Splintering Selves {poetry}

Maybe I'll just never tell you.

I'll let these feelings settle

somewhere below the surface,

somewhere someone would have to look

to see and know what they have seen. 

But broken parts have a way of splintering

and slicing through the surface 

so others start to know,

or at least they know the consequence

but not so much the brokenness

and the reason why we get like this.

So maybe words should be said

and scars shown to someone

whose heart will shatter with ours

simply because our souls 

aren't strong enough to bear

the crippling weight of all our sorrow.

And maybe it isn't even ours

-- we seem to borrow sadness

from every single soul we see

then wonder why hearts ache

and why we bleed

somewhere below the surface.

So I'll show my scars

if you'll let me see your soul,

if you point to where it hurts

and confess why there are holes.

Just please don't hide your feelings.

Don't let them settle below the surface. 

Forgiveness: 7X70 {rambling reflections}

Something brought her face to mind and the same old anger followed as a mask to hide the pain of being painted a different color, the hurt of a love misunderstood, and the sorrow of losing something irreplaceable.

If she really knew me...if she really loved me...if she was--

It happened every time without fail. The memory and then the rekindling of the anger to steal my joy, to sour the day, and that made me even more angry. Why was I letting her have this much power over me?

Each time the anger came, I'd try to smother it, to bury its sharp edges with forgiveness, because what good was the hurt now? If you're hurt or angry, swallow your words. Pretend you have a tougher skin. Don't ever let them know how much power they have. Besides, anger was of no use. I had chosen to keep silent and not direct the hurt towards someone who had wounded my heart so why would I let the memory wound me further?

I'd be walking the dog, cleaning a house, and there it was again, and there was the anger. How come the anger always came so swiftly when I supposedly already forgave and pushed the emotion out the door? Each time, I had to choose to forgive and not to dwell in the bitter resentment, but what did that mean? Had I even forgiven or did I just go through the motions of forgiveness?

She was in the wrong. She was the one who ruined it.

150 days of anger and the pretension of forgiveness?

She was the one who changed, not me. I would never have given up on her. 

Was my forgiveness really just an idea and not reality?

Maybe I don't even know about forgiveness which is funny since there's books and articles on it everywhere you look. There are the 'facts' you hear about over and over again -- forgiveness is healing. Forgiveness sets you free. Forgiveness knits hearts back together. Forgiveness and the asking for forgiveness is what heals relationships and makes them last. Forgiveness and the asking for forgiveness is what Jesus-loving people do and all that really matters with us flaw-filled humans.

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Leave your sacrifice before the altar and go make amends with your brother and then come back. Forgive them for they know not what they do. Don't let the sun go down on your anger. 

Why wasn't it working?

Maybe I don't know about forgiveness because I never really tried to give it, not when it mattered the most, anyway. To be honest, forgiveness is a hard thing to like. Even when I need it, I still struggle to like it because it's not fair (and we have a funny way of picking and choosing what is fair in life), but this time, forgiveness mattered, even if it wouldn't ever be asked for or likely ever knit hearts back together.

I say to you, if your brother sins against you up to 70x7, forgive him. 

70X7. That's a lot of times. Maybe when Jesus told that to Peter, it's because He knew we'd sometimes have to forgive someone for the same thing over and over again in our hearts. Every single time we thought of the person or the circumstance. It doesn't mean there is something wrong with our forgiveness or that we're not doing it right. It's just that we're humans, and we're forgetful, and we hold tight to things that hurt us, but God knows our frames. He knows how we stumble over ourselves.

Forgiving is easier mentally than emotionally, and so we work on our minds and our thoughts. We work on them day after day after day until our heart finally catches up, and our emotions right themselves -- a lot easier said than done. After six months, I realized there was no longer any anger, and a month later something happened, and I was angry all over again.  We're all a work in progress, and that's alright.

"Feelings are meant to be fully felt and then fully surrendered to God. The word emotion comes from the Latin for 'movement' -- and all feelings are meant to move you toward God." - Ann Voskamp

Emotions fully felt, not judged by us, and given to God.

The Long Way Home {poetry}

I will take the long way home.

