Rain

   The sky grew continuously darker and large clouds formed in the sky.  The world began to dim – the light that had been present that morning forsaking the sky and earth as though it feared the approaching storm.  And just as quickly as the light had faded, so did the rain begin.  It did not come in torrents as the imposing clouds had implied, but instead a slow drizzle met the earth as it bid the sky farewell.  The strong scent of rain was present in the air, as it had been earlier, even as the clouds came into view.  As the clouds rolled by, the sky where they had once been was left clear once more and a small portion of the former brightness returned.  The callous winds blew the rain in multiple directions as the speed and amount of rain increased.  Even a nearby flag seemed indecisive about which way to wave, and within the course of a minute had changed from one direction to its complete opposite and back again.  At times it would go limp, hanging still, until the wind, with all its oddities, forced it to begin once more its conflicted waving.  For a moment, lightning split the sky, and although the bolt itself was not visible, its light stretched in a line across the entire horizon in the west and thunder rumbled in the distance.

4-4-11

Incomplete

When every page I write is stained with tears,

When each moment that passes is filled with fears,

I miss You more, why aren’t You here?

Will You ever again fill my life?

Will I ever be rid of all this strife?

I want You to remove from my heart this knife.

I placed it there when I walked away.

Oh, my God, why didn’t I stay?

No matter what, I always stray.

You were my all, my life, my hope,

So tie me to You with the strongest rope –

For I no longer have the ability to cope.

Am I too far beyond Your reach?

I beg You, please, take away this breach!

How many times must You I beseech?

But whose fault is this, after all?

Who is it who built up these many walls?

When I realize the answer, to my knees I fall.

I recognize that I’m to blame,

For playing a very dangerous game

And abandoning Your precious name.

When will I realize You’re waiting for me?

You never left; oh, when will I see

That You’re waiting here to make me free?

Letter of Despair

 I don't know what this is, aside from a letter left by someone who lost all - or rather had all taken from him.  Not literally, of course, because I was the one who wrote it. But I feel like it would be a sort of prologue or introduction to a journaling of the dark events of his torturous life, were it actually real.

    "Indeed this is a tale of dark happenings, of evil occurrences and curses not even imagined.  My strength is gone from my body; I am no longer the man I once was.  I regret the direction my life took those many years ago; though I must confess to you now, this guilt should not be my own.  I ponder for lonesome hours what deeds I could have performed to prevent this fate, what actions I could have taken to avoid the travesties that have since befallen me.  But in all honesty, no action or deed on my part could have saved me from the torment that overtook me.  As mentioned afore, my strength is not present, and my emotions have long ago frayed – to the point I wonder if someday they should cease to exist entirely.  All that remains intact is my mind.  This was no accident that my sanity remains, but was the most planned and most devious of all their intentions.  Without my mind how should I suffer?  Their deceitful intelligence has not yet failed them, and especially not concerning this.  So I suffer alone with memories best forgotten but that never will be while life remains and death has not taken me.  These are memories of all I once had and memories of how all was lost through no fault of my own.  I lay in misery with no strength and I remember the dark days that have passed already and I think of the dark days I know are yet to come.  And yet this is not the worst of it.  The greatest tragedy is that we love no longer.  I  mourn most for the love I once possessed, but alas, is now no more."

(He is not regretting so much that the person he loves is not with him, but the fact that all that has been done to him has left him incapable of love - he is not missing this person and loving her from afar, but rather missing that he once loved her for he can no longer love anyone).

Ecclesiastes Part 4

Definitely didn't post one a day... But here's another!

Ecclesiastes Chapter Four

Verses 1-3

Because of all the evil and oppression in the world Solomon is saying that the ones who are no longer living here are better off than those still alive, and the ones who have it best are the ones who have not yet lived and therefore have not seen all the evils of the world.

Verses 4-8

He is talking about selfishness here – whether it is someone coveting what someone else has, or constantly laboring just to gain more for oneself.  He says that both are worthless pursuits – “grasping for the wind.”

Verses 9-12

This stresses the importance of human companionship.  Although God truly is all we need, He gave us other people for a reason – because it was “not good for man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18).  God wants us to have friends, to have people who will hold us up and who we can do the same for.  They can help us in practical matters and in spiritual matters.

Verses 13

Age and status and wealth are not important – wisdom matters more.  As my professor says often, “You can have a wise young person, and you can have an old fool.”

Ecclesiastes Part 3

This one is pretty short...


Ecclesiastes Chapter Three

Verses 1-8

Everything has a time and a purpose on earth – even things that have bad connotations, such as death, mourning, killing, and hatred.  Although this was not God’s original plan, these things are now present in His creation.  But God is telling us that even these things can be used by Him – even these things have a time and a purpose.  In giving a positive and its corresponding negative, we are reminded that when we are in bad times, there is a purpose for them, and that there will be a time for good times again in the future.  This also serves as a reminder in the good times that there will be bad times – we shouldn’t waste our time in meaningless pleasures (though there is nothing wrong with enjoying life), and instead enjoy and treasure those times and use them to distress.

Verse 11

God puts eternity in our hearts – He lets us know that this life is not the only one, but that there is life after death, and He causes us to naturally have a desire for that.  Also, He makes everything beautiful in its time – He can make things beautiful that we do not think of as beautiful.  And even the things we think of as beautiful, if we try to do them out of context and not in their time, they will not be beautiful.

“A Time for Hate”

God tells us through Solomon that there is a time for hate, and yet years later, Jesus tells us that we are not to hate anyone, and that we are to love even our enemies.  I think that maybe he is talking about a hatred for things, not people.  We are allowed to hate, but we are not allowed to hate people.  Exempli gratia, we can hate a person’s sin, but not the actual person.

Ecclesiastes Part 2

Here is the next chapter! (By the way, if you're reading this, it might make more sense if you read the corresponding chapter along with it).

Ecclesiastes Chapter Two

Verses 1-11

Solomon sought out many riches; he acquired many things to give him pleasure.  He had everything he could possibly want, and his heart rejoiced.  But he says that this was his only reward – the temporary pleasure from his possessions.  There was no lasting reward; it was all worthless.  He asks what laughter accomplishes – what was the point of the pleasure he had found?  Did it accomplish any good?  He says that it didn’t – it was all vanity.

