revelation.

Revelation
Robert Frost

We make ourselves a place apart
Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated hear
Till someone really find us out.

‘Tis pity if the case require
(Or so we say) that in the end
We speak the literal to inspire
The understanding of a friend.

But so with all, from babes that play
At hid-and-seek to God afar,
So all who hide too well away
Must speak and tell us where they are.

 

youth.

I don’t have many reasons why I should go into youth ministry. I don’t have many, but I have one. He believes in me. And He is calling me into it.

I am terrified. Simply terrified.

But this is what I desire: a place where teenagers can make their own footprints. Where they can tread their own path and create their own place. Speak the voice that was given to them, with words they thought of themselves.

I desire to create a place where things can break, whether it be a chair, or a picture frame, a window, or a heart, a place where things can things can be broken like lives and families and door hinges, a place where things can be spilt like secrets and sorrows and soda on old grungy carpets. A place for teenagers to let their wishes be known, a place for students to be loved and known and valued, a safe and challenging place where the spiritual discipline of play can be reignited, and where laughter is a certain kind of prayer.

I’ve learning that the greatest apologetic is noticing the littlest moments, paying attention to His fingerprints and the greatest theodicy is laughter, great and boisterous laughter. My heart pines to tell teenagers about the terrible beauty of the Cross, and the beautiful terror of His resurrection. But more than that, I want see our lives transformed by His death, and, and by His life, His promise to live within us as an active force of being.

I could talk all day about ideals and use pretty words and dream big. But I can’t say more than a few words about how. Not yet. I have much to learn. I think the how begins with having a heart being filled with the Love from Him. I think the how begins with seeing potential in these students, in seeing their humanity, in sharing in their hopes and their dreams and their silly stories. Ministry isn’t a profession, it’s a life, it’s about living with and walking alongside fellow leaders and alongside students. It’s about gleaning all I can now from both my failures and my friends in ministry and perhaps maybe the few successes I have along the way.

 

attention.

hang me like peter
not because i want to be
remembered
but because i want to
forget.
because i want my life
to end and begin the same way
to the mighty unknown
to the sighing confusion
to the raging against no foe

spare me not because i am
beautiful or lovely
but because i can laugh
i can laugh and cry and
sing off-key
because i can reveal in you
your humanity
spare me, so i might
not spare you.

a wailing from tiamut
from my twisted entrails
beneath the shadow of the seas
a deep and deafening quiet
that will not quit.
a voice that speaks in
no language i have heard
or seen or studied or tasted,
yet it calls me and i know it well.

pay attention and listen
to the sound of sweetness
to the breathes between
tears and laughters.
notice they are all alike.

 

promise.

I promise you won’t be perfect.
I promise that this life won’t be easy.
I promise that this world is full of wonderful and dangerous and beautiful and terrible things.
I promise you will hurt.
I promise you will laugh.
I promise you will know that I love you.
I promise you will doubt my love.
I promise to show you the creation.
I promise you were not, and are not, and will never be an accident.
I promise I have plans for you.
I promise that you cannot do anything on your own.
I promise that you will not know what tomorrow holds.
I promise you that I will.
I promise that you will never know the number of stars.
I promise you that I do.

What He promises is what makes the birds stay aloft and the sun dance on the sea. What He promises is that He knows me better than I know myself, and that He created me, and creates in me my worth and value and passion and calling. He desires after my heart because it was His first.

To Him, all I can promise is this:
I promise to be human.
I promise to love imperfectly.
I promise to forget You sometimes.
I promise to reject Your gift of grace sometimes.
I promise to live for You.
I promise to die for You.
I promise to not know the difference sometimes.

I struggle with my humanity. I struggle with being less than perfect. I struggle serving a God that is. I struggle not being God. I struggle, and I wrestle, and He wins. Again and again and again. He is a beautiful and terrible God. He is the Great I Am. And I am a small breath floating in between the leaves. Yet He loves me. He redeems me. He breaks me. He restores me. He is my everything.

I think this was the most important of the many lessons I learned in this past week up at Forest Home Ojai Valley. It happened while I was sitting at a picnic table, talking to a man who is years and years beyond his age, in the misty morning fog.

Watching him work with our students and listening to his words of truth spoken to me, is honestly I feel, a bit like it would be to hang out and watch Jesus do ministry. I don’t want to inflate Chris, as he is also one of those humble guys who isn’t posturing in humility, but truly loves serving… but His impact in my life just in the past few months, mostly from me watching him work and from the few awesome conversations we have had, has lead me in a direction of considering what God has gifted me for.

That my heart can listen to the promises of His name is a promise, I think, within itself. But a promise is still at two way street, a promise still leaves room for doubt and faith and trust and pain and healing and truth and for free falling head first into His hands.

He promises to surprise, just as much as He promises to edify my heart for His purposes. I suppose in a way, He promises the greatest adventure is in-store and lies ahead just around the bend.

 

faithful.

Semper Fidelis means “Always Faithful”.

Buechner says of faith: “To have faith is to remember and wait”.

This is what I am doing. To remember and wait. To wait, not passively, but vigorously. Seizing time within my hands and saying these particles of sand is what my life is made out of! And to that end, at least for now, I am pursuing a goal to join the United States Marine Corps by the time I graduate college. I’ve never been excellent at follow-through, in fact, I’ve stunk at it. And I’m not going to say, “this time is different”, because it isn’t, and I’m not going to say, “I’m too weak to do this”, because I’m not.

