and grace God is overflowing into her life and the lives she touches, is posting a letter from me on her blog today.

*I can't help it. Film is so much more poetic a word than digital storage card. *eye-roll*

Gogyohka - a new form or old...

 All right, I'm going to pour an old thought into a new form and see what happens. *grin*

Art is not imposing creativity
on a world already overflowing with beauty and color
but
chiming the tone of your soul
and finding resonance in those touched by the sound

 ---

Thanks to L.L. Barkat who twittered this blog about Gogyohka, a form of poetry I can definitely pour thoughts into. *laugh*

---

I love exploring the ideas that frame what my art is and how it is meant to interact. Every time I talk to someone about it, I learn more. How amazing to find a way to encourage and communicate within a form so natural to me! God is certainly amazing at bringing more good out of small offerings than we think could ever fit in them.

---

Image:  an old sketch ripped off the corner of my sermon notes...

Soothing Insomnia

Amid the tempest of lost time
with mangled sheets and long-fouled lines,
far-gone your oars upon the waves,
no anchor holds against their rage.
So dry and dusty every breath
as sands cascade deep to their death
and spinning currents wisp away
toward the gaping dawn of day.
And there, within the endless storm,
a wishful whisper--wistful, warm--
eases the tension from your mind.
Strange courage, strong; its pressure, kind,
then wraps each ligament and limb
with weights so soft against the skin,
to comfort gasping, angry soul
with ancient song. Sweet notes ring whole
and bind the cycles of the tide.
Nestle the moon against your side
and curve into the moment, when
sheltered from the cares of men.

---

Image:  A recent sketch, unaffiliated with the poem, but closest to the mood. This poem calls for its own drawing, but that's not done yet.

Cupcake Answer

Because one of the journals I read commanded that everyone who read it eat a cupcake immediately ... and apparently it is mental poetry day in my mind.

No! No cupcakes! Please!
... well ... if you insist ...

A single cupcake, not enough,
because it is so very tough
to choose just one, and even then
it takes one-hundred fine young men (How many, again?)
only a moment to agree
that one is not enough for me,
and so, perhaps, I will take two,
or rather, I'll just eat a few,
but, REALLY, I could take the plate
because I know it is my fate--
consuming all that come my way.
Oh, cupcakes, you just make my day!

---

This is very random. I inflicted facebook-random-lunacy on my brother yesterday, too. Perhaps the world is ending?

I wonder if anyone will survive!

Aaaah!

On the positive side, I wrote another poem today, and that one was ... well-intentioned (i.e. I thought about it some.) and meant to encourage a friend. So I'll post it tomorrow.

Image:  Very random doodle... of a poodle?... skiing or something.

The Day I Flew

You don't have the memory of the strain of it, as I do, the effort it took to first believe I would be supported, then to rely, like climbing an invisible mountain to the sky. My body trembled from the effort, the strain and lift, the muscles tensing against the weight of gravity seeking to force me back into a fall from the nothing I had already climbed, and the reality of where I was became enough of a proof that I could go higher.

I looked down onto the familiar courtyard where day and evening were mine to spend with my friends or alone, often alone, holding gently the dreams brought from afar between whispering pages of ink-dust and pressed wood. Breathing deep at the thought, I scrabbled against the steady unknown, trusting anew as I rose yet higher until I felt the support of the air, let go my death-grip on nothing, and found I could hover within the wholeness of the moment.

It didn't occur to me to wonder how I could see so real from so high because I was there, not pretending, and the view was right and vivid and alive. I watched my father talking to his friend near the parked van while others went about their daily business. They didn't know I could see them from above. I wondered, if I called out to them, would they be surprised to see me amid the impossible?

I turned and felt the pressure and glide of the air beneath my form, and rode it like a roller-coaster, diving down, down, down ... till I felt the fear of the ground at the top of my chest ... and pulled up to skim the earth and weave through the motion of life and eyes wide with surprise, before shooting upward again, glad to be free from the earlier effort of that first climb. I felt it again, not wings, but a knowing of space and dimension, of air swift and cool, and the joy of existing beyond gravity, or within it, an experience nobody would believe, and more memorable than the reality of real.

I swooped over the roof, startling the birds, and landed awake on the edge of my bed, wondering how to explain to everyone what they must have seen. But there were never any questions, and I don't think I told them, after all, about the day I flew.

---

As a child I had many vivid and more-than-real dreams like this. And, they stick with me more than most of the practical experiences. It still seems not quite impossible that it did happen. I don't know why it seems so, but I hope God will teach me how, in eternity. There will be plenty of time for learning, then.

