Fighting

Life has a funny way of going crazy when you least expect it. 

I'm returning to writing after my time away... Shame I didn't much feel like writing during my hiatus. But I simply did not. Maybe if I catch you up on where I am you'll forgive me. 

It started in March of 2013. 

Dad passed away in a nursing home. His companion Pat thought he would get better and come home, but dad did not improve. He had a blood infection that kept coming back. He had tubes all over him running in and out. And he was restless. And he could not stay still or even remember that he should keep his clothes on. Visiting dad we all had to wear disposable gowns, hair nets, shoe covers, gloves and masks. I was thankful he could not see us. We looked frightful. 

Seeing dad made my heart sink. He was thin. His belly was sort of bloated. His eyes were sort of bleary and sometimes needed to be washed. His face was not shaved at first. His hair was wild. And his fingernails needed to be washed. He had a feeding tube and a rectal tube as well as a catheter. Poor dad. All this with his missing leg just below the knee made him look like a refugee.

It was sad to see the man who once seemed more like a roaring lion reduced to a sad old withered man at the mercy of those who could understand him.

He was childish and yet old.

He demanded attention and said random things and due to his stroke would stop midway through a sentence and just end with a long pause. 

His next thought would be something entirely new.

But he seemed to know we were there.

And he was a bit less restless as we tried to string together a conversation with him for as long as he could stay awake. 

Pat said he had been not sleeping. His restlessness left his eyes red from struggling in his bed against his own mind all night. 

She asked his doctors if they could give him something for sleeping, but the doctor only gave him meds for a few nights. And his sleepless state resumed.

I'm not sure if dad felt his time was running out. Or if his clouded thoughts were tangled up in old memories mixed with new surroundings. Or if he had gone back to the horrors of his childhood in the halls of the orphanage... Or if his suicidal mother was haunting his dreams... 

It is hard to say.

It was hard to visit dad and see him further decline, but though it hurt to see my dad so helpless I knew if I did not go I might regret it later, because I might never get the chance to see him alive again.

I hate getting that feeling... Where I know the person I am taking to is going to die.

I hate it because then it comes true.

And I was sick all the way home.

I just knew. 

I hated myself for almost not stopping because it killed me to see the old lion as helpless as an old toothless dog. Just waiting out his days in a small room with those wretched tubes. And he so wanted to go outside. But the nursing staff could not let him because he was so contagious.

I hated that I wanted to not see him.

Cowardly of me to not want to look in the face of coming death again. 

The dread of what is sure to come is horrible. 

And come it did. 

Dad died on March 30th of 2013. 

He was 70 years old.

He had made arrangement for his own funeral unbeknownst to us. 

Everything paid in full.

He wanted to be cremated.

I was surprised. 

The man I had feared for so many years due to his drinking and getting belligerent and angry and at times violent had slipped away from all the things that haunted him and found some kind of peace at last. 

And I was sad to see him go.

All the things we could never talk about... All the unanswered questions... All the uncomfortable silence... Everything I wanted to understand... Unanswered. And left behind like old clothes. Worn. Tired. Old. Used. Too torn to give away. 

Silence.

Sigh...

This is only the first part. 

I am very tired tonight.

Telling this is quite draining.

So I will tell more later. Going to bed. Goodnight. 

Held Safe

What I really want, more than anything else... anytime... anywhere... more than ANYTHING... is to be held in God's arms, my head against His chest, listening to His heart beating. I want to be held there until all my fears subside and my tears stop falling. I want to feel safe... forever... from everything else. That is all I want.

Smiling Grace

Morning
and morning
and morning again...
a day
a week
a month or more
ever
and ever
I find myself turning to You.
No other one can hear me
in my time of need,
but Your ears alone
pick up the slightest sigh.
You care enough
to know not only what I think,
but what I believe
what I cherish
what makes me cry
my shame
my love
my hope
my dreams
and how I change from day to day...
and still...
You do not have to change.
Alone today
in all my thought
Not a person left to share with
good news
or otherwise...
On my own two legs I stand in here
separated by a building
and a cubicle
and a desk
and squares and squares forever
between living and breathing
face to face
encounters
with people.