I’ve realized that I’ve kept a ideal of perfection for myself in my mind when I’ve tried to do anything. And while trying to do that anything, I constantly am reflecting everything I do or try back upon that image of perfection. When things don’t line up, it must mean failure.

But where the hell is this ideal coming from? God? Certainly not!
So therefore, what measure is success other than the constant attempt to try one’s best, give one’s all, and be at peace with the result, because you know that no matter what actually comes of it, you did the best you could.

I know it sounds corny, but seriously. Working out at the gym for the past 3 days, I’ve found my attitude changing, toward myself and towards my goals. Sure, I could look around the gym and see all the buff guys and skinny girls and compare myself to them. But what is that going to do except drive me from the gym, and back onto the couch?! Sure, I want to be strong and I want to be healthy, but it’s me who wants those things, so it’s me that is going to have to go and try and get them. When I stop letting shame seize me, the weight of the world is lifted off my shoulders and I can be who I am. I know that God loves the before picture, just as much as the after, so why do we always get caught up in the competition.

I’m competitive by nature. I like to drive fast, think deep, and talk right. But what I love is that God is taking such a critical component of my human nature, and turning it all around. He’s making me think about love and worth and joining something so much bigger than I am. It’s not solely a physically journey, but a spiritual one as well. And while, no, I may not be reading the Word every night, or even praying to God while I work my butt off on the Elliptical, and maybe I haven’t heard His voice in a long time, but what I have noticed is His fingerprints on my heart, molding it, tearing it to make it stronger, just like the muscles I’m working on, healing it through rest and through activity and through solitude and through discipline. He’s making my heart melt and fall in love with His creation, me. And that may sound conceited, but from where I’ve been to where I am now, it’s remarkable for me to even be able to write that.

Faith is remembering and waiting. Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Faith is knowing the sinner and loving him… loving me anyway. God, our Divine Father, our Creator who sees all our sin and short-comings, has faith in us. Why do we have so much doubt in ourselves?

So finally, in the spirit of Semper Fi, 2 Peter 1:5-9 says:
“Make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love. For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. But if anyone does not have them, he is nearsighted and blind, and has forgotten that he has been cleansed from his past sins.”

Remember you are cleansed. That God loves the before picture just as much as He loves the after, and that truly to Him there is no after, just progress, just growing up in faith, just a learning to eat solid food and not crave spiritual milk. But if you are there, as I am, craving spiritual milk, find comfort in the fact that His love is never changing, His power never ending, and His grace ever flowing.

 

cinema.

I spent the past few weeks prepping for LIGHTS! CAMERA! ACTION! VBA Summer Camp at High Street Community Church. And today, camp is over, and I’m all packed up and leaving for LA within the hour.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been on a set all week. Maybe it’s because I’ve been dealing with scripts and actors and costumes and plot lines and montages all week. But for some reason, my life feels like movie. I walked away today from VBA, with music playing, goodbyes said, hugs given, and as I looked over my shoulder at all the children laughing and playing and my thoughts sounding more and more like they could be a voice-over (think JD in scrubs), and I feel like I’m gearing up for a grand adventure. I’m heading to LA, the land of silver screens and broken hearts and hurting people. Los Angeles, concentrated wealth and devastating poverty within a few miles of each other, is where I call my home.

So I’m changing scenery, and God continues to develop my character. So to Santa Cruz, I say, That’s a WRAP! And to LA, I say: LIGHTS! CAMERA! ACTION!

 

shack.

I just finished reading The Shack, stayed up most of the night diving into it. No, it’s not C.S. Lewis. It isn’t Dante either. It’s not the kind of picture we can take away from literature and then get so mixed up that we base our theology on it (like Dante and Milton). It’s an expression of one man’s adventure of words. The Shack was just as much a process for the author as it was for the reader, and that’s what makes it deep. There aren’t a lot of moments in the actually writing that take your breath away by writing ability alone. Those moments rather take your breath away because of spacing between the words. I haven’t cried that hard reading a book in a long time. But usually for me, if I cry during a book it’s because I get connected to the character. That’s why when I finally finish a book I feel like a part of me that was alive in the text, died, because the story had to end. But The Shack was different. I put it down and put it away back into the bookcase that seems to have storied in it my soul’s song, and I felt no sadness. And now as I’m processing, I think it’s because The Shack was just one man’s adventure of words, a book of 200 or so pages that attempts to put into syllables encountering the Living God. Papa. Jesus. The Holy Spirit. And the story doesn’t end there. It’s one man’s adventure: what about each of our own?

I think that what Young expresses best is the nature of the Trinity. It was the relationship that God had with itself that brought me to tears often in the book. And how truly they love each other part of the Trinity. Of that, I was awed by Young’s ability to depict, as the thought of the Trinity often leaves me completely speechless. I loved the idea of being trapped in independence, and the true picture of how God redeems all things, and about the true problem of evil in the face of the Lord of lords:

Papa (God): “There are millions of reasons to allow pain and hurt and suffering rather than to eradicate them, but most of these reasons can only be understood within each person’s story. I am not evil. You are the ones who embrace fear and pain and power and rights so readily in your relationships. But your choices are not stronger than my purposes, and I will use every choice you make for the ultimate good and the most loving outcome” (125).

“The real underlying flaw in your life is that you don’t think I am good. If you knew I was good and that everything-the means, the ends, and all the processes of individual lives-is all covered by my goodness, then while you might not always understand what I am doing, you would trust me. But you don’t” (126).

