Last days

I have been thinking about death after catching moments where you see how abruptly life fades from something seemingly under control to out of hand, to weakness, to joy, to pain, to helplessness, to loss of hope.
It was an interesting contrast, and to even call it that might be somewhat of a misnomer, for in so many ways they paralleled each other. In my short trip to Florida I had the chance to volunteer at a place called “Give Kids the World” thanks to my cousin, who signed me up to help even before I got there because of the great experience he had in the previous summer. Give Kids the World is a place where families with terminally ill children get to go and kind of leave things behind for awhile, to have fun and forget what is to come. The place is a theme park all in its own. The cost for this little getaway is zero. At the center of the grounds is what they call the ice cream palace, a place where kids are allowed to get it even in the morning, even for breakfast. Big carousels and game rooms and a theater are just some of the things that I saw in my time there.
As we were on our way, I was somewhat somber, thinking of the implications and forgetting that this was a place of happiness to leave the sorrows on the backburner for awhile. The other thing that threw me off is that so many of the kids looked like they were fine, and yet somehow they were dying. They were all smiles and having a lot of fun, and I just could not help but feel pain for these people. Children are such joys and full of life, to be robbed of it is nefarious.
On the flipside, my cousin and I went to the nursing home in the retirement village my grandparents live in to drop off something for a friend of theirs. This man had gone into the ministry and then into teaching and administration. Yet here he was, a captive of Parkinson’s. Beyond the quivering hands, it had rendered his voice weak to a point that you could barely hear him and you find yourself just nodding and smiling foolishly, not wanting to make him have to repeat himself over and over again. This place was so depressing and weighed heavily on my spirit. I could not help but think about the accomplishments of these people, the lives that they have touched, all to be forgotten as they plod through the last days, weeks, months, years utterly helpless in spite of all they have done. Only to be pushed around in wheel chairs and have people not understand you. The people around are without the rich context of these people’s lives, left with the withering remaining moments. There is a certain sense of frustration that hangs in the air. Sometimes you can see it in their eyes, and yet others are gray and unfocused from resignation, surrender, to helplessness.
I wonder why it is that we have to exit life like this. Is it that we are to be humbled and realize our utter helplessness, to bring us to complete dependency, to physically embody human frailty before we enter glory? Is it a test of our hearts, to see what we do or how we live when robbed of strength and vitality? What about those that lose their minds, what is the purpose of this? I cannot see a purpose, only that we truly were not designed for this.
My grandparents are some of my biggest heroes because aged 79 and 82 they are still working so hard. They spend many hours of the day making calls to donors for Samaritan’s Purse, an NGO under Franklin Graham. On top of this they are very active in the community and still travel. They are so dedicated to service, to not simply sit back and rest. In fact, one of my last days of visiting them, my grandmother put in a 13 hour work day. They are the wisest people I know and have come through so much. They will be greatly rewarded when the King returns.
The commonality of all of this is simply last days and how they are lived out. I saw escapism, I saw joy, I saw determination, I saw resignation, I saw fear. What I could not see was myself in the same place, it is too hard to imagine how you get to that point. That may be the problem, that we fail to remind ourselves when we see these people that we will be there one day as well. The contrast between the happiness and sorrow was striking. One on hand, there is an underlying sadness beneath the surface of the fun for life cut short, while on the other hope for paradise underneath the layers of age and frailty.
How quickly we go from nursing to the nursing home. Forget not the brevity of life.

the taste of blood

This represents a journey and freeflowing thought, unedited, without any preconceived idea or direction. It may not be cohesive or linear but it is a window into the thought process and what was really on the mind.

slay the moon
steal it from the sky
clothed with the night
we can roam, run, dance
each day is hope
as we step, climb
to an unknown life
even as we tire and decay
as subjects of gravity and entropy
and as our bodies are swallowed
our graves will taste no glory
for its lust for death
has been forever sated
by the taste of blood
unsoiled by the haunt of Hades

the mighty sepulcher beckons
all too familiar with our names
that once rested in its vices
to forget that death,
clothed as sheep,
keeps us from living
with its seductive whispers

Death, you've been defeated
you know the end result
in the final book
it has been writ
"it is done"
you shall not slay us
day by day
with our memory
we will hold on to love
for a day without love
is no life at all

this taste of blood
stings from the stains it leaves
yet, testament to lasting love
that gave life
so let us live,
live love
for, without love we are nothing

disintegrating

I wanted it so bad, to be out of the vastness of that great desert land that I called home for such a short time. To be in conversation with people that know me well. To be in comfort. To speak and not feel dependent upon the pen. To not feel as if my existence only mattered if people cared and were reading what I wrote. To end the pangs of separation and distance from love that you try to ignore, only to find that they don't go away.

