Untitled

I am the epitome
Of all I wanted to be
Someone look at me
Someone look at me

Self made sore thumb
Colored and clothed
In some Goodwill replica
Of Josephs amazing coat
It is true
I love art
But so did Picasso
And he kept his paint
On paper
I want to say
"I did it all for me"
Because that is
The partial truth
But also I did it
For you
And him
And her
And them
So they could see that I
Was someone
Worth being seen

"You are the girl
Everyone wants to know"
She said
And I know it is because
My skin is pretty-
Or disgusting
Whichever suits you best
Because it is the same arms
That sit still under needles
That I raise into the air
As a symbol of worship
To a God
You may have a assumed
I couldn't believe in

I made this me
She came about
Like silk
The worm weaves
And weaves
And all that time
All that weaving
Lead up to a cocoon
And then the worm
Is a moth
And the silk is
Made into garments
And the moth is dead
But the silk lives
Forever
In splendid color
On dancers
On sleepers
On the rich
On the poor

If the silk is
The me
He intended
The me
He sees
Why is it
That I spend so much time
Swatting at a moth

I am the epitome
Of all I wanted to be
Someone look at me
Someone look at me

A Ramble Inspired By Tragedy.

I don't know what I did to deserve the blessings that have poured out into my life like aged wine over filth. I don't understand how even in my brokenness I am somehow whole enough to choke through this life with even the smallest amount of joy. I don't know why I have taken part in and bore witness to restoration of relationships and people and faith. How anything I have ever said or done could have played a part in such things. I am so selfish and disconnected. Even in my most spiritual of moments I walk away and find myself centered back on myself, who is incapable of anything good. I don't understand the health and the happiness of my kids, my family. I don't deserve to grow these little souls that you have so entrusted me with. More often than not I don't know what to say or do other than tell them I love them, the same way you somehow manage to love me. I don't know why my marriage is working, thriving after the train wreck it once was and with a man who so blatantly turns his head away from you. I don't know why I live in a place where the sun is always shining and my biggest concern is what lives within my own head while people who live only a thousand miles away are pulling the broken empty bodies of their babies out of rubble. I am here tending to my kids dentist appointments and school paperwork while they work at trying to dig up the remnants a life that no longer exists. And I know why it happened. I know why babies die in the safety of their mothers wombs and widows are left to spiral into other worlds within their own minds in dingy hospitals. I know why the only way some man can function is if his gut and blood are full of vodka and why that woman's husband shot her in the presence of their little girl. I know we are broken and the earth itself is groaning in the misery of your absence. Sometimes I imagine what that must look like. I think about being doubled over in pain, that feeling of needing to vomit and knowing you would feel so much better if you did, but nothing ever coming up. The earth itself clutching its non existent stomach, tears rolling down its blank face begging to be relieved. And yet there is no relief. Some of us carry on, digging up our old shoes hoping they will carry us over into a new life where better shoes are waiting to be purchased. Others sit barefoot, stagnant atop the rubble holding those broken baby bodies until their own body lies broken underneath them. It will never happen to you until it happens to you, and I so hope that when it does you have something more to hold onto than the debris left after the storm.

A Waltz

Joy is a Waltz
It is stepping on Your feet
It is You laughing at me
And me laughing at myself
That deep belly laugh 
At the fact that I am dancing
With You

It is done without audience
And only
Without audience
Because
Spectators distract Your lead
And my being completely
Enamored
By You alone

It is a Water Waltz

This dance
Over the Sea of Glass
The one under which
My sins have been thrown
Cast down to the depths
Without ever disturbing
The stillness
The magic solidity
Of the water

I am so taken
I kiss You
Not in the way
Adam came to kiss Eve
But the way in which
The purest
Most simple
And passionate love
Would have me
Display

A love that says
"You are everything"
 And
"I cannot believe
I so desired an audience
That I have never allowed myself
The chance to Waltz..."

Everything Good.

 Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. -James 1:17

I forget the logistics of "everything good"
And so when I look at my life
My day
I tend to say
"Oh my marraige, and my kids, and well, I am breathing..."
When the reality is
In all actuality
"I opened my eyes this morning.
I stood from my bed, feet sturdy and
I walked downstairs, in this house that I live in.
I made myself some toast, because I have food to eat.
The toast didn't burn, and I had butter to spread across the top.
I took my two happy and healthy children to school,
A place they love and where they learn, in my car that runs perfectly
And looks cute too. I went for a jog where I was able to observe
Some of the littlest miracles in creation. I saw a green and yellow spotted
Caterpiller, something so little and simple, yet certainly not simple
At all. I moved so that my heart beat sped up, and oxygen and blood and
muscles all worked in accord with each other perfectly. I drank water.
It was clean and flavored with lemons that you made to grow
On trees. And here I am, writing, inspired to create,
Aware of how completely ridiculous I am
Most of the time....
And yet still you love me- and you remind me
That "everything good" means
Everything.