The one path that's empty

and a little steep.

I'll grow used to 

the shadows along the edges,

the wind's sad cries

through each and every branch,

and the hole inside my heart --

the hole where I hoped 

you'd make yourself at home.

I guess I'll take the long way home

and remember how to watch my feet

stay steady on each shifting rock

and what it's like

to keep my eyes on God.

I'll decorate my heart

with each piece of beauty

I find along the trail

until my soul feels full,

instead of halfway empty. 

The loneliness can't be so bad

when there's no chance

you'll pull it from my heart,

like a band aid ripping off. 

Somehow sameness can be bearable

when there's no chance for it to shift.

Somehow flashes of a hope that then falters

cause me to veer right off my course.

So I will take the long way home,

the only path with no one else,

and remember what it means

to believe God truly is enough. 

Words Without Meaning {rambling reflections}

I am a lover of words. In the beginning it was just a story thing, but then the love grew to poetry and lyrics, quotes. Just words in all their many forms. I think you're like me. I think we write because words hold a unique power, and we hope and hope our words have a place. That these letters sewed together will, in turn, slip inside someone else's mind and become something to cherish and believe in. Oh, the beauty of words! The endless possibilities!

We create worlds and people with the paint of words. We take the achings from our hearts and etch them on pieces of paper in different forms. We save quotes, memorize scripture and poetry because well-chosen words is music to souls. There is a beauty to words, and yet... and yet, with all their power, words have this way of turning to ash and becoming nothing.

I write a lot words, but I find myself fighting to believe them day to day. They deflect off of me, never penetrating the surface, never being absorbed. Not the good ones, anyway. It seems strange, doesn't it -- that words of affirmation are low on the list of my love languages? I don't know why exactly. I can't pinpoint the reason. Maybe it's because there have been times when good words filled me with hope, and then later, they disappeared because there was no substance behind them. They were just easy words to say, and words are too easy to say without having any meaning behind them. And some words are spoken with good intentions, and the intentions were good, but there was no fulfillment of them.

So there's the issue then. It's not just the words. It's never just the words. It's a mistrust because people know the right things to say, the polite-even-though-there-is-no-substance words, and who's to say if there is actually heart behind them? It's best not to put too much weight on them then. It's not a fear decision. It's a practical decision, right?

I've grown hesitant to hope, hesitant to put too much weight on words because one action can turn a multitude of words into noise -- a chaotic, teeth-grating noise. Words can be lies, and there is only a temporary, skin-deep beauty to lies. So words deflect. The good. The bad covered with what appears good. Sometimes there is never a chance to weigh the words given too easily, and sometimes good hearts give me good words. Words that are supposed to be life-giving, that are supposed to be like an exhale to the chaos inside, but they slide off. They just slide off, and it's not that I believe my doubts and all the inner monologue in my mind more than hearts I'm meant to trust. I know my inner monologue lies. It probably lies more than anyone else and in more destructive ways, but why are life-giving words so easy to dismiss?

Maybe if someone clasped my face in their hands and made me look them in the eyes because eyes mean vulnerability, the words spoken might penetrate deeper. Maybe there are too many words, too many superfluous words mixed in. Too many opportunities for me to make excuses and dismiss them because they don't know me that well. They can't know me that well. They can't because then they'd see their words aren't true, and you can't accept words you don't believe.

There many words and many ways to make words mean nothing, and sometimes I lose sight of the words that do mean something. The God-breathed words, the ones I need to believe because God is not human, and His words are not tainted by flawed language and human misuse. His words are true and always will be, but I'll forget and then I'll remember again, and maybe each time some portion, will stay with me, and by learning to believe the words that are changeless, words given to me by good hearts will be easier to accept. It's all a circle.

I think I might grasp a small piece of the importance of writing words of meaning. More than that, to live a life where the words I SPEAK mean something because writing well without speaking and living in accordance means nothing. And maybe some other heart will become a little less hesitant and someone else's wound will ache a little less.

***

This is mostly just a thought dump.
 I haven't reached any grand conclusion so please, share YOUR thoughts in the comments! Any of you writers out there wrestle with these wonderings?