The twelfth month soon to come and so much has changed. The earth grasps for air, tries to breathe, tries to return to it's natural way...but it cannot. We have barred it from continuing in the only way it knows and now, it rebels.

It's a very warm, sunny day in late November and I think about my children. Will they ever know the joy of a crisp morning, the tingling burn of frosty limbs...the beauty of an ice-covered tree. Will they play in snow even see their breath take form? Will they experience the innocent, wonderful intimacy of creation...that only brings one closer to God? Please. Please.

Forgive me for going against the natural order of things...forgive us for putting convenience and ease before your commands. Forgive us for trying to be God.


Taking Control

I am a creature of habit and control. I am never fully at peace and find that even in the most intimate, life-giving, and intoxicating moments I am thinking upon the past, the present, and the future...two of which I cannot control. I relive moments with shame and hurt and joy, things that I cannot and will not be able to change. I imagine scenarios, things to come, improbable and wild. I fail to look at the moment, my moment, our moment, and see the great beauty - I only critique the insufficient and wanting. I must learn to live. I must learn to feel each breath and taste each mouthful of life with fearlessness and abandon. I must experience God in every moment of my waking and of my being. I must lay aside those feelings and desires to control...yielding to the will of one who knows what I need to live. I must relax and let Him in, let Him lead, let Him be in control.


The Elusive Muse

He comes as I sleep. The doors locked, the windows shut tight - my mind, my spirit barred against any unwanted, inconvenient truth or distraction. My dreams, my waking, my life so much easier when I do not have to think. Creation is tiresome - my mind calculates to perfection and the ever present nagging arrives. What next? What now? How comfortable it would be to slip into oblivion and never push again, waiting in my own mediocrity for ideas, rhymes, lyrics, and expressions I discovered years ago to be covered by a more driven being. My genius unknown and untapped, all my own and all together pleasant. But when day breaks, he has come and slipped away and left me with another thought, image, reason - and it drives me. Whether it be a song, a story, or a picture, I must seek him in the work. I must must seek his vision - I must answer and I must create. For while he is mine, I moreover, am his. He is my Muse and I his slave.


The Deep Sleep

It's as though my eyes were open for the first time. Scales had fallen and my body was filled with hot blood as it rushed through my veins - the kind of feeling you get when you realize you're enraged or in love. Time stopped, sound ceased, and a moment lasted a lifetime. My fingers nimbly touched the strings, forming the chords they had longed to play, but that had been forbidden. They clumsily grasped at former knowledge, old memories, forgotten dreams and desires. The time had finally come. I choked, my throat filled with dryness...but, I found my voice. I called to it from within and it came to me - the deep, throaty, rusty swell of a low E. I don't recall the words I sang or to which notes I added them, I only remember the feeling. It was a feeling of freedom, of love, of coming, or arrival. I was there...I was there...now, how do I get back?



So, I've been thinking about getting a tattoo. And yes, I am well aware that most of my family and in-laws alike will at once be put to shame and dissapprove of my unraveling lifestyle as soon as ink touches my skin, but it's an idea I am playing with - the disintegration of familial relations with one fell swoop of a more-or-less mechanized ink pen.

I think I want to make a statement...and since I'm not one for setting myself ablaze or making catchy slogan signs, I think permanently afixing an image of some sort onto my body ought to do the trick. I'm thinking - something political, something shocking, something timely....a pink butterfly right above my butt crack. Only joking.

But, yes, I am considering a tattoo and there you have it.



So, Welcome to my blog...again. It was out of comission for some time as a result of my hectic and (at times) overwhelming life. However, after much pressure from about 5 ...make that 3... okay, really only 2 people, I have decided to forego the incessant nagging and get back on the "blogging" wagon.

So, my husband and I tried a new church on Sunday night. (We've been non-church-attending-believers-in-Jesus for the past 3-4 months....a period of time that seemed to get away from us - like life and time so often will)

Anyhow, as my hubby and I were going through the motions of church "try-outs," I realized that I am no longer a church-appreciator....I'm a church critic. I don't look for the beauty, I look for the flaws...and man, I can find some flaws. Before, I had the ability to appreciate the idea behind a sermon. Now I just fume over the fact that the preacher provides no explicit biblical back-up for his sermon checkpoints. I used to be able to worship ANYWHERE...and I mean anywhere. Now I pay attention to the balance of the guitar's highs and lows and the mix in the overhead monitor and if the worship leader's style is "worshipper-friendly" or simply designed to showcase their range and "wanna-be-a-rockstaredness." (too harsh? or too true?)

All this to say, I want to find a church. I'm not asking for much. Solid biblically-based teaching, heart-filled worship (with or without arm-waving), and people who are honestly seeking his face....not fame or glory within a ridiculous and shameful christian sub-culture.

What do you think? Am I too far gone? Am I just arriving? or do I just need to shut-up, go to church and trust that God will take care of the rest?