We all need a purpose, to discover our passions. There are so many books about this and those that tell us that a lot of times we kill ourselves pursuing other things and that is why we feel so un-alive. When I was in Mongolia, I felt alive in that I knew that each day was a step of faith and that I was surrounded by foreignness, ripe with learning opportunities. I felt dead in that I wanted people to share it with. Now things have been flip flopped, and the adjustment isn't as clear as transitioning from dry cold to humid tropics. It is so subtle. Relationships with family and friends truly sustain me and I just feel ever refreshed, soaking in their love and seeing how they live. Yet, the future seems so unclear. As excited as I should be, I find myself gripped with a bit of fear. #1 on my list is being united again with the one that I foolishly keep trying to play hard to get with distance. Yet, beyond the happy feelings is the need to take the next step or support oneself. Work for a year? Or two? A real job? Or a job where you can just save up? Or one where you get little pay but good experience?

Ah the uncertainty. I hate it. I love it. I am used to having options that seem amazing and then having to choose. Time to strap up and go. Take a few steps. Maybe run a little. The option that I tend to take doesn't seem to be there. My philosophy tends to be that the harder thing to do tends to be the right thing, because it will stretch you and make you grow. Yes, that may be hard to believe considering I am a comfort zone coach potato but at least that's how I think.

Why can't I just do what I want to do? Why do we have to play these career games where we take on things knowing that it will give us a chance in the long run?

My friend is running off to the Philippines and going to be serving God with the skills and passion that have been cultivated through his experiences, background, and just big 'ol heart. Am I jealous? Yes. Should I be? I know I know, I just went to Mongolia. But, there's this thing with being away from everything and knowing that you have to just live each day trying to serve God...there's something exciting about that. When it's not about the income, not about what you are going to do tomorrow.

I feel like I am disintegrating. Something comforting in knowing your purpose and passion. Oh, to know that.

Silhouette

There was a darkness over my countenance yesterday and out of it came this one and the fragmented one (see next post). Everything felt meaningless as I realized as I was searching for jobs and that I didn't want any of it. We're all just trying to survive, make our time go by on earth with as many laughs as we can until we pass on. Afraid of where my pen would lead me in this dark place, I was given images that showed me where I stand as a lamp before my feet.

We are but silhouettes
In this shadow
Fearful
As we draw nigh
To the light
The darker, deeper shadows
Are cast
Driving us away
To feel with
Our fumbling hands
Calloused from reading
In the dark
With our hearts to interpret, yet
Infected with
Leprosy of the soul
As it silently devours.

Heal
Help our unbelief

I know to all else
I am but a silhouette
In the distance of the night
Yet you see my face
More than just a shadow
You know my face
The dark hides who we are
You see my face
The anonymity consumes every detail
You know my name.

Fragments

Oh
We’re such fragile souls
Looking for a home
Like the cracked soil
From whence we’ve come
Afraid of crumbling
In your hands
Oh to be held
Is it worth the risk
Of being dropped?
Shattered,
Never to be gathered
Oh piece us together
Shatter us first
We’ve clung to nothing
Brittle and dry
Shatter us
Piece us together
As we fall apart
Not but broken shards
Jagged and unclean
Useless on our own
Shatter us
Piece us together
Show us where we fit in
Not as brilliant wholes
But as
Frag
men
ted
pieces
That together
Make this
Life mosaic.

Landlocked Odyssey

I feared for long this day
that we would sail through these wretched waters
deceptively calm, beautiful
I knew what lies ahead
The Siren's song prances o'er effortlessly
Coated with honey to disguise such malice
Beckoning, calling my name, dizzying my mind
Loosening my grip, my determination
May I not sail in vain

Fetch the strongest cords aboard!
Tie me to the mast,
make the knots ever taut
Grant me the vigilance of Odysseus
Their lies coax
proffering gentle repose
they are a mirage of feigned hope
I am weary, my sails tattered and thin
wandering in this relentless desert
Although their chorus drowns all else out
Something constant as the ringing in my ears holds me
The very words that began this tiresome journey
If I veer now, it was all meaningless
May I not sail in vain

Tie me to the mast
your words bind me there
May this not be in vain
Lead me out of exile, into Zion
Abandoned all other hope
to search the seas recklessly
your words are all I have
Your oath, your covenant carries me
May I not sail in vain
as it echoes on and on
above the enticing tales of Babylon
"I will be found by you"