“Evil is a word we use to describe the absence of Good, just as we use darkness to describe the absence of Light or death to describe the absence of Life. Both evil and darkness can only be understood in relation to Light and Good; they do not have an actual existence. I am Light and I am Good. I am Love and there is no darkness in me. Light and Good actually exist. So, removing yourself from me will plunge you into darkness. Declaring independence from me will result in evil because apart from me, you can only draw upon yourself . That is death because you have separated yourself form me: Life” (136).

“You must give up your right to decide what is good and evil on your own terms. That is a hard pill to swallow; choosing only to live in me. To do that you must know me enough to trust me and learn to rest in my inherent goodness” (136).

“This world is not a playground where I keep all my children free from evil. Evil is the chaos of this age that you brought to me, but it will not have the final say. Now it touches everyone that I love, those who follow me and those who don’t. If I take away the consequences of people’s choices, I destroy the possibility of love. Love that is forced is no love at all” (190).

I also appreciated this gentle reminder about the worrying about the future:

Jesus (in the Shack):“It is your desparate attempt to get some control over something you can’t. It is impossible for you to take power over the future because it isn’t even real, nor will it ever be real. You try and play God, imagining the evil that you fear becoming reality, and then you try and make plans and contingencies to avoid what you fear” (142).

I know The Shack has stirred up some mud in the evangelical church’s pretty pristine pool of clarity and divinely granted pompousness (ha!), but like I said before: this isn’t a text that is meant to be placed in the pews next to the Word of God. And if people think that’s how it should be, they are just as wrong as those who declare The Shack is of Satan (or some such silliness). While there are points in the text that I disagree with, that is what makes literature literature. If writing meant pieces of flat paper stacked on top of each other and eyes simply scanned the letters and sounded out the words, I would never pick up a pen or write again.

But if writing is an exchange of ideas, a discussion between minds and hearts and souls and songs, between the author and the reader and the inspiration that began the adventure of words, then I live to write, and I write to live. We have either forgotten how to live or forgotten how to die, and our lives have never been an almost true story, but they have been written by the Author of all living things. Consider our own stories, a breathing and alive novel, each one a work of unbelievable fiction that somehow is made true, made real. I think we regard ourselves too seriously, too often.

Could you imagine what it would be like read our wacky and scary and alive moments in some kind of bound book? And what if in the book, wasn’t just transcribed the sights we have seen or the words we have heard, but also the living mess of our noticed and hidden encounters with our Abba, with our Savior, with the Spirit that indwells us. What an adventure of words that would be! I wonder what our primary emotion would be reading, if their could even be a primary emotion. I wonder if we put those books on the shelves of pastors and theologians and scholars, if those stories would be disregarded, disgusted, rejected, torn apart, or thrown away. I know The Shack isn’t a true story, but the reaction of ‘intelligent’ people to the words, makes me wonder what would happen.

I could imagine God cherishing these books, being ‘especially fond’ of each one, and watching them be ripped apart by our hands, well, it probably pains Him to the core. We so desire to be the Number 1 book on His booklist! Can’t we understand that we are beloved and we are read inside and out, we are known as if God had spent His entire existence studying that one book?! There is an awesome quote in the Shack that reads:

Papa: “The problem is that many folks try to grasp some sense of who I am by taking the best version of themselves, projecting that to the nth degree, factoring in all the goodness they can perceive, which often isn’t much, and then call that God. And while it may seem like a noble effort, it falls pitifully short of who I really am. I’m not merely the best version of you that you can think of. I am far more than that, above and beyond all that you can ask or think” (98).

I wish that we could at least find a little truth in the promise that “if anything matters than everything matters. Because you are important, everything you do is important. Every time you forgive, the universe changes; every time you reach out and touch a heart or a life, the world changes; with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again” (235). As Buechner puts it, “the grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It’s for you I created the universe. I love you. There’s only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you’ll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.”

 

wandering.

Deep in the thicket, wandering eyes deciding not:
just drifting empty glass, left dim by an apathetic adonai.
Oh Frost, must I travel this road? Or that?
I cannot decide between these grassy groves.

I wish that clarity would find itself welcome,
for this chaos is an unwanted pest.

Yet it is this madness that helps me see
the world as it really is: a shadow, a saint, a silent prayer.

A split in time, a strangled neck,
stops me from observing myself,
Oh, how I wish to be blind!
Woven in-between doubt and fear,
are these streams of salt water tears:
“Do you believe my pestilent nightmare was
of empty air and some such magic that deceives?”

Vindicate me, vacant eyes, with your answer yes.

But you see, you do see, no tourists do travel these roads.
No, only those who know, burden this empty space.
Yes, this vivid map of lonely highways
Is only for those who are seeking hell.

Provided windows into the past,
of smaller days and fresher air.

The Voice still canters around that place,
Still then a Shepherd to the lost,
But where the sweet melody moves now,
the wind only knows.


I press on against this thin thin glass,
but Oh! Sand drips on and it will not break!
Until it shattered and ceased.
Collect my soul strewn among
shards of soft whispers and dense approval.

So Frost, may we travel together now?

Perhaps we will reach another fork,

and then we shall split our ways,

for you will go the way less traveled,

and I will follow some stranger footprints.

 

waiting.

somewhere there is a cage to be opened
and a song to hear.
somewhere there is a risk to take
and a storm to not fear.
somewhere there is a heart
that is waiting to be set free.
somewhere someone is waiting
to follow, to dance, to laugh, to mourn with thee!

somewhere someone is waiting on the Lord
to show them the way, to open the doors,
to tell them they matter enough to Him
that He would bring healing
no matter how, what, where, or when.