But in all my separation
I am never alone
for You are with me...
closer than my pulse
nearer than my own skin
more sure than my next breath
in You I find complete unmeasured wholeness
everything I have ever needed
or will ever need
or didn't even know I might need
...and all the rest of the world
does not matter
when You are there.
Every other voice
echoing in my thoughts
fades into silence
and I am filled with
nothing
but You

You speak to me in skies above
in the ground below
and everything in-between
Newly hatching ladybugs
crawling along the curb
to find a surface warm and safe...
Then as I walk past
tiny red flying jewels
swirl around me
trying out new wings
thrilled to be alive
and exactly what You
have made them to be.

Grass below is bursting with blooms
yellows, purples, bright reds
miniature white blossoms
signs of your heavenly array
wherever my eyes from in the bright colors.
Even the trees cannot help
but burst forth into green hymn of praise,
every leaf filled with life
reaching skyward toward Heaven above
each branch eagerly stretching
to try and touch the Creator

Branches are blessed with feathered throngs
who work the day long building a haven
for tomorrows winged hosts
of chirping, singing merrymakers
Flitting here and there
carrying a bit of fluff or grass
or carefully picked branch
with which to build a place
to raise tomorrow's dream

I watch them fly
and smile
they look so free
I almost envy how easily they move about
from here to there
much faster than my two feet
and yet I know
my real freedom
is not tied to feet
nor wings
nor any manner of moving around
beyond my heart,
for You have given the ability
to know and believe
without seeing
tasting
touching
smelling
or hearing an audible noise
I only need imagine
and in that,
I smile again

He IS

Omniscient deity,

Maker of everything,

Ruler of All,

and still closer,

more intimate

than my own heart beat.

You give us breath,

and yet You take mine away.

Lion and Lamb.

Untold power beyond our understanding,

lying helpless as a baby in a manger.

Creator and Sacrifice.

Supreme ruler of the universe,

and Lover of my soul.

You hold the universe in the palm of Your hand,

and yet pursue me with the gentleness

of a whispering breeze.

Wisdom and folly.

Armageddon and grace.

Blessed Redeemer,

and the least of these...

Eternity

and the blink of an eye.

God of fire and brimstone,

yet You patiently grew

the Tree of Calvary.

A pillar of smoke by day and fire by night,

and broken as the bread of life.

You are the Way the Truth the Life

and yet a choice we may make on our own.

Judgement and Mercy.

Finality and a new beginning.

I find You waiting in the garden...

Hound of Heaven, nose to the ground

following my every step.

Wherever I go, You know.

I can make no movement that You do not see.

I can hide no sin.

No deed.

No thought.

And despite my denial thrice,

You love me all the more.

You forgive me.

You die on the cross and pay the price.

All of your blood,

all of your tears,

all of your life.

Eternal paradox.

Suspended between earth and heaven.

Eden's debt finally paid.

I've never seen Your face as it was when You walked upon earth's common ground,

and yet I see You in the faces and eyes and lives of everyone around me.

You hold all prior generations in Your heavens, great numbers of people, so many I cannot count,

and yet You know me

and You call me by my name.

Your mystery ever deepens.

I am washed away in the great ocean of Your love.

Though I am found and saved,
I am lost in You again.