Verse 3

This verse seems to support the idea that there are conflicting interests within us.  If we are followers of God, then our hearts will seek Him – we will want His wisdom.  Yet at the same time, our flesh still desires the things of this earth.  With the following verses, he seems to include desiring pleasurable things (such as many possessions) as a fleshy desire that will not satisfy.  I think he is saying that you cannot follow both, just like in the New Testament where we are told that we cannot serve two masters.

Verses 12-16

In life, the wise excels the fool, just as light is superior to darkness (13).  But he says that the same things happen to everyone (12, 15-16), whether they are wise or foolish.  Their lives will come to an end the same, and they will be forgotten the same, for everything that is now will be forgotten in the days to come.

Verses 17-21

He hated life because everything that was done on earth he saw as worthless.  Everything we do must be left behind for the ones who come after us, be they wise or fools.  Our work done in wisdom may be left to a fool and this made Solomon hate all that he had done in wisdom, because it would be left to another.  We labor hard and have to leave it to someone else who has done nothing for it.

Verses 22-26

Life is sorrowful, all the time, therefore we should enjoy our labor and all the things we receive, for God gives those who follow Him this ability.  I think he is saying that without this ability, then our lives will always be sorrowful.  So enjoyment of life through God is the best thing for a person (24).  To the person who God does not see as good, he gives labor as well, but He gives the fruit of His work to the good.

Solomon says that all of this is vanity and grasping for the wind – yet he says it is something ordained by God; something caused for the benefit of His followers… Is he just saying that their attempts to labor for themselves and not for God are worthless because God will take from them what they gain?  Perhaps he is saying that it is meaningless and useless to not turn to God and be satisfied.  For when we do, we are then able to enjoy what we have attained.

Ecclesiastes

     I've been reading the book of Ecclesiastes recently in the Bible.  I've always liked that book, for some reason.  This time I decided to write about it as well.  It's mostly been to help me remember it and to figure out for myself what I think it is talking about, but I decided to share what I've been writing.  This is from chapter 1 and I'm going to do my best to post another chapter every day.  And if you read this, comments would be awesome, because I would love to hear if you agree or disagree with my perception of Solomon's words in this book.  And there are some things that I completely do not understand at times, and would love to know if you do!

Ecclesiastes Chapter One

Verses 1-11

The earth continues on, but humans are only here a short time; then they are gone.  No one does anything new, and nothing new can be found on earth, for it has already been done.  But no one remembers the things that have already happened, just as no one will remember the things of the future once they too have become things of the past.

Verse 8

It was talking about the labor of the earth, and says this: “All things are full of labor; man cannot express it.  The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.”  I think this is just saying that we are not satisfied with just watching the world; that we want to experience things for ourselves.  After this verse, it talks about how nothing is new, and yet no one remembers that it has already happened.  I think Solomon is saying that we aren’t happy only seeing that someone else has done it, so we choose to forget what happened before us.

Verses 12-18

“For in much wisdom is much grief, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow.” (v. 18)

Does Solomon not appreciate the gift of wisdom that he asked for and received from God?  Maybe he does appreciate it, but at the same time, with all his knowledge and wisdom he knows of all the evil that goes on in the world, therefore he is lamenting the fact that with this gift also came the curse of knowing of all the evil going on beyond his control (He says later in Chapter Three that “in the place of judgment, wickedness was there; and in the place of righteousness, iniquity was there.”  He wishes he did not have the realization that there is so little good “under the sun” and that in its place is sin and wickedness).  Because of his wisdom, he has been able to see all of the worthless pursuits on earth (14), and it seems as though he wonders if seeking wisdom is simply another worthless pursuit because of this “curse” it brings with it (17, 18).

“Grasping for the Wind”

Solomon uses the phrase “grasping for the wind” throughout the entire book of Ecclesiastes, saying about nearly everything he talks about that it is “vanity and grasping for the wind.”  He is saying that these things are useless pursuits; attempts that always fail.  You can feel the wind, but you can never hold it.  He’s talking about worthless pursuits – you can work at it all you want, but you will never achieve your goal.

Can one take hold of the wind?  Can one grasp it firmly in his grip?  Indeed, the wind clearly exists, but cannot be captured – it can be felt, but never held.

Love Poem

I wrote a "Love Poem" two days ago.  I don't know if that's actually what it would be classified as, but I know that songs about love are called love songs, so I decided that this was a love poem.  I have no idea why I wrote this, since I'm not in love. And it doesn't even have a name. Yet.


It might be love, it might be hate
I might know now, I might know late
You're driving me crazy and I cannot tell
If that's good or bad till I know you well

I'm starting to think this might be a good feeling -
All I know is that you've left me reeling

I can't escape these frequent thoughts of you
But I cannot tell if these feelings are true
It's too soon to tell, but I know it will be
Not long before I know if you're the one for me

I think I may be in love with you, but I cannot tell - yet
All I know is that you stole my heart that moment we first met

The Unforseen and Entirely Inevitable

The Unforeseen and the Entirely Inevitable

    Have you ever been excited about something, when over time what you thought was going to happen changed into something very different that was going to happen? Something that you weren't entirely thrilled about? But you already knew it needed to be done, so you are you going to do it anyway, deciding to make the best of it. You assume that once it is happening, once this change has occurred and you are in this new situation, that you will be happier about it than you were when you were looking ahead to something that had not yet happened.  At first, it is exactly as you had planned. The change is great, but so much is going on that you don't have time to miss the way things used to be. Life goes on. You think, "It is just like I said: I really am fine now that I am here."

     But you are not actually fine. For a short time you are fine. You had thought it would stay that way, but the feeling of contentment fades with time and you do miss the way it used to be. And yet you don't. You don't really want it to go back to exactly the way it was before, because you love some things about this new life. But at the same time as you feel this love, you feel pain about other things that you do not love about this new life. Things such as the loneliness. Those are the things that you do want to go back to how they used to be. But you know that nothing will ever be the same - nothing. It will never go back to what used to be normal. This is the new normal. And it kills you to think of it that way. You feel as though depression is waiting at the doorstep. Every once in a while, it actually makes its way into your life - into your heart and mind and you sit down and cry out your pain until the tears no longer come and you sit in silence, with the same amount off pain as before, because the tears do nothing to console your hurting heart. And so instead, you look to other things besides tears.

