the view from the wrap around porch

porch swing white
property green
air warm
skies serene

messy kitchen
wooden floors
high ceilings
open doors

spinning bikes
muddy halls
pattering feet
bouncing balls

trust in God
warmth of a man
sound of guitar
satisfied clan

Hope

This is a poem I wrote where I just write and write and don't think about the words that are forming and don't think about sentence structure and everything deep within me just kind of exposes itself on paper without my forcing it out and trying to put it in poetic and perfect form and instead it is a rambling expression of all the thoughts in my heart, kind of like this sentence.

Hope

Hello hello you crazy World
I've yet to believe
you're completely bad
I've still some hope
for your battered soul

Goodbye goodbye Sadness, you fiend
How dare you slither
and skulk your way
into our world
Be gone Be gone
and never you return

We need you no more
We tolerate you none

Shoo shoo, perish in flames
Our crazy world
can stand on its own
hope-filled feet now

With All the Rough Edges

For most of us, we idealize our lives as a sheet of stainless steel. Smooth, shiny, predictable. We want our life to be smooth, and every day is an attempt to acheive this steel life we dream of. We cringe at dents; we scowl at smudges; we steer clear of sharp edges.

In reality, life is a boulder. Bumps and ridges, rough here, smooth there. Color here, more colors there. Unexpected, unpredictable.

Our lives are not only boulders, they are mountain ranges. If you look at one little 3" x 3" section of a boulder, all you can see are the bumps and ridges. But if you look up, you can see miles and miles of mountains. You can see how the red of the rocks complements the green of the trees; you can see the sun playing peek-a-boo behind the clouds at the mountain's peak. You can smell life in the grass, the trees, the wildlife.

If you try to make a boulder look like steel, you can grind it and sand it and color it and process it in so many ways, and you do nothing but ruin the majesty of the boulder's natural and intended state.

I want my life to be a mountain range. People drive for miles to experience the wonders of the mountains. People can get lost in the mountains. The mountains are comforting; the mountains are dangerous; they are spiritual, wanted, admired. People dream of the mountains. People travel across the world to behold the mountains; who would make great sacrifices and travel the world for a piece of steel?

I would rather be a boulder than a sheet of stainless steel. I'd rather free fall from the mountain top and crack and chip along the way than be systematically placed in order. When studied for years, a boulder cannot be memorized or predicted. There are crevices in a boulder that may never be noticed or touched unless someone is unwaveringly determined to knowing about them. I'd rather be a boulder with all the indentations and all the rough edges, with all the splotches of color and all the dirt and debris.

And aren't the mountains so much more glorious and beautiful and alive than a piece of stainless steel?

More on Shoes

I wrote about shoes earlier....however, I must retract part of my statement. I recently was going to meet up with a guy, and I gave a little extra thought to what I was going to wear. I assembled my whole outfit complete with accessories, and right before I headed out the door, I slipped on a pair of shoes. I remember thinking, "Ah dang, these shoes aren't exactly perfect for the ensemble I'm going for, but whatever guys don't notice your feet anyway." Later that night, he and I were hanging out and in passing he mentions my shoes with approval.

It was oddly nice to be noticed by this guy, and for even my shoes to be noticed. Maybe as women, we want the little things to be noticed and appreciated. Even if it is just a pair of shoes or a new haircut, even if it's that we say a certain phrase often, or that we have quirky little mannerisms when we speak, we just love that someone is interested enough to notice these little things about us.

It's hard enough

I can't imagine being divorced. It's hard enough trying to dig deep enough to recover from the pain of a breakup from a boyfriend of 3 months.

Crying
sleeping in
sobbing, crumpled on the floor
missing school
missing work
napping all day
tears streaming during forcedly normal conversations
not eating
not sleeping
sleeping too much
irregular sleep
dangerous thoughts
hopelessness
fear
chest pains
foggy brain
delayed responses
lack of caring
irrational emotions at uncalled for times

Symptoms of a broken heart. Symptoms of heartache, brought on by a casual dating experience. What must it be like to be a mom of 3 children and your husband doesn't want come home one day or ever again? What must it be like to be a newly wed and your husband decides he wants to take it all back? What must it be like to live as man and wife for 64 years, and you wake up one morning and the man who has been with you and loved you through fire and rain...fell asleep forever? I cannot fathom what that pain is like.

emptying me of myself

I think I'm going crazy going crazy
sitting here sitting here
I'm going crazy sitting here doing nothing

Nothing with my heart
nothing with my mind
nothing with my time

I'm going crazy not knowing
where to go
where to seek
where to live this life

I'm
I'm
I'm emptying my mind
emptying my life
emptying my heart of myself

I'm dumping all these dreams
desires
wants
longings
dumping them into a pile
and sweeping them out the door

I don't need them anymore
because God has something else in mind
He has something else
something wonderful
something marvelous
something I could never dream up

All these dreams I have,
who do they benefit?
Me, selfish me
And even then, my dreams aren't that good for me

God knows what's good for me
And He's got it all in line
He's got it all set up
So I can stop going crazy
going crazy trying to plan out my life
Because who do I think I'm kidding?
I don't have half as good a plan as God does

5'4" below your face

Women care so much about shoes. They care so much about the materials that cover their tiny little feet that walk on the grimy ground.

Men don't give a crap. I doubt they ever notice shoes, unless that are thigh-high neon green spike high heels.

Shoes are so close to the ground; why would you want to draw attention 5 feet 4 inches below your face? And if a guy does notice your shoes, why would you want to be with a man who stares at the ground? Men already have to bend their heads just to look at women's eyes; why do women want those men to crane their necks even more to check out what is keeping their feet warm? (or, more often, what is unsensibly strapped to the soles of their feet)

The obsession with impractical footwear does not make sense, yet an outfit, an attitude, and a statement can be completely altered by the selection of the shoes.

Step One: Admit

I shall admit
into the night
that i am a bit of a mess

I shall admit
unto the Lord
that I am in extreme distress

I will admit
to myself
to you
to all and beyond
that i am a bit of a mess