 

sodden.

white steeple conglomerates
this trademark only goes so far
which street made us turn away
from korah’s

rift

do you know the meaning of
fire? does it not consume?

can you love a god
who is cruel? just cruelty?
but we auction off the
sacred heart and
rationalize our hatred
by the rebuking of the winds.

 

meaning.

did you mean what you said
when you said those random words?
we’ve never been so close,
so I’ve got to doubt you.

I’ve got to stop dreaming because
dammit, every time I close my eyes,
no matter what you are
the piece of the puzzle that fits.

i wrote you a letter tonight that
means more than my own breathing to me.
and I might be in a trance
but baby, when you smile at me,
my heart starts to dance.

do we always have to side-step
ourselves into oblivion to
make the other smile? I want
to dance to your rhythm and
sing into your life with excellence
and passionate laughter, my loved.

you are no one’s definition
except your own and empty nights
cry out for your stars because
you have it all, babe.
you are the beholder
and I am to you, beautiful.
that is what counts,
and make the word
‘us’ mean something.

 

agony.

sometimes these streets don’t mean a thing to me,
but at times, there is a voice that calls out
wearied and strained in melody
because it’s just time passing by

I am who I’ve always been here
dusty thoughts hanging in unspoken corners
and you’re a name no one remembers
because it’s just time that’s passing by

glass covered hands strangle me
as they proceed, yet it is when they
cease that i will no longer breath
because it’s just time passing by

 

bare.

I already wrote about leaving tonight. But it doesn’t help the reality that my room is now stripped bare, the white walls and boxes and bags stacked high in the aside the closet.

I can’t believe I’m finished with my first year at college! I want to laugh and sing, but I can’t. Because the truth is, I’m deeply and madly and completely in love with this place, and I don’t have an desire to spend any time way from it.

One might argue that it’s the people who make the place, and I think that is a valid statement. Without my best friends, this place would lack an element to it. A large element. But I’m not talking loving the place because the people I love are here, but rather, I love being in the contours of a location that has made me learn so much. Coming here changed me, and as hesitant I am to admit it, I have moved beyond where I was. There has been growth and change, and none of that has been, to be honest, particularly enjoyable. But it was necessary. And continues to be.

I’m going to miss the challenge that being here presents. The questions that are dreamed up by mid-day reveries and theological library ponderings and art that hangs inside Duke to inspire and continue turning wheels. There is beauty on this campus that I’ve never seen before: the rose garden in the dawn, the reflection of the moon upon the cross cornerstone bell tower of west campus, the line of pillars that seem to hold up the sunsets sometimes.

The reality is, I’m overwhelmed with how blessed I have been to have come here. I can’t think of a single place on earth that I would want to be than here.

 

breathing.

I’m sitting in one of my last Azusa sunsets for a while, in this summer’ed warm air. The night is falling on my freshman year and I’m not sure what to feel. I’m sitting in the rose garden, trying to write, and I can’t concentrate. My hands are empty of thought and I have nothing more to seemingly give. This place has given me everything. This place has given me a name. This place has given me myself back. I’ve learned more about freedom and fears and forgiveness and failure in the last eight months than I even care to think about. I’ve fought my way through a place where I was my only enemy and I have collapsed into the arms of those who love me, who know me, who have, in some way, become part of me again and again and again.

The sky is split into blue and yellow, and my heart kind of feels the same way. I am joyous of what has been completed here, in this place. I am rejoicing that this day is done and of everything I have been given during my time here. Yet, I am blue, and am becoming darker by the minute. My hands feel heavy and my sighs linger, casting shadows on this torn and brilliant night.

How much farther do I have? Can I go back to begin it all again?

This has been a year of defeat as much as it has been of succeeding. And I am tired. I don’t know how to reconcile this feeling of being so alive with this kind of exhaustion. It’s the painful kind of tired, the kind sleeping doesn’t touch; It’s the feeling of the mud right before it is stirred, like the moments right before the alarm of a restless night. It’s like the salmon’s breath before the salt leaves its gills forever. Maybe exhaustion isn’t the right word; perhaps it’s weary hesitation.

It’s the uncomfortable lack in the tightrope before it’s pulled taut: how do I leave the place that taught me how to live? I can carry a picture in this hardened heart locket that beats into the night, but my hands are slipping and the truth is that I’m not sure I remember how to breath without this kind of air. I look ahead and see nothing, I see fear and darkness and an unfinished puzzle with too many pieces left. I look forward and I see an absence, and I cannot see myself there until I am, until I have arrived.

And I think, for me, the hardest part of all, is I feel like I’ve been running in the same damn place. That I haven’t moved an inch, and have demanded an ell; that maybe all these lessons learned might just have been the vacancy that everyone else had filled. We witnessed so much change in ourselves that I ask, “maybe we haven’t changed at all.” I don’t know why I feel this way, I guess it is just that kind of night. The sky is like a mirror to me, and tonight, holding it up against my heart shows the dense mystery of my soul tonight.

The truth is, I don’t know how to say goodbye. I don’t know how and I don’t want to know how. The colors of this place turn my eyes bright and full of strange crystal streams. If I could be silent and hear anything, it would be the sound of the dawn stretching out her fingers upon a delicate new day, birthed out of the Love’s echoes. And I can’t fathom this kind of life, this kind of living that turns my skin to fire. This kind of passion that make me wonder why I cannot jump into the stars.