Inspired by Jeremiah 29:12-14

roots

I don’t claim to have a green thumb or to even know much about plants. Yet for some reason an image rooted itself in my mind the other day as I was walking through town with my friend. Strange in that I haven’t see a whole lot of plantlife in awhile as well, so perhaps that is why it is so vivid in my mind.
I have been thinking about why it is difficult to change scenes, to move yourself from one setting to another when you have made that place your home. The longer we are in one place the more we grow accustomed to the soil and the overall milieu, adjusting in the right places so that we can live as comfortably as we can. With time we set roots in the soil so that we can take from the nutrients offered and begin the growth process. It is slow going but with time our roots go deeper, they thicken and expand, perhaps a parallel of what happens with the branches above the soil. We know how much water and sunshine to expect, how harsh the conditions of the weather are and everything else necessary to survive.
When it comes time to move we have to dig up the roots so that we can be moved from one soil to another. In this process the thicker roots remain intact, yet the frail and thin extensions of the smaller roots are usually broken and are left behind. No matter how careful, roots are ripped and torn, but what is important that enough is there that the plant can continue to glean nutrients.
When we move, if we have grown roots deep enough in a place, a part of us is left behind, no matter how well we say goodbye. We can do what we may to avoid any pain, but the truth is that some relationships and connections are fragile. A part of you will always remain where you left off. Some of us choose to amplify the pain and not trust that it is worth growing those smaller, more breakable roots in the new soil, knowing that the main roots are enough for us to live on. The fact is that we get less nutrients this way and are less intertwined with the soil. When it comes time to move again we remember that we didn’t grow those smaller roots so we just yank the plant out without digging up the roots because the strongest ones are thick enough to not be damaged. In reality, each time we do this even the thicker roots receive enough wear in tear that over time they begin to break down.

Soundtracks, peripheral vision, and a crumby analogy

A series of scattered thoughts.

We all need a soundtrack to step to. One to guide us, one foot in front of the other. Tunes that demonstrate what we are going through, as if all the world can see you and understand. Other times we need the songs that slow us down and help us see what is going on around us. Then again, there are the beats, the lyrics, melodies that speed us up or keep us going when we so badly want to stop.

Every idea, every image that shows up in my mind or heart is only the very tip of what there is to see and to understanding. I see everything in my periphery, not enough to see in full and yet just enough to mystify me and keep me searching. Like a dog fascinated when it sees its tail in the side of its eye and is willing to chase it to no end, I feel like I have been running in circles trying to catch whatever it is in full view. This is life, this is why we keep living and moving forward (or maybe more accurately—off to the side?). We can’t settle for what we see now, there is always more. I will search desperately to just see a little more than I saw before, just to know more, for it was beautiful and it continues to haunt me. Although I look a fool for chasing my tail I know that what I saw out of the corner of my eye is a peek into what life really is and what is to come. It is ever elusive, no matter how quickly I turn to the left or the right, I am always a step behind, left with just enough of a morsel to fuel my curiosity.
We choose to ignore our peripheral vision, it is easy. So much easier to focus on what is straight ahead of us. It is more comfortable and we are used to it. Our peripheral vision isn’t great and you can’t exactly trust what you see, especially since it is the place of our blindspot. What if the truth was that hard to see? What if that is why we all have different ideas of it?
The way I see life is that we have only tasted a crumb of what is to come. The crumb was just big enough to ignite an insatiable hunger, so we continue through life searching for the place that the crumb came from. Some of us grow content in searching for more of those crumbs, as if Hansel and Gretel are going to lead us along, forgetting that a crumb is a smaller piece of something much bigger. The crumbs are hard to come by, but those that search are rewarded by what they find. For some of us the hunger grows so intense that we become as infants, putting any and everything in our mouth, showing no discretion and hoping that we will get lucky. We can grow blind in our search, not considering the evidence around the crumbs we find, unaware that they could lead us to more.
Is it more important to discover the source of the crumbs or to uncover the identity of the baker? Once we actually find where X marks the spot how long will our prized possession last? This is where we get confused, for the baker is fully capable of making much more of what we have tasted. Our senses will be overwhelmed with what is available once we realize that the crumb is actually a key that unlocks an unfathomable spectrum of secrets that will forever keep us in ecstasy.
The sad part is that we grow cynical in our search for the great cake, we come to think that there is none in existence. We think that the crumbs are all that there is, so we prize them and abuse them and they become subjects of our adulation. We forget that if there were crumbs that they have to have come from somewhere and that they are the result of someone’s work. Soon the different flavored crumbs become talismans that a select few horde, claiming understanding and knowledge beyond this realm. They deprive those who hunger for the truth and feed them their own fabrications of the crumbs, themselves long forgetting what the crumbs tasted like, creating inferior flakes that fade.