     You begin to compose. You compose a string of words that does not in any way truly express the way you feel, and yet it is the closest you can get to it. And still it does not do your pain justice. It does not do your loneliness justice. You wonder as you come up with these words and record them, if all of this is your own fault. It is your personality and your own choices that caused you to be in this position in the first place, is it not? Surely it must be. For no one else put you here. And so you blame yourself. Who else's fault could it be? None but your own. So you come to the end of your composition, feeling alone and having no one to blame and hating yourself and who you have become and who you have been in the past. You don't want things to go back to how they were and you don't want things to stay the same. You are a selfish, undeserving person. Of course you do not have what you want - you are never happy with what you do have. And so you end, understanding better your problem, feeling worse about yourself, with your depression intact but less overwhelming, with no solution whatsoever.

September 18

Understanding

Understanding

     I made my way to my grandmother’s house, tears running down my face.  I had never been in such a dilemma before in my life.  For this dilemma concerned love and I had never found myself in such a position before.  And to be sure, dilemmas concerning love are the worst ever to arise.  I was in love with David.  But he had nothing to offer me, and my family wanted me to marry man, Aaron, for whom I felt no attraction.  But David had asked me to marry him, and upon telling him my parents’ objections to the marriage, he asked me to wait for him until he could find better way to support us.  I wanted to wait for him.  In truth, I was willing to marry him right now.  But my parents were against it.  They felt that love had no part in a marriage arrangement.  This was obvious in their own marriage.  I did not want to take their advice because they had never been happy in their lives.

     At the same time, I wasn’t sure why I was going to Grandmother for advice.  The old woman who lived outside of town was not really my grandmother, and was old enough that she could be my great-grandmother.  She had never been married and had no children.  But with the absence of a grandmother of my own, and her with the absence of grandchildren of her own, we had adopted each other.  I loved her as dearly as though we were related by blood, and she loved me the same way.  She was also my closest friend, and the one from whom I most readily accepted advice.  So I suppose that it was out of habit that I walked to her house when I was posed with a problem so great that it left me in tears.  But she had never married.  How could she help me?  How would she ever understand what I was going through?

     I knocked on her door frantically upon my arrival and brushed the tears from my face with the sleeve of my coat.  She called me in, for the door was never locked.  She had long ago told me to simply walk in whenever I arrived, but I had never gotten used to the idea.  It had been ingrained in my mind that you did not walk into someone else’s house without first knocking and being admitted.  I entered her quaint little house and it looked the same as it always did: the little entryway dimly lit by candles, for the old woman had never liked the idea of electricity and had kept her candles long after everyone else had stopped using them.  This led into a brighter kitchen with white walls and a cheery blue flower pattern that she had painted herself when she was younger.  There was a window above her little sink from which the light was coming and an old wood stove sat to one side of the room.  I walked into this room, for I knew it was where she would be on a cold day like this – sitting in her kitchen in front of the stove, reading a book while waiting for her stew to be done, or perhaps trying to sketch or paint as she used to, becoming frustrated that she couldn’t hold her hands steady anymore.  We had had many discussions about this and it was then that I felt the most sorry for her.  She had such a passion for something for which she no longer had a talent.  It made me so sad.

     When I walked in, she was there in her rocker, reading, just as I had imagined.  It made me smile, despite my sadness.  She smiled at me and offered me a seat.  I sat down at the little table in the one and only chair.  She stood, placing her book on the table and retrieved a pan from a cupboard, filled it with water and placed it on the stove.  She was making me tea.  She always did that if I was upset when I came to visit.  And she always knew when I was upset.  Tears sprung back into my eyes.

     She didn’t speak to me until my tea was made, but the silence was not uncomfortable.  It never was.  When it had finished steeping, she placed the tea in front of me, sat back down in her rocker and looked at me.

     “What is it, Erin?” she asked me.

     I sipped my steaming tea and did not reply for a moment.  How could I explain this?  But at last I spoke, telling her what was wrong, telling her of my extreme dilemma, as I gripped my hot cup of tea in my cold hands and tears blurred my vision of the old woman sitting across from me.

     She reached across the table with her shaking hands and put them on top of mine around the cup.  “You love him, don’t you?”

     I nodded my head, unable to speak because of the sobs that racked my body.  She held my hands like that until I quieted, all the while not speaking a word, her presence alone being enough comfort.

     At last I looked at her through eyes free of tears.  I had done the right thing in coming.  I would drink my tea, and go home.  I would be no closer to a solution, but I would go with the knowledge that someone cared, whatever option I chose.

     “I’m going to tell you a story,” she said.

