There are a lot of things I have been wanting to write about. But yet, whenever I sit in front of my computer all these thoughts fade. My clever stories, my witty imagery, and my fresh humor that I had planned so well in my head to write about quickly disappear when I sit down and try to write. I try so hard to impress myself through my writing. Sometimes, it makes me feel more adequate, more sufficient, more unique but accepted. Yet, when I sit down to write, my soul always yearns a little deeper. Something about taking my thoughts and feelings and trying to materialize it to ink on paper forces me to dig deeper, reason more, and widen my perspective. And as a result, all this superficial trash I had in my mind fades and I only want to write about one thing: Jesus.
For some reason unknown to me, I wanted to keep this blogger free of religious thoughts and views. I wanted filled with clever ideas, funny stories, meaningful thoughts, and etc. But here I am with only word on the tip of my tongue: Jesus. Why? Because that's all that really is meaningful to me. And tonight, that is all I have to write.
Jesus
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
love
what about love is so difficult? To see that love is more encompassing than the chit-chat fun of boy and girl. More than love of mother to child. Love is the answer, the movement, the awakening, the beginning, the response, and the end. And yet, so much of our lives are based on compelling ourselves and each other with guilt and the poisoning of our conscience.
Do what you may, but without love, it is simply a clamoring of noise.
Do what you may, but without love, it is simply a clamoring of noise.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
faith
am i a fool to believe in this? to believe that this God is real, and to live life for Him is indeed worthy?
if i really do believe that this is worth it then why do i lead my life in this fashion? lukewarm, tepid. transformation has occurred and yet, at best, i am a frog swimming deep in the water unaware that i am no longer a tadpole. until i begin to lose my breath, my lungs collapse, and i force myself up, and take a gasp of air. it is only then when i realize that perhaps i was meant to live above the suffocating waters--but no, i will return to my familiar drowning.
my God, my God. be near.
i will pray, rededicate, redevote
for You alone are worthy.
what is familiar and comfortable i will leave behind
for what is worthy.
if i really do believe that this is worth it then why do i lead my life in this fashion? lukewarm, tepid. transformation has occurred and yet, at best, i am a frog swimming deep in the water unaware that i am no longer a tadpole. until i begin to lose my breath, my lungs collapse, and i force myself up, and take a gasp of air. it is only then when i realize that perhaps i was meant to live above the suffocating waters--but no, i will return to my familiar drowning.
my God, my God. be near.
i will pray, rededicate, redevote
for You alone are worthy.
what is familiar and comfortable i will leave behind
for what is worthy.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Remnants
what are we placing our happiness on?
we place it on stools that lift us higher and heels that make us taller.
deposit our insecurities in things that may return to us more than the fumbling identity we lunge at with open hands. It works.
It works because we can feel the return. We can throw our hands in the air and let pieces of what we're striving for move through our fingers. It's like the boy who runs around the shore and relishes in finally feeling an ocean mist brush his face; how different from the dry air that sucks his breath away.
As if you got up too fast, the world begins to shake, you're losing your balance and you begin to search and feel for the ground under you. It must be your stool.
Don't blame the stool, stand up.
Stand up, but don't blame your heels. You're still standing on them, and they didn't break. Sit back down, the stool is still holding up your body frame. You feel the world go up again, leaving you in your ditch again, forgotten. The floor beneath you is sinking and tommorow you think you'll invest in a higher, stable slab of ground.
All for the ocean mist to speak to our lonely pale cheeks. All for the remants of what we've been offered.
So before tommorow begins, I tell you:
The ocean is yours.
Tommorow you may stand on the ocean floor with your head above the waters.
we place it on stools that lift us higher and heels that make us taller.
deposit our insecurities in things that may return to us more than the fumbling identity we lunge at with open hands. It works.
It works because we can feel the return. We can throw our hands in the air and let pieces of what we're striving for move through our fingers. It's like the boy who runs around the shore and relishes in finally feeling an ocean mist brush his face; how different from the dry air that sucks his breath away.
As if you got up too fast, the world begins to shake, you're losing your balance and you begin to search and feel for the ground under you. It must be your stool.
Don't blame the stool, stand up.
Stand up, but don't blame your heels. You're still standing on them, and they didn't break. Sit back down, the stool is still holding up your body frame. You feel the world go up again, leaving you in your ditch again, forgotten. The floor beneath you is sinking and tommorow you think you'll invest in a higher, stable slab of ground.
All for the ocean mist to speak to our lonely pale cheeks. All for the remants of what we've been offered.
So before tommorow begins, I tell you:
The ocean is yours.
Tommorow you may stand on the ocean floor with your head above the waters.
Monday, October 23, 2006
the first
this is the first.
mumbo jumbo.
broken, we attempt to live standing straight. striving for dignity and name, while casting humility away with the rest of the bait. looking to catch the bigger fish, we find ourselves in a nylon-tangled mess. plucking our fingers into the tangled string, hoping to create some harmony for the time being. so that once again we may cast away humility as our bait, down deep into the ocean, because there lie the bigger fish.
So on the jettison, we sit as the waves whisper about lost humility. about men who cast humility and had their lines snapped, to walk back home with nothing to show.
humility should bait us, but we let pride anchor us. yet, like all men, in the end, we learn the value of humility. and most learn to cast it for themselves. only a few men are baited.
mumbo jumbo.
broken, we attempt to live standing straight. striving for dignity and name, while casting humility away with the rest of the bait. looking to catch the bigger fish, we find ourselves in a nylon-tangled mess. plucking our fingers into the tangled string, hoping to create some harmony for the time being. so that once again we may cast away humility as our bait, down deep into the ocean, because there lie the bigger fish.
So on the jettison, we sit as the waves whisper about lost humility. about men who cast humility and had their lines snapped, to walk back home with nothing to show.
humility should bait us, but we let pride anchor us. yet, like all men, in the end, we learn the value of humility. and most learn to cast it for themselves. only a few men are baited.
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