Manifesto

I think a part of me has forgotten the equation of God. I read these little pieces of my heart written down here and its some sort of beautiful madness. I have a ridiculous love for alliteration for one thing. I have a rhythm to my soul that's deeper than a muddy river and sad and solidly sweet all at once like honey dripping off a too salty twisted pretzel. And I wonder what is God gonna do with all this inside of me? I am dramatic and dynamic and I want to be a Michelangelo? What? Really? Ahh broken jealous, prideful heart. I imagine God laughing at me at this point. A gentle breath of God coming to me like in the book of Job first the earthquake and then the whisper of God. Good thing he still calls me friend. I filled with the want and chase of earthly desires and at the same time with the want of God. It becomes a merry merry go round. So here is my manifesto:

I will choose God even if it breaks my upside down heart.
I will trust God. Again. And Again.
I will wait on God. Again. And Again.
I will love. Again. And Again.
I will begin to believe every part of me was made for a purpose.
I will let God rule my creativity instead of it ruling me.
I will not give up. Even when I fail. Again. And Again.
I will laugh more.
I will be more thankful.
I will not let fear move me.
I will live up to my inheritance in God and light up the sky like a star.
I will sing.
I will write only when I feel inspired too and am able to pour my whole heart and joy into the work. I will believe that God is in whatever I'm working on.

Michelangelo

Whenever I'm as still as I can be in this world...I just keep hearing God only ever say one little line to me over and over and he's been saying it for the past 2 years. That I'll be better than I ever was. And this is the hard part. He never did say when. If you knew me well enough you'd know I have little patience and yet I find myself in the position of always waiting. Inside I feel irritable that God didn't make me a Michelangelo. A great heart and passion for the love of beauty anywhere I can find it on earth or in heaven but unable to express it as I wish to when I actually know it. I suppose when you've seen angels things can become complicated. Michelangelo used to pray that God would grant him the ability to do more than he thought he could accomplish just so he could try and accomplish it. A man with the patience of Job. In the last few years I've traveled a mountain of a road. The loss of Karma has terribly saddened my soul among other things. How can I ever be better than I ever was? But I Know I've made some progress. I've been told don't mock the process of things. But I don't want to walk I want to run. I get so tired of my somber moods and irritability when Christ's kingdom has come. The things I know in my head usually do not light up my heart. But hearts are much like the weather you'll find the tempest and sunny skies all within the same day. I pray that God draws near me because I find at times I'm still running away. I want to run or complain or be sad or laugh or rest anything at all but be creative. Anything at all but use my gift and let my words collide upon paper. So I pray as often as I can that Christ takes hold of me. He is the only one that can.

Writing and Running

These days I'm not sure what kind of writer I am. I'm still writing very little and my love affair with words is on again off again at its best. There is no tension of push pull dogged determination like there use to be. Maybe thats a good thing. But I do know writers need to be persistent and devoted and passionate. I am none of these right now though ironically I felt strong enough to write about it. I guess God will have to talk to me about this feverish creative thing in me or stir it up in me. Although I'm not too terribly worried about it. But I wonder how you all would feel. Those who love my writing see my potential and what I could do if I was persistant. What if I really decided to never press it anymore. Would you be o.k. with the now of what I have become? I've decided to try and do some physical activity and focus on running...or an attempt at running. I have running shoes and an ipod. Maybe that makes it official. I just wanted to see if I could and to see how far I could get. I'm starting slowly but I like my rythem. A passing pass time for now I suppose. I love the sun. It lights me up from the inside out.

Sun

There is a rhythm in my hands. A river in my hands. Forgiveness in my hands. Words become symphonies within these reaching palms. I cannot hold the world within me and all its intricate beauty. Even sunlight whispering on grass becomes too much for me. Knowing that there are cleanslated stars anchored in a jubulint sky while walking becomes too much for me. I can only let it all wash over me in the blinking of an eye. And it leaves me longing. I can hold onto nothing. I am the grass. And it is only God who takes hold of me.