     “Alright,” I replied.  I loved Grandmother’s stories.  I had heard some of them multiple times, but it never bothered me to hear them again.  She told me of all the happy times of her life, and of the sad ones as well.  I wondered why she felt the need right now to tell me a story, but I did not ask.  Instead I settled in my chair as she let go of my hands and sat back in her own, pulling a knitted blanket onto her lap to keep out the cold that seeped into the house from outside, and began her story.

~~~~~

     There was a time when I was in love.  James was the man of my dreams.  Or so I thought at the time.  I had been enamored with him from my childhood, and as I grew older, I was sure that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.  When we were younger, he paid me no attention, for he was the recipient of every girl in town’s affection, and he knew it.  He was the handsomest boy, and later man, that my town ever saw.  He knew that as well, I suppose.  And he was one of the richest men as well.

     But one summer, the summer of my seventeenth birthday, I caught his eye.  I’m not sure why, for there were plenty of girls prettier and of higher status than I.  I guess it was ingrained in all of us poor folks’ minds that the girls had to marry someone rich to have a good life.  And James was certainly rich.  We never officially courted, and I suppose I should have seen that as a warning.  But he spent his every second with me and told me every day that he loved me.  I should have seen it then the way he looked at other girls, the way he talked to other girls, the way he let his hand linger in theirs as he helped them out of a carriage.  Although I saw it with my eyes, I couldn’t see with my mind, or rather denied, that I really was not anything special to this man who had everything and knew it.

     At the end of that summer, he left for college and before he did, he told me he would be back for me.  I was so happy, thinking how proud everyone would be that I had found someone with money and status for myself.

     Around this time, Peter came to our town.  He wasn’t a very rich man, but he was hard-working and was pleasant to be around.  He began spending time with me and I found myself attracted to his personality, for to be quite honest there was nothing else attractive about him at all.  But he was poor and I could not get out of the mindset that I must find someone rich to have a happy life.  And besides, my James was coming back for me, and he was everything that everyone else wanted me to have.

     James came home for Christmas and brought with him a young woman from his school.  My heart was shattered as I saw the disgustingly beautiful girl descend from the carriage, holding his hand.  But he released her hand and ran to me, smiling, telling me how wonderful it was to see me and that his classmate, Colleen had returned with him because she wanted to see the town.  He insisted they were no more than friends, and my hurt and anger melted beneath the gaze of his stunning blue eyes and I smiled back at him.  I told myself I had to not care about it, because he was what I needed.

     On Christmas day, James asked me to marry him, and I was surprised at the hesitation in my voice when I replied yes, and it ran through my mind, do I really want this?  But I assured myself that of course I did and returned his loving embrace after my acceptance.  The entire town was happy about our engagement, except for several jealous young women.  And except for Peter.  But I hardly noticed either.  I was too consumed with thinking about what I wonderful life I would have and all of things I would have that I could never have were I to marry someone any less rich.

     In January, after James had returned to college and I to my life, Peter left town.  He moved with hardly a word to anyone.  I was surprised at the emotion I felt when I heard he had left.  I missed our deep discussions we had had, all those conversations where we had seemed to connect so well and understand exactly what the other person meant, and I realized that I had never had that with James.  All of our time had been spent in flirtatious behavior and proclamations of love – a love I had never felt.

     I was very confused over the next week, when it all came to an end.  I received a letter in the mail from James telling me that he was very sorry, but he had to break off our engagement.  He told me, “It turns out that Colleen and I have more in common than I originally thought and we think it would be best if we marry.  I’m sorry if this is in anyway an inconvenience.”

     Inconvenience.  It was much more than that.  My heart was shattered.  The one whom I had thought loved me and whom I had thought I loved was no longer a part of my life.  And even worse, because of my distraction with him, and my desire to live up to everyone else’s standards, I had let slip away the one who really did love me and whom I now realized I truly loved as well.

~~~~~

     Tears had come to my eyes again.  But this time they were not from self-pity, but for sorrow for what she had suffered.  Out of all the stories this wise old woman had told me, this was not one of them.  She had mentioned no love interest in her life.  She had never once mentioned romance.  I wondered if it was because it was too painful.

     “Grandmother…” I whispered, but got no further.

     “I know, you never thought I was in love,” she said knowingly.  “But I never felt the need to burden you with the story.  And it isn’t something I enjoy thinking about.  But sometimes the things we enjoy the least are what someone else needs to hear the most.  Just as you needed to hear that.”

     “What should I do then?” I asked.

     “Don’t try and live up to what everyone else expects.  David is a good man, a better man than Aaron could ever be.  Ultimately it is your decision.  But marry for nothing less than what is right and for love.”

     “Thank you,” I whispered.  “And I’m so sorry about Peter…”

     “Don’t be sorry,” my grandmother said to me.  “I have regretted those decisions for years.  But you needed to hear that story.  If it was only for that reason – to see that you do not make the same mistake – that I have lived with my regret all these years, than it is worth it to me.  Do not be sorry, my beautiful granddaughter, for I no longer feel regret.  You have given my mistakes a reason.”

Ephemeral

Ephemeral

So many times I find joy over time, yet find frustration easier.  The joy fades in the light, or rather darkness, of my discouragement.

Why do I let go this joy so easily?  Why do I not hold it close to myself as the treasured possession it is and never let go, for it was meant to last forever?

I know the discouragements will come, but why must they overpower the joy?  Why are they stronger than this beauty I have been given?

The joy should be stronger, everlasting, and not weak and destroyed by frustration’s powerful hand.

But the joy is stronger.  It is never destroyed.  The joy outlasts the frustration, for those evils are short-lived, though often in coming, and this beauty is eternal and ever-present.

The discouragements are not stronger than the joy.  Indeed, it is not the joy that they overpower, but I.

For I refuse to hold onto the joy.  When distractions come into view, my eyes leave the joy.  The joy, this beauty, this gift, falls from my frightened hands.

The joy is still there.  There at my feet.  If only I would but glance down and retrieve it.  But instead I stand fixated by what I fear most.

If only I would turn away, for in so doing it would lose its power over me.  For these distractions are passing.  If I would stay focused on the joy, they would not matter to me at all.

Indeed, should I truly appreciate this joy, I would scorn at any frustration’s attempt to tear my eyes away from the beauty I hold in my heart.

Song of a Lover

     I wrote a new poem today.  It's not in my usual style...I don't even know what style this is.  But I think that reading poetry in my literature class has made me want to write some. So as I sat down to eat a bowl of Spaghettios this afternoon in my dorm room, I felt inspired to write something, and so I picked up a pen and grabbed some nearby paper (there's always paper nearby), and began to write. This is what I came up with, though I cannot in anyway relate to this poem, especially since the person speaking seem to have no hope, something I do have in Christ.  I was almost finished, when I happened to look at the time and realized that I was already five minutes late for class, so I ran to class (not literally. But I did walk quickly), taking my poem with me and finished the last three lines in class.  And here it is…

Song of a Lover

Oh, to hear the words of your sad song once more,

As you sang it on that day, early in the morn.

The words oft replay in my head, but alas, ne’er aloud.

This silence hangs over my life, eternally an oppressive cloud.

The world closes in on me, now that you are no more;

The dreams of night make me lonely, and wakefulness, forlorn.

For whether in dream or waking thought, my plea remains the same:

That life and passion would return to you, and your heart would again be aflame.

I cry to the empty air; I turn to the east and to the west,

But none can give me my desire; none fulfill my one request.

I wish to see you breathe again; to smile at me and sing –

A pleasant song as you used to, as you watched the birds take wing.

You sang a sorrowful song that morning, as if you already knew

That your life would end that day; in moments your life would be through.

Even your voice singing that sad song, my desire would satiate,

But your lifelessness and silence tell me that such will not be my fate.