And I could write with all my mind, and all my heart, and all my soul, and it wouldn’t be as eloquent as what my silence has to say.

 

imitatio.

A wise and truthful man told me recently that God has a relationship with only the real you, the actual you, the Created you, rather than your created selves. Perhaps then, that’s why discovering ourselves and what we love and hate and live for is so exhilarating, and so damn frightening. Perhaps that’s why when we meet ourselves, our true selves, in the darkness of night or in hidden corners of our lives, we so desperately want to run away: why we drink, or why we lust, or why we destroy our relationships with our friends. It’s not because we are realizing who our worst enemy is, but rather we are meeting face to face our greatest Lover.

I think I often forget that “a [hu]man fully alive is the Glory of God” & desiring after our hearts doesn’t necessarily mean evil pursuits of worldly trivialities. We tend to discount our Divine Creation in the American Church, in the modernism philosophy we all in some degree embody which is grounded in the sheer disaster of Mankind and defines life as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short” (Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan). Yet, even before Christ came to redeem our fallen nature, Judaic thought and law emulated the Creation cycle in order to re-enforce memory of the Divine Artist (Ed Morris, 2008), as well as His declaration of our ‘goodness’. While one may argue that the ‘good’ only existed before the Fall of Man, there is no argument against the definitive goodness of God. The creation story that involves the beginning of sin, and thereby spiritual death, has no inclusion article that deems man’s original beauty to be forgotten in the light of man’s original sin, but rather that his original beauty must end in death.

The truth be told, I don’t know about Genesis 2. I don’t know if I believe the fall of man was a bad thing (I know, I know… it’s a bit of a stretch). Or perhaps I feel that it was inevitable, that anything that falls short of the Holy Divine can meet the ideals set by it. And there is part of me that believes by Adam and Eve’s banishment from the garden was the most loving thing God could have done in the face of being confronted by His perfection unable to exist with sin. He sent Adam and Eve away from the Tree of Life, so knowing wrong wouldn’t torment them for an eternity.

Regardless of what these Creation stories mean, some how we got where we are today. And for some reason, across the seas, and across the land miles, we all find ourselves seeking answers to questions that feel eternal and huge and silent. We ask, “What’s wrong with this world? It just feels like it’s lacking something”, we ask, “What will fill this emptiness inside of me?” Science comes up short, philosophies are dour and dismay, words fail to explain. Some of us travel to the moon and back and we still don’t know.

I remember being four-years-old. It’s one of my first memories: standing in the middle of Pogonip trail at night with adults chatting behind me, and me looking up at the stars I had so deeply fallen in love with and wondering how they got there. My young mind thought that maybe they were halos that angels had misplaced, or perhaps someone (at this point, I had no idea who that someone might be… that came almost 10 years later) decided to make an extravagant connect-the-dot puzzle in the sky for everyone to enjoy, and that if I could only draw the lines correctly, maybe I’d find out the reasons why. Yes, I was 4. And Yes, this is my memory.

I don’t think I have grasped Creation better since.

I think that we must come to terms that we are the eyes and the ears of the universe’s beauty, made in the image and likeness of God, a deity who surpasses understand and anthropomorphication. That we are known, and nothing is withheld from Him. That we are capable of great and wonderful things, that Jesus says, “I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it” (John 14:12-14), and that because of the Holy Spirit’s work through us, and within us we, as human beings, are good.

Maybe it is time we take a step back, take a few days off, and turn off this wired world for a while. Maybe it’s time to realize that we are Loved, that we are all seeking Him whether we know it or not. Maybe it’s time to be okay with big questions. Maybe we need to take a night to be lost along side the angels’ halos, to find ourselves in our darkness and sit with this person we are beginning to get to know alongside of the God who made us. And maybe, as we begin to realize that God is within us, we can grow to see the God in others. Maybe it’s time to recognize not only our fears and our failures, but also our gifts and our beauty and the reasons we are Loved.

 

plague.

like gnats to blood
and frogs to flies,
and groaning livestock ills
and brutal thunderous kills

oh, i will chase after this dusk
and throw towards heaven’s ear
my dreams written on white rice;
in order for my soul to shine,
and hope that He may hear.

my hardened hearts hurtles
deep against the scorn!
and makes it’s cold dark mark upon
the children’s playing sand:
crying “the meek shall never mourn!”

the sacred tent of placated sighs
slips underneath the blue
and reveals it’s lost holy name
to the darkness of the skies
and declares “we shall never know You!”

oh i will chase after this dusk
to shelter this very shame
that took my redden lips and
ripped against, and tore them twice
lest screams that might have came

like human boils
and locust toils
and the darkness
and the death.

 

creativity.

 

dusk.

for ransom I gave
my crimson beating drum
that had kept me 
dancing.

for ransom I gave
my stamp of gold
that had kept me
rescued.

for ransom I gave
my sweet blossom white
that had kept me
believing.

for ransom I gave
my very marrow
that had kept me
loved.

for ransom
for you
I paid a price
that never will account
for everything you
never gave.

for every promise ever made
for every teary goodbye
for every mistake I forgave
for every haunting lullaby

for every sea of red
for every bone that cried
for every ounce shed
for every reason I lied

I ransomed you from us!
Yet you pine and need
and call out for more!
What more do I have
for I gave you my very bones!

There is but one treasure
you cannot store;
no vengeance can be sought
nor illusion ever sold
nor penance to be bought
that would let me give to you
this voice.

for I may be caged, and
stripped of my flight,
but I will forever sing
to starve off the
ancient lonely night
and keep these broken
borders, our city of light
alive, to keep this city
alive tonight.

this song, 
this song alone
means an entire city to me.