Priesthood

Prayer isn’t meant to be on our own behalf. We are “like living stones…being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” it says in 1 Peter 2:5. This is again repeated four verses later, saying that we are a chosen people.
What is this whole priesthood thing about anyway? I had always read this in reference to what the author of Hebrews talks about. He says that Christ’s death on our behalf, his expiating blood, is the ultimate sacrifice—perfect, so that no more blood need be shed for our sin (ch.8-10). Thus, Christ is the mediator between us and God, allowing us to enter the “Most Holy Place” (10:19). What a privilege, for only the high priest was allowed to under the old covenant, and at that once a year. This means that we are able to draw near to God in ways that were off limits before. I had always thought that this emphasized the individuality of our faith, that we can truly be in close relationship to the Father because of what Christ, the Highest Priest, has done for us.
Then I read “My Utmost for His Highest” by Oswald Chambers that changed my thinking. The entry for June 21 suggests something completely opposite about being a part of the priesthood. He said it is not about looking inward and working out our salvation. That is self-centered with the wrong perspective. Instead, we are to look outward.
I was pretty surprised when I read this, but then I started thinking about the priestly duties. They were a select group, chosen to serve the people by making sacrifices and atonement for them. Said differently, their life was dedicated not to themselves but to others. Their life was no small sacrifice, it is quite a duty to be responsible for so many people.
When Peter wrote about us being a priesthood, I think it was with this mindset (he was after all, living in the time of the temple). I think it is difficult to grasp as we don’t have that context or familiarity with all that a priest does. Chambers says that our focus needs to be on praying for the saints. This is the ministry of the priesthood, that we intercede on behalf of others, not ourselves.
Are we, as royal priests, working on behalf of others? Or are we ministering to ourselves, concerned about our own issues, thus denying our priestly duties? We are to be praying for one another. Christ has got your back, so quit focusing on yourself. Pray for the saints.
Let’s face it, we all need prayer. But if we spend too much time praying for ourselves, that is one man’s gain. If we pray for others then how much greater is the covering of our prayer? If we are all praying for our brothers and sisters then that means instead of you only praying for yourself you got your whole family lifting you up.
Pray for the saints.

"If you can?!"

17…“Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. 18Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.”
19“O unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.”
20So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
21Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”
“From childhood,” he answered. 22“It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
23“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”
24Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:17-24

When I read this I thought that the way the man asked Jesus, “If you can do anything…” was legitimate and in a way trying to be respectful towards him. After all, his disciples were not able to drive the demon out whereas Jesus had given them the authority to do so (ch. 6).
When you read v.19, Jesus almost seems annoyed that despite his presence, teaching, and miraculous works that people still don’t quite get it. I read that as, “What else do I have to do to make you believe?” Yet, Jesus is always compassionate, pitying the poor and the broken that can turn no where else. When you continue reading with the tone of v.19 in mind and read v.23 I couldn’t help but see the situation in my mind, picturing Jesus’ face and tone of voice. “If you can?!” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious? What kind of question is that? Don’t you know that everything is possible for him who believes? If you really want something, then really ask for it. Ask boldly. Don’t say ‘if you can,’ of course I can. Let me direct the question back to you, can you—can you believe?”
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
If you read on Jesus drove out the spirit—a deaf and mute spirit—with such power that it shrieked. There is real power here, especially when you consider that at the sight of Jesus the spirit started freaking out (v.20). Jesus in the flesh, with all this power, and still belief comes into question.
Do we pray like the father of the demon-possessed child? How many times through the gospels does Jesus say that if you believe anything is possible? He says that if we ask, then the Lord will give. Do we really ask? Or do we just timidly say, “um, if its alright with you…I mean, I know you can do anything but…only if you have time” Do we pray and ask boldly or are we saying “if you can?”
Read through the gospels, Jesus healed the people that had the temerity approach Jesus no matter the inconvenience. People bore a hole in his roof to get to him—that’s risking ticking somebody off real bad. Blind men were calling out his name to the point that people were telling them to shut up and go away. Their determination got Jesus’ attention, rising above the din of the crowd. They were desperate.
If he were here where we could see him in his physical body, do you think we would talk to him the same way that we pray? I doubt it. Would our pleas get lost in the crowd, or would we find a way to be heard?

A Return - A response to "Flotsam"

I returned to the vessel I once abandoned—
leaving it a ghost ship—
after drifting as flotsam for quite some time.
My hands, now unfamiliar with the ropes.