The Feeling

     Time for another poem, I guess. From last year. Probably like November, not exactly sure though.  I'm not really going to explain why I wrote this poem, but yes, it was my feeling at the time. And that's what it is called. The Feeling.

The Feeling

I wish I wouldn’t lie to myself ever again,

And that the way that I feel, didn’t feel like a sin.

The hurt I feel inside,

This feeling’s made me cry.

I don’t know if it is wrong.

Why does this take so long?

Will this feeling ever fade?

That it will remain makes me afraid.

I say that none of it bothers me,

But it doesn’t take a lot to see

That when I tell myself it’s fine,

That alone is the lie.

Streamside Twilight

     The stream continued to rush by the same as ever, unaffected by the darkening sky, the only difference as the night drew closer being perhaps the seeming elevation in noise from the water because of the silence of the evening.  The small amount of light that remained glinted on the water’s surface and you could see little ripples being pushed toward the edge, despite the main current carrying the water downstream toward the little waterfall, which was really nothing more than a very slight incline in the rocks that the stream ran across.  There was small rock jutting out of the water partway down the incline, causing the water to spray into the air a few inches as it was pressed into the obstruction by the fairly swift current, giving the appearance of a miniature fountain in the midst of the stream.  The light continued to fade, but it was difficult to notice when completely absorbed in the stream itself.  But upon drawing one’s eyes from its darkened yet still shining surface, it was obvious that the world was growing ever darker, something that would be depressing except for the fact that it was too beautiful to sadden and there is always the hope of light the next day.

Discouragement by the Deception of Description

     Sometimes I have this great desire to write – to describe something beautiful that I wish to remember.  But when I think about it, I get discouraged and choose to look at it only rather than trying to put it into words, for I feel inside me that no words I could ever use would do what I am seeing justice.  Its beauty is beyond words.  How can you write about a sunset or a sunrise and expect it to be accurate?  You could use the best words in your description and it would still not sound as beautiful as it really is.  Why write about something when my words would not truly describe what I wish them to, and when they would instead deceive people, leading them to believe that its beauty was at a certain level, when really it is far above?

The Evening

     Wind blew gently through the grass, causing the blades to wave back and forth – an endless sea of green in constant motion.  Although the wind was not strong, it managed still to move ever so softly through the low-hanging evergreen branches, making it appear as though they had minds of their own – as though they were long, green fingers reaching down to the earth.  The wind would grow slightly stronger ever so often, and as it did, the speed in which those green branches moved would increase, as would how quickly the tiny blades of grass moved.  And that was when you could hear it.  You could hear the sound of the wind.  It was a soft sound, a sound which is hard to describe.  It was calming, yet exhilarating.  It could make you feel relaxed, and yet excited by the wonder of it at the same time.

     The sky was not its typical blue, but instead it appeared to be a white or a light gray, and was still just as beautiful.  Clouds floated by quickly in the air overhead, but seemed to hold no threat of a storm.  The wind picked up once more, bringing with it a bit of a chill as the temperature decreased with the progression of the evening.

     There were many crickets there.  Though they remained hidden from sight, it was easy to hear them in the relative silence, as they all joined together to create their unique song.  The smell of the grass was strong and sweet if you were close enough to it.  It possessed such a beautiful smell.

     You can still hear the wind.  You can feel it on your skin and blowing through your hair.  You can hear the crickets.  You can see the grass waving in the breeze and the branches doing the same.  And now I will leave you to imagine it for yourself…

That Which is Inside

     Sometimes I'm not sure why I write what I write...sometimes what I write is rather morbid. This is about holding onto secrets, I supppose.  Secrets that tear us apart from the inside out when we refuse to let them cease being secrets and tell someone; when we refuse to trust anyone with our hurt or guilt or whatever it may be that plagues us.

     Have you ever felt as though there are things that you  can't tell anyone?  And it builds up inside, trying to get out, screaming as loud as it can while you hold your tongue.  It's desperate to get out; you want the comfort of knowing that someone else knows.  But you say nothing and you feel as though it might kill you.  What is inside tries to.  It's desperate to kill you with the knowledge you possess, or at the very least torture you until you open your mouth at last.  Your tongue is bloodied from your teeth sinking into it one too many times, trying to prevent what's inside screaming from turning into your voice screaming out the same words.  The emotions you feel spill out regardless, but they are unexplained as you refuse to tell anyone still.
     The secrets are there.  They are so present and with such great potency that they hurt.  Relief would come in the telling.  But what would come when you received a reaction?  What would anyone's response be to what you hold inside?  Surely none could understand.  Surely they will judge you.  It is not the telling we fear, but what comes after it.  For too many times, people do not understand what it is that we have told them.  Or they don't understand its importance to us and treat it trivially.  Is that just a chance we have to take?  Is it worth it to be rid of the torment within?  Will it rid us of the torment within?
     Our hearts may not last if we hold it much longer.  They threaten to break at the silence.  But there is only silence on the outside.  On the inside are tormented screams.  And if we stay silent much longer, either the screams will come from our mouths as well as our hearts, and the whole world may know what torments us, or the screams will fade to soft whispers that we ignore as our hearts turn to stone and we embrace the distrust of all and the love of no one.

Love Perfected

     For lack of anything better to post, I'm going to put on another poem I wrote a while ago!  Because I don't want to just stop writing anything on here, like I did before. At least this is something.
     I wrote this one, again, in November, 2010. I called it Love Perfected because of the theme throughout of God's perfect love, and how hard it is sometimes to realize that His really is a perfect love. Love in our world is so imperfect, often broken, untrue. But God took what we fail at and perfected it.  He perfected love.

Love Perfected

When my world falls apart,
Yours holds together.
Your world is not my world -
They are different from each other.
In my world I am alone,
Away from You.
In Yours is only love,
And You want me there too.

You want us to unite,
But instead I choose to fight.
Because the love You offer confuses me.
How could I be loved so perfectly?

There is no perfect love,
But Yours seems so close to that.
You died so I could live -
I can't understand that.
This is perfect love.
It's found in You alone - You are the only way.
And although I've chosen life,
It seems I die every day.

If only I would trust You.
But I don't truly trust You.
I know it's my decision,
But I fear I face collision.

I know I cannot truly see
All Your love has done for me.
This perfect love, how could it be
That you would pour it out on me?
I proclaim to follow You,
I'm not embarrassed of Your truth.
And yet somehow it seems so unreal.
Oh, God, teach me how to feel!