 

creation.

I wonder if lies are so pervasive a sin because they are a creation. They are a deviation from the God-made truth, and instead are stories of our own power and creativity’s work. No wonder they never ever truly succeed. 

“Breaking myself
To follow your rules
And I beat myself up
When I can’t find the strength
When I can’t seem to change
The harder I think
Let me get this straight
Let me feel the weight of an ordinary day
‘Cause I’ve tried to heal this thing
But you let me slip away
When I run away
You just let me run
And I take it too far
By the time I am done
And I understand
I’m thick in the skull
But I’m learning to love
The sound of your call”

-Griffen House: Ordinary Day

Maybe that is exactly what I need right now. To realize that I’m thick in the skull and not nearly as creative as the God who made each and every star. Maybe the lies that I always tell myself: I can’t do it. I’m not good enough. I’m not worth it really are… just lies. 

Maybe I just need to get this straight, that I’m gradually learning to love the sound of His call. When I can’t find the strength to change, I can call on Him to rescue me, but He lets me run away because He loves me too much that He cannot force me to be anything. Yet, He calls me back, gently and gracefully. 

So what am I trying to say? I’m trying to say that I’m not sure what my future holds and I’m okay with that. I’m going to go for what I love, for my dreams, for the things I know are of Him, and that’s all I can do right now, just to feel the weight of an ordinary day.

 

regret.

C’est le Guerre
or The Attic

Amidst the smell of cedar slats and creaking pine,
Stained by rag-doll hair, broken books, spilt wine
Once lingered in a beaten box, my marrow true!
Alas now just dust, five prints on the lid askew.

Perhaps had I been a less liminal lass,
And with pensive concern denied the crass
culture of my time, and had I begged to detach
from needle’s eyes, might my dreams prevented snatch

But oh! to fancy did my freedom go dower
To cease not until my finest corrupted hour
When I did wed the beast of shame and glut
And no more hands later, the pearl gates did shut

From dust to dust I shall return to thee
A lonesome story for a once bride to be
Unbeknownst that wish might detest the mire,
My heavy empty chest mutters and I do retire.

I urge you now to shuffle off this coil for His and Him,
dampen your epicurean desires and hedonistic whim!
cease your pride and pining of passionless sport!
release your horde of silver piles, and gold support!
erase your claim of the rivers as your own decree,
For I am proof that death doth not stop at the bourgeois.
Moth, muck, and man will seize your precious part,
So heed this cry, and defend alone your sinewed heart!

 

equilibrium.

I’m trying to balance my life.

Achieve equilibrium.

However, I currently feel a bit like this: 

I’m afraid of the mess if I let them all fall, but then again,

I’m so tired of trying to do this on my own. 

Which brings me to the topic of God and my newly received calling… and the confusion the discomfort, and the fear that has accompanied this new… revelation (?) of sorts. Which I would explain, except I think that in explaining it all again, I might just get overwhelmed. So I will speak in Scripture: 

Hebrews 12:1-3 -
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”

Ephesians 4:1-7 - 

“I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call— one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. But grace was given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift.”

And an Aaron Shust song: 

Search my heart, search my mind, search my soul 
Make me clean, make me new make me whole All of my plans,

all of my dreams, I lay them down before Your feet 

All of my time, all that was mine, I now submit to Your design 

‘Cause You are the one who can make my life complete 
You are the one who can give light to my feet 
You are the one and only one who dared to give it all away for me   

You are my strength, You are my God, you are my King 
You make me laugh, You make me dance, You make me sing 

Everything inside, everything outside, I give it all away 
You never change, but You rearrange my heart more everyday

And a Switchfoot song:

She’s alone tonight with a bitter cup and
She’s undone tonight, she’s all used up,
She’s been staring down the demons
Who’ve been screaming
She’s just another so and so,
Another so and so

You are golden,
You are golden, Child
You are golden,
Don’t let go
Don’t let go tonight

There’s a fear that burns like trash inside
And your shame of the curse that burns your eyes
You’ve been hiding in your bedroom,
Hoping this isn’t how the story has to go
It’s not the way it goes,
It’s your book now,

You are golden,
You are golden, Child
You are golden,
Don’t let go
Don’t let go tonight

You’re a lonely soul in a land of broken hearts
You’re far from home, it’s a perfect place to start

So this final verse is a contradiction
And the more we learn the less we know

We’ve been talkin’ about a feeling,
We both know inside but couldn’t find the words
I couldn’t write this verse,
I’ve seldom been so sure,
About anything before

Golden,
You are Golden, Child

You are Golden,
Don’t let go
Don’t let go tonight

This world is a dead man down 
Every breath is a fading crown we wear 
Like some debilitated king 
Don’t let go tonight

The Earth spins and the moon goes round 
The green comes from the frozen ground
And everything will be made new again 

Hey, like freedom in spring, 
Like freedom in spring 

 

It’s like the freedom in spring, and the surrender of the weak, and it’s like running a race for the sake of Him alone, and it’s like a passion that dwells in these hardened and weary bones. It’s moving forward, and being still, all in the same breath. It’s breathing. It’s being made new again. 