Docked, lost in the expanse, fearful--
hoping to find my place in the celestial sea
before I take to the winds.
Instead the sextant lay untouched, collecting dust.

Sever the anchor!
Although reticent, no longer content
to float in familiar waters.

Pull the halyard, hoist the sails!
Let the breath of Poseidon carry us;
may the currents pull us in their invisible paths

clenching the helm, unseen destination
Knowing naught in the nautical vast
My map, along with my fears, is swept off deck

The sky reflects what fills my veins.
Alone I will sail through the night
with only the moon to haunt me
and the stars to keep watch
until the sun steals their scattered glory.
I will find you.

Though the squalls suggest a different course,
though my soul may threaten mutiny,
and though the waves toss and tangle
in their nets of doubt and destruction,
I will find you.

Forgotten

This ironically came out of me while walking through the concrete jungle (Bangkok). Weird.

Leaves fall from above
Taking with them shards of shade
Allowing the sun to poke through.
They pattern the ground
in their own scheme, their own design
Shaping, shifting in the slightest wind
A breathing mosaic,
Alive in these brittle castaways.
their each move is a dance
in all of time
never performed twice
to only live on in their own memory.

Frail sails without vessels
travel the winds, trading secrets.
they land ashore, leaving imprints
etching lightly into the sand
tales of wonder and wander,
treasure maps to coves undiscovered.
only to be erased by the wind,
each new day a canvas
leaving yesterday forgotten.

barren

I am convinced that we can learn from nature which we constantly overlook this time of year as we stay inside as much as we can to shield ourselves from the chill. A theme that developed in my mind last fall finally emerged...


Less than two weeks my friends, less than two weeks. I am not sure what to do with myself.



Well, here goes:



the trees catch flame
as soon as the heat fades.
they burn bright, consumed
until they go out in a blaze of glory.
only to be left bare,
left naked in the cold
to remind us of their gaunt limbs
that are covered year-round.
forgotten beneath their lush, verdant beauty
exposed without a place to hide
yet all the more beautiful--
strong, in their weakest season
to endure the harshest conditions.
with hope, with hope--
after the white desert melts away,
after the treacherous winter,
must come spring.

winter takes its toll
many wither and fade
the pangs of cold overpower
desolate; life is distant

rooted in memory

bereft of breath

yet life thrives in the deathly quiet

forced to vacate the safety of the umbrage



the last leaves hold fast

they cling to the limbs

as a young child to a mother

yet they are released into the wind

not as tears, but to remind us all

to shed our cover, our shame

in your periphery

who could have foretold
the friendship we have made
the paths we trod are so different
at times we walk in the same shadows
i don't know if you saw me there,
next to you--you thought you were alone
i saw you fall--you wouldn't take my hand
as you shook of the dust and pressed on
i confess to you, but i think you know
the streaks on my face were not from the rain
i saw you run when you had nothing left
i saw you laugh in the light for them
don't think i didn't see the sadness in your eyes
your strength is your only weakness
let your weakness be your strength
i saw you heal their wounds
with the beauty of your soul
as you gave all your love
then shuddered, shivered in the cold
hoping to one day be loved
you poured yourself out
and took nothing in
let me fill your shoes for awhile
and carry the burden you think i can't see
my heart is heavy from bearing it with you
i'd do anything to steal your pain
don't wither away
don't let the ghosts of your past haunt you
don't forget who you are
don't give up on love
stop
let yourself be filled
so that you can dance again
upon hope without pain

untitled

I don't know why I'm posting this. I don't know why I've written it. I don't know why there's bad rhyme in it when I don't like to rhyme. I don't know why I'm being open. I don't know why I can't come to terms with leaving. Well here goes. It's not well written it just spilled out of me.



Tell me there's something wrong with me

That I'm blowing things out of proportion

Right now I can't think or see clearly

Flooded by tears and emotion



Tell me it's going to be all right

That really I'm just confused

I long to hide in the night

And in its peace find refuge



Tell me that later I'll laugh

That I shouldn't worry

As I move across the map

Will you remember me?



Tell me I shouldn't feel this way

That I needn't cling

You're a rainbow in a day of gray

Please please won't you sing?



I can't shake the thought of losing you

Whether it's just for now or forever

Its all the same

And I can't, I won't, forget



Tell me we'll meet again

Tell me that it will be the same

Tell me that time doesn't change

Tell me you'll be all right



I can't shake the thought of losing you

Whether it's just for now or forever

Its all the same

And I can't, I won't, forget