Dry Bones and Blood

Waterless breath flows searing sand
where beauty's edge will cut the hand,
and drops of grey dash down to dust
as gaping voids of empty lust.
And each new treasure's shadow dims
the light of life with dark of sin
and drains dry vein, till it departs,
while happiness consumes the heart,
leaving a vacant space for more,
an ever-painful, growing sore.

Empty sockets look for death
with yearning for that final breath
when all will still and striving cease,
yet dreading death, conundrum grief.
For what is heat but lack of fire
while life holds nothing to inspire?
And what is love but idle dream,
a place to battle and to scheme?
A blasted world, destroyed by strife,
has no resource, renewing life.

Dead blood needs water to attain
and more to nourish body gain.
Yet one transfusion, like a flood,
redeems with life, reforms in love,
and gives new heart amid the green
of hope and future yet unseen.
It permeates the tissues near
the souls that drink, and their eyes clear.
Then all they see becomes less grim;
they breath out life, destroying sin.

For true love fills the empty hole
left by the gnawing, needy soul
and washes through the blazing sore,
vast desire, and need for more.
And dead, dry bones are given place,
blood and flesh fill empty space.
And beating heart shares what it knows;
translucent skin, the message shows,
no evil hides within the face
of death-destroying, living grace.

---

Image:  Just a sketch

Answers to Poems

Someone swam back through my blog history tonight, and because statcounter told me about it, I followed them ... and found some old poetry that I'd forgotten was there. So, here's a  repost.

I already know you probably haven't read it, because it was yanked from my old blog and summarily deposited here along with all my other poetry when I started being officially artistic.

I wrote this before I started thinking art was a part of me. Now, I think... God heard this when I wrote it, and he took opportunity today to show me again that his hand is always there.


Illustrate the world for me
As filtered through your mind.
Show me what I always see
But through your sight refined.
I know I'm missing far too much
It seems so very strange
To see reflected in your eyes
A picture somehow changed.
I see joy, where I thought that all was dim.
I see beauty in the ugly, I see laughter in the grim.
I see children smiling when their lives are full of awful pain.
I see you touching heartache in the rain.
Capture the sight for me
It seems to pass me by
For seeing this part of the world
Always makes me cry.
I want to know, the way you know
There's somehow hope ahead
And I also want to shine this light
Just as you have led.

---

Edit:
As suggested in the comments below, this is now a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival. Do visit and revel in more hope along with the rest of us! I'm off to read the linked posts!

---

Image:  from the day I recorded the process of a small drawing. If I can figure out how to edit it, I plan to post it someday, but paid editors seem to be the only option for .MOV files? Augh! I'm so not spending money for that.

They Don't "Have To"

We can have no expectations either of being liked and respected or of unconditional love (from anyone other than God).

I spent my early years discovering that these are not rights and that I can only hope for and pursue pleasant responses, but they are sourced entirely in the hearts of the people we encounter or affect, and not always in proportion to our efforts. So, because I was determined to be inoffensive, I learned not to interact with people until I knew they desired interaction.

I was so determined not to afflict the people around me that I wouldn't even offer friendship unless invited, and then with every intention of dropping the matter the moment any lack of interest or repulsion might show. I didn't want to be a bother to such a degree that I forgot to offer love most of the time.

Even my family can't be expected to love me. I still think so. Because love is a gift that can only be shaped by the giver. It is never deserved, though it can be rewarded or abused. And I believe that most incidental interactions with people, even those who are kind, are a mere mask of social nicety on their part and only a small indicator of how I affect them. And, because most people are kind, I knew I was more of a bother than I thought myself to be.

Because I was confident of these things and didn't care to test them further, I was as lost in myself as the most arrogant and self-centered person you can think of, and I thought it was considerate and kind of me to avoid inflicting myself on people. The first step out of this closed worldview was when I began to interact in forums and blog.

I had found a place where people didn't have to be nice because it was the polite thing to do. They could (and did) ignore me ... or at the very least, they didn't tell me their thoughts in response to mine. At first I was hurt, but then I realized that they didn't even have to read my words, and this was the place to try the experimentation I had always wondered about. For the first time I could believe that any interaction blossomed because the other actively wanted it to happen! I could fling words out into nothing and, if someone found the idea interesting, they could respond. If they didn't, they could ignore it or attack it. And I liked knowing for sure, finally, even when the response was negative.

I became free to speak.

Now, this didn't apply to emails and chat. Social expectations still reign in these territories, since they so closely approximate conversations and letters. I startled and slightly offended several of those whom I now consider close friends by offering to let them run away from my offer of friendship without pursuit. After all, they couldn't really like me ... could they? What did I have to offer them?

Well, they told me.