I only hold pieces of my life,
The rest I give to You.
I hold these pieces back,
But I know You want them too.
Why won't I give them up,
And let go of this control?
Because I have been hurt,
But You could make me whole.

I must die to my life,
Live only through Your life.
I want to learn to trust You.
I want to give it all to You.

Teach me how to give.
Teach me how to live.
Teach me how to die.
Make me whole inside.

Starting College

     So I'm going to start college this fall.  I started last year, but I only went half time, taking only a few classes each semester.  This year I start FOR REAL. Full time. Living on campus. I don't even know yet who my roommate will be, or if I'll even have one. I'm excited of course, and I made a few friends last year, and I will be so happy to see them.  But this is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, I think. It wasn't going to be so bad, because my brother was going to be there, and he is one of the best friends I could ever have. But now he has decided to transfer and he and I will no longer be attending the same school.  He'll be living on campus at another school, so we may not even see each other much. Also, a few of my other friends have left as well, and I didn't exactly have that many friends up there to begin with, partly because I didn't live there last year like everyone else did, and partly because of how shy I am.  And of the friends I do have, I'm not even sure if some of them will talk to me (there are a few who I know will, and I'm eternally grateful to them).  So I'm kind of scared, I guess you could say. I know that I stayed with friends a lot last year, so I'm used to staying at school, but it will be weird to not have a certain time that I know, "I'm going home such and such day," because that will kind of be home then.
     I'm going to miss my family once I'm there. I was homeschooled. I'm not used to being away from my family for a long time. I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually, but it will be weird at first.  I'm going to miss my friends.  I wouldn't see them quite as much anyway, even if I wasn't going off to college, just because they would be in school and all, but last year, I still saw my friends at church and such, or wherever I knew them from. Most of my friends live where I live, or close by. I'm not going to have a car on campus, I don't even know if I'll have my license by then, so I can't just drive and go see people. I'm just going to be stuck there.
     And then there is the fact that my parents want to move, sometime in November, I think. I've lived in the same house for sixteen years - for as long as I can remember. It will be strange to live somewhere else. I have to have all of my stuff packed before I leave for school in 24 days, rather than just the stuff I'm taking to college with me. When I come back for Christmas break, after the first semester, I'll move back into a new house. And again, I will miss my friends. I don't know for sure how far my parents are moving, but we won't be in the same city and I'm going to miss everyone so much.
     And I'll be taking five classes this fall, rather than two or three at a time. I think I'll do okay, but it will be different from last year, and very different from the years before that during which I was homeschooled. So I'm a little worried about the academic side of things.
     So, I don't really know what my point in all this was. I think it was mostly to get it off my chest. To tell someone without having to actually say all of that to someone in real life. I'm really nervous about school, and I keep praying that everything will work out alright. I guess it usually does. Somehow. So hopefully it will this time.

Writing, Truth, and Other Important Things

     So my thoughts wander around a lot in this one…I just thought I would warn you…
And also, I wrote this on July 31, but didn't have internet till now, so I wasn't able to post it then.

     Recently I have felt very little need to write, as though I have less to say than I used to.  I still have a great desire to write, but the words simply don’t come.  Perhaps if someone told me something specific to write about, then I would find the words to say and could write again.  But I have not been able to think of anything worth writing about recently.  And yet, I am the same.  And if I am the same, then why do I not feel the same?  Why do I not feel the same need as I used to, and write the same as I used to?  I still feel the same emotions; I feel them just as strongly, and yet the need to describe them is simply not there.

     For a time, I wrote of almost everything – the way I felt, my thoughts; I wrote about people I knew, I wrote about things I did.  I would write about God, I would write stories.  I would write truth and I would write fiction.  And yet, even the fiction was in a way the truth.  For even if the story itself was make-believe, the values behind them, the thoughts and emotions of a character were real to someone – there was someone in the world feeling that way.  Unless something is illogical, it is truth.  Even if it is not completely true, there is truth in it.  That’s the way I see it anyway.  Even if something has been made up, if the values, beliefs and feelings behind it are true, then there is truth contained even in fictitious writing.

     But anyway, back to what I was saying… Although I haven’t felt as though I needed to write much recently, this is something I felt a need to write.  I felt a desire.  And I wrote it.  It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, certainly not.  But it is writing.  And at this point, I care very little what I write; just that I write at all encourages me.  Though something I do very much wish to write in is my book.  I haven’t written anything probably for a couple weeks.  I’ve done that before, of course, and normally it wouldn’t bother me too much, but I’ve done this so much recently.  I had really wanted to finish it this summer, and I can see now that with only 27 days until school starts, that is not going to happen this summer.

     To be honest, the only reason I write anything like this is to inspire myself to write more.  It used to work, but it has not lately. I enjoy writing it, but I hope as I write that it will give me inspiration to write more, that it will put me in a mood to write more imaginative things…things such as my book.  But lately, it has not worked.  Instead, my mind just wanders from subject to subject and I write it all down and come up with some jumbled mess of words such as what you have just read…

Lost

     This is another poem I wrote, also in November of last year, I believe. Not everyone always understands what I wrote this poem to mean, but it is about someone who is lost at last finding a Savior in Jesus Christ, something about which I am passionate, and which is the theme of many of my poems and writings. For Jesus has saved my soul and one of my greatest desire is to bring others to Him, so that they will find what He has given to me.

Lost

This blinding light is killing me,

Take it away so no one can see

All those things that I regret,

Things if You saw, You’d never forget.

Invisible in darkness,

I appreciate this blindness.

But this light lets You see

Everything I’ve hid within me,

That’s invisible to all but me;

My guilt for this, it is my fee.

Why must I face it?

I can’t erase it.

The guilt inside tries to kill me;

Just destroy me.

It’s myself I despise,

For believing all their lies.

My heart is exposed to You,

But I realize now that You already knew

Of all the things I tried to hide,

That destroy me from the inside.

Maybe this light is saving me,

My eyes are opened, I’ve begun to see –

Though You knew all I’ve done, You loved me the same;

This light alone can take it away.