 

 

 

thimble.

mirrors are merely
pixels
crumbled post-its
broken pottery.

what is clean and holy?
a wolf in sheepskin?
for we have too few angels
and too many pins
and needles
and fallen leaders
and fortune tellers that
gaze, into a world of wishes and whale yawns.

the horizon holds nothing
aside from the occasional
thimbleful of sobs, trapped,
just below the heavens

the thick smog catches the rest
before they reach the Creator’s
thin-skinned drums.
twisted bodies
lie in shame
in darkness
under trees no one can
uproot for themselves

our secrets and our souls
are scribbled on
airplane stubs,
receipts for cigarettes,
or vcr boxes.

who made us so temporary?
a gasp to begin.
a gasp to end.
what more can we be than that?

mirrors are made of millions of lies,
laughter through gritted teeth,
and the sound of salvation being lost.

 

motivation.

You want a change, it’s written on your face
You feel alone, a little out of place
You hide away the scars and the mistakes
You’ve been tired, uninspired, something’s going to give

Right now
He knows who you are
The light and the dark
He picks up your broken heart
Right now
He’s telling the truth
That you will make it through
His love can rescue you
Right now
Right now

We’ve all been there, we’re walking down the same road
So don’t be scared, you’re not out there on your own
Just take a breath and shut out the madness
Letting go is beautiful
There’s so much more
Just waiting there for you

This is your life
The giving and the taking
A journey in the making
This is your life
The fighting and the kneeling
The hurting and the healing
Don’t throw it all away…

life is utterly insane right now. 

I’m lost in the confusing world of calling, recovery, & passion. 

it’s freaking annoying and freaking me out.

 

devoted.

this is nothing but a new day. and I am foreigner in a strange land. I come from yesterdays, from regrets, from lies, from mismatched rags and silver spoons and broken crystal. so what adventures await me, hiding under dusty books that ache with knowledge, creeping in between where earth stops and heaven starts, lurking in the starry tree-tops begging “Climb me!”.

let us
dance crookedly.
and
point fingers only at the sea for swallowing half our dreams.
and
believe in tire swings and grandfather clocks and AM radios.
and
laugh like donkeys and cry like babes and live like the creature we were made to be.

when you always think of yourself as the exception, than the world must embrace you tighter.
but I don’t want this aging moment of motion to seize me.
no. this is a sight to be seen by only One.
because if I close my eyes and count.
and count each grain of sand and each suspended wish of light
He has no end of pebbles to crush, and angels just have more smiles
yet I have chosen child’s play: scooped between two little hands, falling down again
and looked upon the deathly dark with tired eyes and too few fears of
Him, of Them, of the waiting silence that will whisper:

I love you, My Beloved. You are forgiven. I paid your price because you, to Me, are priceless. My hand is open and I will cradle your sweet head, My daughter, My child. Be free to serve Me with all your bruised heart, shattered mind, and convoluted soul. I am your Abba, your Savior, your Guide. Pick up your strivings, your fears, your broken promises, your lies, your wild mouth, your sense of injustice, your desire to love, your beginnings of truth, your capturing knowledge and follow Me. For I know the Way, I am the Way, and there is no other way to Me. Gather here, into My embrace. I love you, My Beloved. There is nothing you can do to get in My way of loving you. I cannot love you less, I cannot love you more. I love you, My Broken, My Bruised, My Beaten, My Beginning, My Breath. I love you, My Beloved. You are forgiven. Do not shy away, for I am here, and I was here, and I will always be here. But if you do, My adventurous child, know that this is the way home, and I am here. For the son left his father, but never forgot him, and returned to the embrace of a man he once knew, who knew him all along the way. I love you, My Beloved. You are forgiven.

Be comforted today by the promise, the power, the paradox of our living God, our Abba. I was searching for myself in this mess, but He found me here searching and told me who I was, who I am, who I am not. There is still a million maybes and thousands of tomorrows, but I am present and still in the peace of the Lord who cannot cease to love.

 

intent.

I’ve got your tears in my hands
and no where to put them
I’ve got no space left for
boxes of old memories
in this corner room
in the maybes and
in between the
shallow mes.

oh, what kind of world is this
that lets me be here
anymore, any less.

my intent is too
two of yours
for ten of mine.
try me, I’m a fair
trader of spices
and souls.

 

dishonesty.

in sink was full of dirty dishes
half-baked lies and burnt kisses
embroidered aprons don’t say
i love you, they can’t, never will

push me into the dirt
shelter me from myself
oh you. you are dishonest
because you said you’d never go.

but words are stars that
set with the romantic nights
and burn away in some other sky
while the sun bleeds the true out

if i had a hammer, i could stop time
and wrap this moment up
too tight. too pretty. with a bow.
you would like that.

and i would throw it into the deep
into the place where even you
even you couldn’t go
even you wouldn’t dare

and then maybe you would drown.
and then maybe i could breathe.
and then maybe you would be forgiven.
and then maybe i could see.

but i have no hammer, all empty hands
they move incessantly forward still
never stopping, never crying,
never believing that this will end.

 

thirty.

1. I love the words tambourine, horizon, turquoise, voyage, exegesis, hermeneutics, enliven, graffiti, perpendicular, scribble, colloquy, and aesthetics. They are wonderful words, full of colors and texture and most of all meaning.

2. I write a check box on my to-do lists for writing my next day’s to-do list. I feel unproductive until my last box is checked.

3. I’ve always wanted to go spelunking (the exploration of caves) but I’m too scared I’ll chicken out.

4. I’m seriously thinking about participating in the LA marathon by my senior year of college. It’s a long shot, but hey, we’ll see. On that note, I’m currently a work-out fiend and couldn’t imagine another thing I would rather be doing than be at the gym.