And it turned out that those things they appreciated were the very same characteristics I had so long considered offensive and hard for others to tolerate. And, what they liked best was what God had been working in my heart through all those years of loneliness, because he taught me about compassion, love, finding the wounded, and looking for the best in people. I realized that others needed what he was teaching me, and my friends confirmed it ... again ... and again ... and again. I'm nothing if not determined to consider myself useless, even to God. But he wasn't about to let me crawl back to the shelter of self-pity.

He had a much larger lesson for me to learn, one that still bewilders me even as I try to live it. He wanted me to be available for his glory, to live out instead of hiding away, to give before receiving an invitation, and what he wanted me to offer freely and without expectation ... was love and compassion ... even though I might offend people in the process.

And he showed me, again and again, in the life of Jesus and all his interactions with his people from the beginning of time until now--they don't "have to" accept love.

I became free to love.

It's alright
to love when it's not accepted,
to offer what may not be wanted,
to give the best I have and find it isn't needed,
to share with those who seem to have too much
and accept when it isn't taken,
to feel the hurt of rejection
and still to love, to care, to offer;
because that is the only way
to meet the needs I cannot see,
to heal wounds which have been hidden,
and to pour out the overflow
of the great Love I have been given.

It's a lesson I'm still learning. Fear is an ugly thing, and it's not pleasant to offend someone by accident or to be rejected because I  reach too far and it's uncomfortable. I neither like stepping out of place, beyond the boundaries of social expectation, nor being revealed as not enough and broken. I often cause a squeamish reaction in those who know the dangers of too much contact with unsafe people, and I can't guarantee I'm safe, though I endeavor to be so and beg God to make up the difference.

In all, I'm unsure and feel like I'm staggering around, unwieldy and awkward. I'm learning how to make a clear space for rejection without standing too far away to help. Knowing I will be hurt often and turning it over the the healing of my Source of Love ahead of time is the only way to move forward with both humility and joy.

Somehow, through all this doubt and fear, God has proven that, yes, he can use even me for his glory, and I want you to understand he has prepared good works for you, too, and will continue to help you into them....

Because he is that creative.

---

Image:  Just a random sketch.

The Value of a Quote Comes in Thinking

"Only put off until tomorrow, what you are willing to die left undone.” Pablo Picasso

How interesting it was to find this quote and suddenly wonder how I've been prioritizing all this time ... interesting to think about what I wouldn't mind leaving undone ... interesting to meditate on whether the things I consider unimportant might be the vital  purpose of another, and rejoice in the fact that God is just that creative.

My ideals--
- I want to love my family in such a way that they know it came from God, and that they can rely on Him to fill what they have lost.
- I want to leave a legacy of growth and encouragement that nobody can deny was sourced in God's grace.
- I would hate to leave undone any poem of the heart that might encourage even after I'm gone, any image that might brighten the eyes of hope and bring a smile out of depression, any word of compassion to friend, family, or stranger that might last as nourishment for growth of the soul.

The negative?
I could care less if I die and leave my house dirty, because I think what I do is more important ... most of the time. In fact, I don't really worry about the state of my home unless I'm inviting someone I don't know well, because there is always the chance that my home will become the single identifier that marks who I am in their eyes, and quite frankly, that's frightening even if I do clean more regularly than I used to. (You will note that most of the pressure I feel about this is external, and that bothers me, because if it's really that important I want to pursue the right course wholeheartedly. I have questioned my faith because of this possibly misplaced priority, so I'm not talking lightly.)

Oh, and when it bothers my family it bothers me, because the only way belongings can reach me is through their effect on my relationships, though I still might ignore the cause and hope to compensate some other way. Heh... I just can't think of it as vital, but I'm willing to concede that cleaning is more important than... say, vaguely clicking on new websites. So before I wander I should clean? That's a possible way to look at it.

It certainly isn't more important than nurturing friendships within the blog network ... or art ... or poetry, though. Sorry. I'm willing to have my mind changed, though I should warn you, even I haven't been able to change it with years of attempted brain-washing and effort. This change will have to begin in the heart, and I think it's in process, though I doubt the result will fit societal expectations.

What would you hate to leave undone?
What do you want to leave behind?
Are you still reading this? Wow!

There are No Words

to frame the mystery within, confounding thoughts
that shimmer swift in tossing shadows
where linen presses memory's record into damp skin
and every tangled motion endeavors to grip and hold
the invisible and unknowable.
Each waking moment brings a terror, swift winds
alert to toss those fading mists beyond reach
and into the oblivion of daylight skies
while breath strains against vocal chords,
waiting for the knowledge to drift again,
somehow, against the blue.

---

Written for One Shot Wednesday, where everyone contributes, then enjoys reading the results. I recommend following the link.

Image:  "Mid-Step" pen on 3x5card