The Truth About Lies

     So I've decided to start posting some of the poems I've written in the past. I hadn't written any since I was probably fourteen, I think, and then in november of last year, I randomly wrote a poem. Not all of my poems are actually inspired by how I feel, but this was one that was. I named it "The Truth About Lies" and it's still one of my favorites that I have written...if having a favorite of something you have written yourself is allowed...


The Truth About Lies

The lies are easy to believe,
Because what they offer you want to receive.
But in the end they make you cry,
Because in the end a lie is a lie.

Finding the truth seems to kill,
But the truth is just the lie without all the frills
That cover the truth, disguising the lie,
Making it seem like it's worth you time.

You're tired of all those pleasing lies,
Those things they say, that you like but don't find.
Now you only want to know the truths,
And you find that they told you very few.

The truth may bring pain,
But search for it just the same.
Don't live for a lie,
It's not worth your life.

If you look for the truth, you always will find it.
Don't waste your time - you cannot rewind it.

The Inability to Write

     I wrote this awhile ago. I wrote it because I was desperate to write something, as I often am, and yet could think of nothing else to write, something that also happens to me quite often.  I don't always write in this style...probably only because it's just not always fitting, because I'd have to admit, it's my favorite way to write...

     There are few things that I actually hate, though I have many dislikes.  But there is one thing that I hate and despise more than almost anything else, with a burning passion from deep within my very soul, and that is the inability to write.  I loathe with every fiber of my being that moment in which I so desire to write and yet not a word comes to mind, or at least none worth saying, much less worth writing.
     So many times, I have in mind what I want to write, yet still the words do not come.  At times I am able to write other words, though not what I truly desire to write - but that is the lesser concern of the two circumstances having to do with this most hated situation in which I find myself far too often.  The worse of the two is when I do not even care what it is that I write, I merely feel I need to write something, this usually occurring when I am not in the best state of mind, and often need to write to quell the tears that either already fall from my eyes or at the very least threaten to at any moment, and to suppress the feelings of hurt or sorrow or anguish that consume my heart and mind.  And that most hated condition, that of the inability to write, enters my life once more and I have no way to let go my grief as I am unable to express myself.

The Confession

It's been a very long time since I posted anything. I'm not sure how good I am at this...But anyway. I spent about two hours last night, writing a poem. Someone asked me to post it here, and therefore I am. I'm really not sure what inspired me to write this, and when I began it, I wasn't even sure exactly what it would be about. But here it is...

The Confession

In the event that you should find me,

Read me carefully, read me slowly.

I am a letter of confession,

Of dire need and of depression.

There are secrets some would seek;

But I hold those none desire.

I contain tales of the weak

And of one who is a liar.

Though you’ll never know of whom I speak,

For the one who penned me remains unknown,

Read, and find that which you do not seek,

So in my knowledge I will not be alone.

On this paper, stained with tears,

And in this ink, filled with fears,

I bring you a tale of dark mystery

From not so ancient history.

It tells of a battle of a soul;

In itself it did fight.

Within its dark and empty hole,

The darkness fought the light.

The darkness within never ceased to fight,

And the light’s existence it forever denied.

This soul lived in blackness and self-obsession,

Convinced of satisfaction with its possession.

For the darkness possessed it

And its attention arrested.

It saw the light as a distraction

Away from true satisfaction.

But even with a life that seemed so perfect,

The soul was unsatisfied still

And after endless nights of torment,

It sought the light it had desired to kill.

The light claimed possession

Of a soul in dire need.

The darkness went into recession,

And the soul was finally freed.

Released from its possessor,

It not becomes this confessor.

For the darkness in which it formerly hid,

Of it this soul is now eternally rid.

And now this soul’s deepest confession:

When filled with darkness and depression,

The light it continuously fought,

When this soul to save was all it sought.

The Origin of Evil

     This was what I was thinking about today and I decided to write it down, so I thought I would post it here.

     Without the existence of evil, how can there be good?  Therefore, did God create the evil in the world as well?  And if He did not, then who did create it?  Who else has the power to create?  Satan was the “origin” of evil, but if we accredit him with the creation of evil, is that not taking away the sovereignty of God?  The word “create” is defined as “to bring something into existence.”  If one being that was created itself can also bring something into existence from nothing, then who is to say that we all can’t?  And if all have this ability, then who is the Lord that He should be God?  I believe that although God did not create evil itself, for everything He made was good, I believe that He allowed the ability for us to do evil.  He created the choice that we all have to make between good and evil, a choice that we face every day.  When we choose the wrong thing – when we choose evil over good – the evil actions we commit and the consequences of those actions are a result of the choice that God created.  In other words, the evil that comes when we sin is a product of the choice.  God did not create the evil, nor did we.  It is a result of something God created that we have twisted and used in a wrong way.  We could always choose the good, which is what God intended for us to do, but we don’t always, and this results in evil.  God provided us with this choice between the two, because without it, it would mean nothing that we always followed Him.  We could do nothing else, because there would be no other option.  We couldn’t love God if we didn’t have the option to not love Him, because He would be forcing us to love Him, which is not love at all.

May 16, 2011

     Tomorrow it will have two years since I began writing something longer than I’ve ever written before.  When I started writing, I had no clue where it was going to go; I didn’t know if I would ever even finish writing it, or if it would be like all the rest and I would eventually run out of things to write in it.  But soon after I started it, I realized that, regardless of if I finished it or not, it was the most important writing project I had ever worked on, and possibly the most important I ever will.  And somehow it made me feel that because of that, I would finish it.  And even though two years later, I have yet to finish this book I have begun, I still believe that I will one day finish it.  I gave this book to God.  I gave it to Him when I realized that it was His reply to the prayer I prayed the day before I began writing – the prayer I prayed exactly two years ago today.  I had stood thinking of all the people who don’t know what I know, don’t have what I have – the people who don’t know God, the people that don’t have Him in their lives.  It brought me to tears, and I knew I wanted to do more than I was currently to show them what I know, so that they could know as well, so that they could have what I have gained in Christ.  But I didn’t know how I could possibly reach as many people as I wanted to.  In fact, I didn’t know how I could reach anyone – I came in contact with few people during that time, and I didn’t know how I could make an impact on anyone’s life, especially with the difficulty I had, and still have to an extent, with talking to people I don’t know very well.  I can be extremely shy.  But I knew that God can do anything He wants to, and so I prayed through my tears for the lost that God would use me however He saw fit, and that I would be able to reach out to those without Him and be able to say what I needed to, even though it was difficult for me.  I wrote down my prayer to Him and the date: May 16, 2009.