5. Orion is by far my favorite constellation. Cassiopeia is a favorite too. Scorpion and Galaxy M16 are also two other starry wonders I love.

6. I absolutely love science (except for botany) and absolutely despise math.

7. I have never in my memory lost a game of Clue.

8. I could spend days making collages.

9. I’m pretty convinced at this point every single sin originates from us wanting to do God’s job, and that every relationship of any kind must, if it is halfway healthy, be founded on respect.

10. I like to eat cupcakes from the bottom up, so the frosting is like a reward.

11. I read Descartes, Plato, Aquinas, Nietzsche, and others…. for fun and relaxation.

12. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t survive without post-its.

13. I cannot pronounce the word post-it. I’ve tried for over 3 years with no avail. It comes out sounding something like po-stick.

14. I have never seen a disney princess movie.

15. I like smart water, I think it tastes better, but it probably isn’t any different.

16. I can’t remember what people look like for more than a few minutes (seriously… it’s sad), so I surround myself with pictures of people I don’t see often so I can remember.

17. I love make-up. I do not allow myself to go into Sephora unless I have surplus money of at least 100 dollars, which I never do. I also used to love Sharper Image, but they are gone, and I am not really sad, although I can’t get a free massage while at the mall anymore.

18. I’d rather be reading than watching a movie. I have a very short attention span for visual storytelling, and would much rather make a movie of the book in my head while reading it.

19. I seem to always have really close friend groups in sets of 3 + me.

20. My car’s name is Zoey. She is my baby and I love her to pieces.

21. I like to be friends with my professors and teachers. I like to get to know them, get lunch with them, talk to them like the real live people they are. It’s not because I want to kiss-up, or that I’m a brown noser. I just love to learn from people older and more educated with me, and what better resource than the people we pass by and sit in front of everyday.

22. I love church. I love everything about it. I don’t like everything the Church stands for, but I love being part of a community that is bigger than myself, talking about our God who is bigger than all of us could ever imagine.

23. There are times when playing dumb is the absolute best strategy to learning something. Most of the time is just annoying.

24. I love my family. We aren’t the typical American fam-bam, but we are the Kippses and while we are dysfunctional beyond belief, it all makes sense to us. I miss my sisters a lot and am sooo proud of them and hope that I might some day be as brilliant as they both are. These past few months I’ve discovered an interesting fact: my parents actually are right about most things. Who would have thought?! My respect for both of my parents grows exponentially as the days go by without them by my side, and I look forward to every time I get to talk to my mom, even if it is just for a few seconds in between classes.

25. 3 years ago, I promised my grandma who recently passed away that I would return to poland for her. I do not make promises I don’t keep, and if it is the last thing I do, I will go to Poland and find where we are from. I take it as an incredible compliment when people say that I look like a splitting image of her when she was my age.

26. I am tone-deaf beyond belief. It is sad, really.

27. If I could go anywhere in history, just to watch and not change anything, I think I would go to the Globe Theatre and see the original Hamlet. Or be with the Apollo 13 (yes, 13) astronauts while they were figuring out how to get home.

28. I absolutely love inside jokes. Not to be exclusive, just because they make me incredibly happy. With some of my friends, all we have to say is one word (salty) and still, years later, we are cracking up.

29. I’ll admit that I like to drive, and drive fast. If I could do anything for a day and not die in the process, I would take a lotus to the autobahn and drive until I couldn’t feel my feet any longer.

30. I like swings. I like to swing. I like pictures of swings. I like the metaphor of swinging. I really really like swings.

 

graffiti.

my poetry is like graffiti.
some people choose to see it as a mess.
some people see it as an expression of pain and oppression.
some people love it as art.
some people drive right by it without ever noticing.

we rarely met the artists/rascals who tag our street signs, sidewalks, cement blocks.
maybe the point was to get us riled up.

at least we are paying attention.
i’m tired of living this life in a frame.
i get to spend enough time asleep and
we’ll all one day be buried underneath it all.
everything we have worked for, against, if anything
will be built on our own bones and our own souls.

maybe i can do something
with this moment of life
that is more than just
that. breath.

 

monkey.

crazy thoughts are running through my mind
and crazy people are playing with my life
days keep giving me
a different kind of
crazy ways to view this
normal life

like…
it’s crazy how the sun will rise
different places at different times
or how a clown makes a child cry
tears fall in the happy times
rain sounds like clapping hands and
stomping feet in different lands
monkey cymbals seem to keep the time
and it’s crazy these thoughts
running through my mind

nahnahhnah nah yeah.

crazy ideas running through my head
and crazy to think about what
some people have said
days keep giving me
a different kind of
crazy ways to view this normal life

like what’s important is relative
to the sedative that your society gives you
you sit in detox and swear you’ll die
and it’s the pain that keeps you alive
stepping out on the other side
you see the sky and realize that
…they were wrong.

they say what they do not mean
and no one seems to be listening
to anyone or anything
I mean, tell me the truth
Are you? Listening? Are you listening?

Nah nah nahh nanah yeah.
Nah nah nahh nanah yeah.

monkey cymbals seem to keep the time
and monkey hands look a lot like mine
it’s crazy these thoughts
running through my
mind.

-monkey cymbals
robert wade
thinking out loud

 

perpendicular.

coincide with each other
but we have no reference points
we have been alone too long.
I miss you

we walk a straight line
because only knew we can,
so walls close hard on our hands.

miserable
parallel lines, shapes, forms, lives.
that is who we are.
break your gait
and I will mine.

pretty perpendicular for a brief time.