Unapologetic

Gonna have some reflection time. Gonna have some Jesus time.

A Bridge Beyond The Burning

Looking across the ravine to the other side. My toes curl around the edge of the ground where once a bridge joined the two sides. Now a scar of ashes is laid like ribbon. Loosely binding each eroded bank to the other.
I thought I was building up strength to jump it. I sought to leap over the grave I dug my self. The seemingly irrevocable charring.

Now I know that I will not jump it. I will not fly to the other side. As the ravine fills again with water, the ashes begin to wash away. I wanted to dip my feet into the rushing change as a sort of ode to the only remanents of that beautiful bridge that took so long to be built.

I look to other side I knew so well. The water begins to run clear. I will not get there by jumping. I will not get there by flying to the other side.

I may have to get down into the ravine every now and then, I might get soaked to the core. It will take every ounce of strength and patience but it will be worth it to be reunited properly. That bridge was burned. The tie between the banks could never be. The banks will flourish apart and in time a new blueprint will be followed in the next construction. I'll help put that bridge back together. I'll cross over it time and time again like before. Only this time I'll do my best to leave the matches where they belong.

Wrote this earlier this evening @ a worship night.

I'm sitting here by myself waiting for the lights to grow dim. Dim enough where I can forget. Truly forget the cracks that traced the inmost corners of my mind. I am here. I am here. I do not apologize to anyone anymore for this. I owe my tears and fears to one. I've made my peace with You. I have no more regrets. I can't. I've lived. I've loved. I've ran. I've not known which path to take. I've laughed. I won't take it back. Maybe I wasn't fully prepared to become the transparent breakable glass figure that I did-but for a moment I truly saw myself. This time is for You. For giving me the fire and passion to run, walk, and stumble even, in hopes of knowing You more. In hopes of knowing what I'm made of. I will not be written off. I will not be left amongst the doubting rubble. I will walk from the wreckage. Even if it is me who grows restless seemingly without peace and that hope dwindles...I know...I believe that You will be my strength and portion forever.

So the song "How He loves Us" sometimes makes me feel weird when they talk about heaven meeting earth like a kiss. (They either say passionate kiss or unforeseen kiss-depending on the church) Sometimes I feel selfish for taking that much time to sing about how He loves me. How he lavishes me with love and adoration. To be completely honest sometimes I just sing how I love Him. I mean we're the inconsistent ones right?

Anyway I'm not gonna dwell anymore on whether the song is easy to sing or not. In fact, I've become more aware about how much of a choice it is-especially for non-new Christians-to not just sit back and disregard things we don't agree with. True, we shouldn't accept everything we hear as fact or "words from the Lord," but I think if we are mature enough we can use our brains to come to the conclusion that maybe in our disagreement we can study and seek that much more intently to discover what is true. So as I was sitting there, just so inundated with the feeling of being bare before God, the lyrics unfolded not only on the screen but also in the mind of this silly 23 yr old "I don't have time to maintain these regrets, when I think about the way He loves us." Thanks for being great, Lord. Thank you for being so good. Thank you for being life and breath to us. Of You I am sure.

The End of Pretend.

It's that feeling. The feeling you get when you come to a wall that you thought you saw at least a quarter of a mile back. Like you were jogging, breathing in the fresh air and then...bam. Your ankle gives in and bends in the slightest twist. You're fine, but you've come to a complete stop. You know you can't walk. You know you can't run. You do that little odd hop until you stop again. Exhale.

Why do so many things matter? Why do they request attention. Last night, I was awake into the wee hours of the morning because of some Dr. Pepper and talk of dreams. Tonight, it's the floor of my stomach falling out. Here it is, bare honesty. There's a sort of frustration that comes with the inability to be angry. The inability to be where you want. On the bad days, it's the sting of watching a part of you decay.

On the good days it's the gasp for breath that you've been longing for. It's the break in your bones that reminds you you're alive. Screaming helps. It makes you aware of what's inside you. It can even make you laugh if you don't recognize yourself.

Scars. The open wound isn't there but life's paintbrush makes sure we don't forget the stroke. Sometimes they're worn like a medal...sometimes like a chain. Scar tissue guards our flesh against where it was previously torn. It can be a protection. Sometimes I'm scared that we...that I'll confuse them for callouses. Friends, as much as it gets under my skin, I hope I never get to that place of desensitization. I'll do my best to keep that thought at bay. So Conan, thanks for the advice. I don't like cynicism either, especially from myself. :I

Tomorrow is a new day. Not every day is easy, but every day He deserves my praise.