     The very next day I began writing a story.  I had come up with the idea for this particular tale years earlier, but that day, I actually began writing it.  I thought nothing of starting a new story, because I started them so often.  I never finished them, but I started so many, that one more didn’t seem like a big deal.  But as time went on, and I began to write more and more, I thought maybe I would actually finish a story I began.  I began to hope that I would, and that God would use it for His glory, as my book is a story about God, in a way.

     One day I looked in a notebook I had and saw my prayer that I had written to God months earlier.  I realized then that I had asked God to use me, and to show me what I could do for Him the day before I began writing the book I now very much wanted God to use.  I knew it was His answer.  He will use my book somehow.  Something good will come of me writing it, I am certain.  Even if I never finish it, I think He would still find a way to use it.  That is my prayer – that God would use this book for His purposes.  I believe that He will, as long as I keep Him my main reason for writing it.  And I honestly don’t think that could ever change.  I want to once more proclaim that I want God to use me – I want Him to send me where He wants to, and give me His words to speak.  I want it now just as much as ever.  I still want Him to show me my way to reach the world around me.  And I think He has.

Cait

Worth Living For

So I was thinking tonight. And this was where my mind went, so I thought I would share my thoughts...

So many times I feel as though I am living my life for myself and not giving enough to God.  If I had to choose between my life lived all for God or all for me, I would want all for God.  I guess I'd never thought of it in those terms till now. I mean, I've always known that God wants all of me, but I really think that this is how it is:  If we live any part of our lives for ourselves instead of God, then we'll end up living most, if not every part, of our lives for ourselves, leaving very little or none of our lives for God.  But God created us!  We didn't create ourselves!  How could I ever presume to be better than God?  How could I ever imagine that I was more worth living my life for than God is, as though I deserve to be satisfied more than He?  God deserves my praise, my life, my all.  And I deserve none of it.  And yet, when I give Him what He deserves, no, not even that, less than what He deserves - I give my insignificant life, surrendered - He gives me what I could never deserve - He gives me life.  And not just any life - eternal life.  He gives an ongoing, never-ending life.  To me.  And I realize that I should be ashamed if I'm not giving Him all of me, and holding back of myself and desiring to satiate my own will and wants more than I desire to live for Him.

I know that I am like that at times.  Where I'd just rather do what I want to do, no matter what, even if God says He wants something different for my life.  But He deserves more than I could ever give Him, so I think I should give Him all that I possibly can.

Awhile back, I was coming out of a phase where God was not the focus of my life and where I was putting far too much importance on other things in my life, and I wrote this:

"I believe that God is awakening within me my lost passion and love and desire for Him.  I loved Him always, but not with the love He deserves from me; I didn't love with my whole heart.  But He will help me find that love again.  He is helping me find that love now.  My love. My passion. My desire.  I desire to have them back, the same as I had them before.  And yet not the same as before.  I want so much more.  I want a desire and a love and a passion so strong that I could never leave them again."

I want to always feel like that - to always want more of God.  I want to always be satisfied with Him, and yet not satisfied to the extent that I don't want more of Him.  If that even makes sense.  If any of this makes any sense to anyone but me...

Good Friday

     I wrote some of this over a year ago, but I rewrote a lot of it, and added even more. I thought now would be an appropriate time to say this here, since it is Good Friday and now more than ever I and many others are thinking of Jesus’ death on the cross.

     Several times during His ministry here on earth, people attempted to kill Jesus, but were unable to do so.  Luke 4:28-30 says this: “When they heard these things, [they] were filled with wrath, and rose up and thrust Him out of the city; and they led Him to the brow of the hill on which their city was built, that they might throw Him down over the cliff.  Then passing through the midst of them, He went His way.”  If this had been the only situation where such a thing occurred, it would probably be passed off as unimportant.  So He escaped when people tried to kill Him.  They killed Him in the end, didn’t they?  But it happened other times as well.  John 7:30: “Therefore they sought to take Him; but no one laid a hand on Him, because His hour had not yet come.”  John 10:39: “Therefore they sought again to seize Him, but He escaped out of their hand.”  It’s pretty crazy that He escaped death three times, don’t you think?  Even though they wanted to kill Him, they could not until the time had come for His crucifixion.  And even during His arrest in the garden of Gethsemane, before the soldiers took Him, He asked who they were seeking.  When told “Jesus of Nazareth,” He replied, “I am He,” and they fell to the ground.  Even right before His death, Jesus was in control.  And if He was able to stop them from killing Him all of these other times, then He was capable of saving Himself from the death that He died.  He allowed them to kill Him.  He willingly died.  Jesus did not die because they wanted Him dead; they had no power over Him and no control.  John 19:10-11 reads: “Then Pilate said to Him, ‘Are you not speaking to me?  Do You not know that I have power to crucify You, and power to release You?’  Jesus answered, ‘You could have no power at all against Me unless it had been given you from above.’”  The only reason they were able to put Him to death was because He let them.  God was in control the whole time; none of what happened to Jesus happened without His consent.  He died not because a lot of people wanted Him dead and hated Him, but because He loved us, despite the hatred many felt toward Him. He gave Himself willingly as a sacrifice for the remission of our sins.

     So many times, people complain about things not being fair – they complain about life not being fair.  I know I do sometimes.  But when I really think about it, I’m glad life isn’t fair.  I’m glad God isn’t fair.  What would have been fair for Him to do would have been to make all of us die, for we have all sinned (Romans 3:23) and death is the punishment for sin (Romans 6:23).  And not just a physical death, but a spiritual death, and eternal separation from God.  But instead of this, He loved us so much, that Jesus died in our place (John 3:16).  It wasn’t in any way fair to Jesus for Him to die for sins He had never committed.  It isn’t fair to any of us that we shouldn’t have to pay the penalty for our sins or that we should receive grace from God for them.  And yet Jesus really did die, willingly.  And God really does offer grace and salvation and eternal life.  It’s not fair and never will be, and it makes me glad that life isn’t fair.

     Jesus paid the ultimate price, dying on the cross.  The least we can do is remember His sacrifice and live for Him.