And I haven't even made it to lunch.

Madmenology.

Madmenology: (mAD-men-OlOgy) A belief system by which the individual can maintain and increase personal happiness through the use of people and stuff; the idea that one is entitled to make oneself happy at the expense of others.

 
I was recently introduced to the show Mad Men, by my good friend Netflix. I would recommend it except it would be sort of like me recommending you start smoking crack. Not only is it highly addictive, but I am not sure it is very good for you. It may in fact, if one is not careful, lead to the deterioration of right thinking. After spending a good 7 hours glued to my flowered print sofa in my pajamas with greasy hair and no desire to move, it came to my attention that this particular program sort of represents a religion all its own but not much removed from our cultures religion...which is pretty much "Meism". I know the show is meant to play on and portray the gender roles, ideas of success and family in a time before now, but I can't help but notice that the only thing really all that different is the material items.
A light hearted view of the program would lead you into a place of romanticism and glamor. Cigarettes are glamorous. Extra marital affairs are exciting and fulfilling. Drinking is just what you do, no matter if it is or is not 5 o'clock somewhere. You are transported to a world of hourglass figures, well greased hair and pressed suits. It doesn't matter what is underlying because it's all just so damn glamorous. Everything about it immediately appeals to our flesh, and we want to devour it.
Lets look at our protagonist, Don Draper...
A mans man...handsome, wealthy, career oriented but took time to marry a flawless wife and produce two beautiful children, (a boy and a girl). He works in the city, lives in the suburbs in a colonial style home with richly textured wall coverings, a manicured lawn, and the most modern of amenities. Sounds lovely right? The perfect life. Except, all the man does is sleep with other women, smoke Lucky Strikes and drink expensive liquor. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, with no thought of the happiness of the people whom he seems to care about. He spends the night with one mistress and then goes home to a perfectly prepared meal, clean home, perfectly put together blond haired blue eyed wife and yet the man is clearly unhappy no matter WHERE he is. All the money and success and women in the world would not make Don Draper happy, you know how I know...cause he already has all of it and is a HOT MESS. He is the best of the modern American male. He couldn't ask for more, yet even if he did and he received it it still would not pacify the hole inside of him....but even so, men are still drawn into the idea of how wonderful it would be to BE him. Who wouldn't want to be the man with the money and the mistress and the looks and the job and the status.
Our own culture eats this up because we are still there. We want those things. We can put off the "dying on the inside" feeling if it means we can have all this other stuff and it is everywhere. Proof is in the pudding people. I am sure we all know more than one person like this in some sense of the word, ourselves being the first. What are you stuffing your internal hole with in order to maintain a sense of happiness and glamor? For real, ask yourself that. I could sit here for hours and disect all the crap I have stuffed in my "just keep swimming just keep swimming, yay, smile, life is dandy" hole.
We like the lie, because we have believed it for so long, and it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks. I have news for you, Don Draper....ain't no amount of money or women or success or aged bourbon gonna make you feel better because you are empty. You are lost and fighting tooth and nail to convince yourself otherwise.
Media is good at spoon feeding us what we like to see- people like us, full of themselves and their personal desires, living out the selfishness in romantic and exciting ways. Don't buy the lie- cigarettes cause cancer, daily drinking is actually alcoholism, extramarital affairs destroy families, a perfect figure is not a dictator of happiness or attractiveness and wealth/success means nothing when you are lonely and lost.

PS. I just finished the first season, and clearly there will be character change and development- if you watch this show currently and you leave a comment on this blog that in any way exposes or gives away something I have yet to see, I will hunt you down and force you to eat an entire roast beef while smoking and wearing a dress so tight you cant sit in it.

Don't Just Do It.