Children of Dust

Dust.
We are a people, a race of dust.
Formed from the ground.
Sprung from the dirt.
Crafted of clay.
Who are we that You O God are mindful of us?
We are tiny particles of earth.
Ground bits of rock and dirt.
Grains of sand and no more.
Without Your spirit, Your Life breathed into us, we are gravel on the ground.
Unable to move. Unable to grow.
We cannot see, feel, hear, smell, taste or touch
Unable to do anything but lie there.
Wisdom laughs thinking of us, each believing how amazing we are as humans.
And yet, we are a bunch of rock heads.
Our heads are full of rocks.
Our knowledge full of sand and dirt.
Without You we are clay formations, lifeless clay masks, hollow inside, no life in us.
We may be painted bright and beautiful or strange and odd....
but it is paint on the clay and no more.
Without Your breath of life within, we are carcasses simply waiting to be turned back into dirt.
We are but a vapor.
A borrowed breath from Heaven.
A flower or blade of grass which lives but today and tomorrow is gone.
Bits of dust blowing in the wind.
Sand upon a shore to be washed here and there by the tide.
Who are we that You are mindful of us?
Without You as our rock upon which we are built and fastened, we are doomed to be no more.
But You have called the Rock on which You would build Your church.
And if we are part of that church, we must also be living stones.
I am reminded of stones as means to build Your altars.
You were also called the Rock that the builders rejected which would be the cornerstone of a whole new world.
And there's no forgetting the use of stones in the punishment of those sentenced to die.
Stoning.
To stand and throw rocks at another until they died of trauma and blood loss.
Barbaric.
I think of the woman dragged out of her sin and into the middle of the other waiting men there in front of You...
They all wanted to see You stone her.
They wanted it enough they all picked up stones in their hands to kill that woman.
We want BLOOD!
She is WRONG!
And oddly enough, the stones remind me of the words we use to throw at one another...
sticks and stones may break our bones...
Words aimed like large and small rocks and stones, hurled through the air to strike and cause the most damning punishment.
Let us KILL the other because they are WRONG!
And yet... to the side You knelt, squatting on the ground, as though You didn't hear them, and You took Your finger and wrote in the dust.
Much like when we were formed... children of dust, demanding justice when we all deserved only death.
They questioned and questioned until at last You stood up and spoke,

"Let those who are without sin cast the first stone."
You, offering to give them Your right, for You alone had no sin.
But none of them could match You.
Each one thought of his own sin, dropped his rock, turned and left.
Profound.
The ultimate rock thrown back.
The precise word aimed at each heart.
You knew.
Took aim.
Threw the stone exactly where it needed to land.
Convicted.
Then You turned back to the dust on the ground and used Your Holy fingers which created us to write in the dust again.
And as they left, You got up again and asked the woman where were the other men to accuse her.
She looked around and there were none but You.
You aimed true at her heart and said, Neither do I condemn you. Go and stop sinning.

Aim your Words at me, Lord. 
I know they will strike true.
Cut away all that is dead and lifeless and not Yours.
Leave only what grows from You.
Let nothing remain of my old rock-headed stubbornness

Break me apart as I fall upon You.
Your words are power.
You gave us language.
You made words for a use and a purpose.
We are unable to speak without Your breath.
Without Your life breathed into us, we are lifeless.
Unseeing.
Unknowing.
Unspeaking.
Unable to move.
Unbreathing.
Unable to be more than dust outside of You.
Lord God, who are we and Great are You.

Hands of God

Fingers that formed the earth
and made mankind
wrote the commandments in the tablets of stone
formed the writing on the wall
gave sight to the blind man
touched the sick and made them well
grabbed the hand of Peter as he sank like a stone
placed Your hands on the children and blessed them

 

 

You lifted Your hands to heaven and blessed us

broke the fish and loaves in Your hands
drove the thieves out of the temple with a cord
You write in the dust.
You hold no stone in hand.
You allow Yourself taken by the rough hands of mankind
and You stretch out Your arms

as Your hands are nailed to the cross.
pierced
torn
scarred forever
while our names are carved into Your hands
to bring healing and freedom to a world lost and afflicted

Hands of Love

stretched out forever

to all who come.

 

Rocks Cry Out

Alas...

Our unhallowed form...

Children of dust.

Eyes of clay which cannot see.
Mouths mute.
Hands and feet unmoving.
Breathe Your life into us again.
Lord, make these stones live.

Satan tempts...
You don't have to be hungry, turn these stones to bread.
Jump down from here and angels will not let You strike Your foot against a stone.
Come with me to the mountain top, the highest stone,
look at all beneath You here...
I'll give you the whole earth...

But it wasn't common earth the Creator wanted.
Though His commandments were first written in the stone,
He wished them to be written on our hearts.
Flesh and blood.
Living earth.
Clay come to life.
God inside the living stones.
Upon this rock I will build my church.

And the rocks cry out.
Our blood cries to You from the very ground.
The Sacrifice bleeds upon the rocks.
The stone is rolled away,
and at last we are accepted.

Our stony hearts come to life in You.