Zander's Paper Cranes

Zander's 2 small paper cranes can each fit inside the palm of my hand. They are delicate and in bright colors. One is canary yellow the other is jet blue. They sit at my desk at work reminding me every day of a small boy's heart and joy and creativity. He was so excited to give them to me and I with thoughtful care decided not to crush his wish or his prize and placed them inside my wool coat pocket. The reality is they have brought me a tender kind of happiness. Wishes and Dreams can be unfolded from your pockets.
Thinking of pockets, I used to have a small compass in my back pocket, whenever I became lost in this life I'd pull it out and listen to it. Jesus always seemed to point true north. But what if I hadn't lost it? What if I had just misplaced it on the mantle for awhile? Or left it in my other coat? The summer one not the winter one. Seasons of winter make your hands crack, your voice weak in the blustery coldness. Spring seems to be thawing me out... my hands...and... my voice. I think its time I started making paper cranes of my own.

Birthday...

I have this habit of celebrating my birthday's as if they were Christmas. I mean there is only one me and only one God who is the maker of me. Somehow I know he is celebrating and laughing and having joy and dancing and singing about this vagabond lightening child. Oh precious, precious child. I never feel that way half the time but I still know that its true. I'll go home and have dinner with friends far away, then have dinner with friends here, then my parents will visit and we'll have dinner and then my husband will take me out to dinner too. They're will be cake and phone calls and Grandmother's Birthday cards and my brother's "Hey, Happy Birthday." They're all happy somehow that I'm here able to just be me and give them me. I'm old...er today. Growing old with God, being still in love and holding on to God is a blessing more than I could have ever asked for. This year, is gonna be a year of jubilee...when you get back seven times what you lost. Propehetic and creative and peaceful and joyful seven times over and its only ever God. Best be watching out for this waterfall. I dunno how I know but I know. I dunno why but God...my good friend Jesus, closer than a brother Jesus, started talking to me last night before I was drifting off into sleep, and it was nothing but joy and goodness and blessing. I had made him happy in all my turmoil and sad and stumbling humanity and I don't really know how. I will raise my hands in the darkness, in the morning light, when the sun is rising and setting upon me. Tonight, my parents are visiting and were headed to Chicago to see all the museums, eat deep dish pizza and ride the subway. It will be terribly cold but this Birthday will be all warmth and hope and light.

Sleep

Dear God,

You taught me how to breathe. You flipped the light switch on the inside of me. And it was a brilliant stunt. You and you’re miracle magician’s son who lent us rest until the Holy Spirit had come. I want to lie down in green pastures and have your hands pass double portions of blessing over me. The good stuff the pure stuff the blessing that’s crushed and poured out in measures greater than half pints. We raise our hands in churches and sing words that say “lift us up.” My voice mingled with them only
I’m singing come rain down. Lift us up and rain down. If we cry out in earnest with any sound of suffering you said you would come. I know it’s there somewhere in your word how a prince shackled and dragged and spent, pleaded with you for his freedom and you heard him and you came to him. And you sing not love lost songs over us. I don’t hear them with my ears but I can feel the reverberations of them somehow when I’m passing untouched golden fields. I feel like my hands are eyes, my throat is golden and I’m dreaming of water so often but never drowning, never drowning by the purposes of man but being molded by the spirit of God as he bathes me with only himself as a lover’s lover. I have lost many days perhaps in this longest night. I never thought it would be this long. You went thru the longest night too in the garden counted the hours, wished your friends would have woken up. it is the way of man separated and never complete I understand them well. You help me to breathe again like it’s the very first time breathing in you. All my worries and my doubts and sin can be redeemed. My rebellion can be taken backwards and every day is a new day. My mother reminds me often Jesus is right here just on the other side of the looking glass waiting to pull us through to that other dimension. I find that you are everything that is everything and yet the soul wanders and wonders. Doubt is as faithful as faith. Two sides of the same coin it seems you can’t have one without the other here on this trodden down Eden. I’m like the father pleading for his son’s sickness to leave him God I believe but help my unbelief.