If you have ever read my blog you know my major issues with body image. Eating disorders, over exercising, consideration of plastic surgery...the list goes on and on.
A few weeks ago after much consideration I made an appointment with a plastic surgeon for a breast augmentation consult. I had completely convinced myself that it was justified and even necessary for me to feel good about myself. I have had two kids, Presley nursed the life out of my boobs and they would never be what they were or what I felt they should be. I am young! I shouldn't feel like I can't wear halter tops or strapless dresses! It is such a non evasive surgery, totally common, rarely complicated and totally popular. Just do it. That is what I was telling myself, as well as what family and close friends responded when I mentioned it to them. Granted, I didn't actually mention it to the handful of friends I have who would have put me in my place, because I didn't want to be in my place I wanted to act irrationally justified by the world I live in. You have to understand this is something I have talked about on and off for years, but only now was I serious enough that I made the consult appointment and was quite certain that when I went I would leave with an appointment date.
I was fighting every second of my real self, the God in me, telling me I was making a mistake. I kept reminding myself that it wasn't about having ridiculous eye grabbing boobs, it was "corrective" surgery, a way to restore something that was "damaged" by childbearing. I was imagining all the adorable sassy summer pj's I would buy and the bathing suits and the halter tops and the blah blah blah blah blah. And then it hit me.
This is the most ridiculous thing on the planet. Why do I care about my boobs? My husband, (though he was excited about the idea of big fake boobs), loves my boobs just as they are. The state they are in after bearing two of the most amazing kids on the planet have never turned him off or somehow caused intimacy issues. Quite the opposite actually. Why is it somehow all of a sudden "important" that I have some new halter top collection? Why can I not just find a bathing suit I am comfortable in with my boobs the way they are? How have I so totally been convincing myself that plastic SURGERY in order to have some man or woman's ideal breasts on my body is totally acceptable? MY body.
My body that is so far from perfection I cannot even tell you. I don't type fast enough to finish listing my imperfections before the sun goes down. I don't think blogger would let me write anything that long. In fact, my breasts aren't even my biggest insecurity. If I am going to have a boob job I really should throw in a tummy tuck because that S is a mess. In fact I might as well make that consult for a full "Mommy Makeover"! Lets just lift and tuck and suck and enhance everything because based on societies beauty ideals, I need it. Oh, and electrolysis. Lets be hairless while we are at it.
I can't do it anymore. I won't. Maybe, my body is exactly how God intended it to be after childbearing. Maybe if I was supposed to have big, high boobs my whole life I would have been designed that way. Maybe the changes in my body, at any age, that I somehow think are for the worst, are just Gods way of reminding me that it isn't all about me, and it certainly isn't all about how I LOOK. Maybe my physical imperfections should serve as a reminder that my husband loves and adores ME. Who I am, what I DO, how I THINK....and if that is true then who cares what any other man or woman thinks?
So I went from making a consult appointment 2 weeks ago to buying a bikini last night. It isn't tasteless or stringy or revealing but I haven't worn one since I was 18. I have stretch marks and cellulite, small breasts and wide hips. My tummy crinkles around my belly button from having been so enormous during pregnancies...but for the first time in my real adult, mother, wifey life- I put on the bathing suit and felt amazing. First bathing suit I tried on this year, a bikini, I bought it, and I cannot wait till summer.

"Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." -Proverbs 31:30

Miles.

If aliens exist with flux capacitors and teleportation machines but haven't come down to share I am NOT letting them remove my frontal lobes for experimentation. Where is Willy Wonka when you need him? Because...

Miles inhibit the making of memories and memories are all we have in the dark and at night when pillows are beneath our heads and blankets struggle to retain the warmth of our own bodies.

In this day with our digital digits there is no time or need for the printing of photographs in order to tell stories of years past. There is no sitting sipping hot chocolate and pining over what has been, capturing the essence of a person in print thereby freezing who they are in time for all those who have come after them.

Suffice to say my little hands and feet, the ones that run like wild beasts and color vigorously on paper and sometimes walls...they don't know you. They don't know the you that myself, as a grown up knows- your love for them and the ache in your own heart to be the one chasing down little wild beasts.

Sadly, what is true is true and all these miles take their toll whether we like it or not.

Yearly visits though glorious are swept out from under us in what feels like moments and turning my back on you to walk towards the security gate knowing what I know about miles makes my stomach churn and not just for the little wild things....but for me.

Ofcourse I smile and blow a kiss and find myself lost in the traffic of shoe removal and pocket emptying and before I know it you have gone and I am crammed into isle 5 seat C on my way back to reality with a handful of memories I have to somehow try and not let slip through my fingers when everything becomes normal again.

Understand, I did not write this to make you sad, although the content could only do so. I wrote this to remind you (me) how lucky we are to have something to miss.

So if you happen to come upon an alien or Willy Wonka don't forget to ask about the flux capacitor.

The Non-Fire

I haven't been excited about church for a year. I haven't been going the past few months and I say it's because I am working, which I am, but it's also because I just haven't wanted to. When I do go, I am happy to be there and my church is amazing. The church is not the problem, I am. I could say a lot of different things about what the problem may or may not be, but the bottom line, which I discovered this morning at church, is that I have accepted and become satisfied with mediocrity in my relationship with God and I have resigned myself to failure in terms of what I will accomplish in said relationship.

I cannot tell you when I last read my Bible. Really, I have no idea. I don't want to. I would rather sit on the couch for 4 hours at a time watching Breaking Bad on Netflix or sit on Facebook or stare at a wall even. I don't want to read my Bible because I don't want to have to think about things I know I cannot understand and I don't want to be held accountable. I just want to truck along doing my own thing knowing God is there and He loves me and I love him and lets all just get along and do whatever and grace, man. Not that I am doing anything crazy like smoking refer and listening to rock music but I am defiantly worshiping some false idols and purposefully ignoring the call on my life to be IN relationship with God.

This morning at church pastor Ed Noble spoke in terms of "Ultimate Values". He said there are things that "matter" and things that are of "value" and it is important to distinguish the two and treat things accordingly. I have been a Jesus follower for 9 years and I can honestly say that the past year (perhaps longer), I have simply allowed my "matters" to become "values". Hell I've even allowed things that don't matter at all to become values. I don't know why I have done this. I could blame it on a lot of things but at the end of the day it is just that I have chosen to put myself in charge. I have trusted God for nothing because I haven't extended my faith to a place that requires trust. I have been functioning in the knowledge of God and His love for me, convincing myself that my ultimate salvation is what is really important. Important as it may be, how much is more doing Gods work HERE and NOW, being the kind of person that invites others into the same grace I have for lack of a better term been abusing??

Pastor Ed also talked about fire. Fire for God and passion and drive and FIRE. I feel like I must represent the opposite of all that. I'm the charred, damp wood sitting in the fire pit. I have chosen this. It sucks. I vaguely remember what it feels like to be so stoked about what God is doing that I eat, dream and breath excitement. I'm not even sure I have believed that to be possible for me in a long time. My faith is not even a mustard seed. I am hesitant to start devotional time because I know before I start I will stop 5 days in. I swear if I buy another journal and fill the first 5 pages and then stop....and somehow this "failure" dictates to my subconscious that I might as well not do anything. 

I am not sure when or how or why I lost sight of so many truths. Truths that I am more than well aware of. I don't know why I have allowed myself to nonchalantly drag my feet downhill when I should be marching up. I don't know exactly how I plan to change things- or how God is gonna use all this new realization to change me but I really hope when it is January 6, 2014, I can look back and blog about something other than how I have let myself down. I hope I am not so jaded. I hope I can look at my values and know that they are worth valuing.

"The marking of time is Gods whisper stating 'You are not here forever...." -Ed Noble


*This is not a pity me blog. This is not a I need you to tell me what a nice and loving and caring person I am and how things I have said to you have really helped you or whatever- I know. Not to be arrogant, but I know. I know God has used me and always will regardless of my shortcomings, this is not about that, so please refrain from telling me I am being to hard on myself. I'm not. I'm being honest and I'm not sad or upset or pouting, I am relieved and ready to work towards something new.*

Because Meatballs Are Funny But Life Is Hard.

When you were little
And I loved Jesus
There was this song
And I prayed it
For you

That something would be
Different
That everything would be
Different
For you

That it wouldn't take
So long
To understand
That you don't
Understand

I held my hopes high
Even as I watched you grow
Into life
And life grow
Into you

I pushed and pulled
My opinions
Inside myself
Knowing that I
Was not in charge
And that like
When you where little
And I loved Jesus
I would have to pray

And my prayers worked
Not like magic
Not like a genie
Who perfected my ideas

But

You are better than me
As I was
Even without understanding
That you don't understand

And now
I pray
That sooner or later
You'll see
Gods hand in all of it
On you
The same as it was
On me

 "In open fields of wild flowers,
she breathes the air and flies away
She thanks her Jesus for the daises and the roses
in no simple language
Someday she'll understand the meaning of it all"