I have this tremendous desire to create.
Ideas for words, ideas for songs;
As if God himself has made this my vocation,
And to live without footprints
would deny the very thing I am called to be.
Even these words
were born of some movement in my spirit;
a compelling, forceful crush
of raw soul into blank paper
with little purpose other than
to record the primal spark
before I let it drown
in dishes and distraction.
Let not my soul go unprovoked,
passing sacred beauties
with diluted ears and eyes;
Rather
Let the energies you have unleashed into this world,
fraught with lightning, laughter, and laundry
find a locus in the pens
that sit idly about my desk,
waiting to be turned into fire.
linkA few minutes ago I was squatting on my balcony, stuffing laundry into the machine with stretched sinew and the gusto of a man who knows his wife is coming back from a ten day vacation tonight. Needless to say, the house must be clean.
But all that laundry-stuffing was interrupted by a breathtaking cobalt blue sky pouring onto my back. I looked up. How had I missed it? Arrays of clouds in breathless patterns, chaotic yet ordered, honest and unguarded, open to whatever roads or shapes the wind might funnel or fashion them into.
The laundry stopped, and for the umpteenth time this week I drew in a breath of thanks. My life of late has been nothing short of a cup brimming over. Ten days without my gorgeous and bustling wife is a good excuse to reflect, and reflect I did, under the newly acquired stars that lumber like glaciers across my rooftop sky. I saw one shoot by yesterday. Again, a breath (or two) of thanks.
There are times when everything around you feels like crumbly, parched desert. And yet there is enough where you thought there was nothing.
That’s been the story of my last 5 years.
5 notes linkThis is ridiculous.
Writing at 5am (or just prior) is ridiculous.
Yet sometimes, it must be done.
Let’s be honest here: my work over the last 5 years hasn’t been the easiest.
Many times I’ve wanted to quit, to move on—
to shake the dust off my worn-out soles / soul
and wander into my dreams.
But tonight,
oh tonight.
I’ve been thinking about why I do what I do. Is it for me? For the kids?
For the people? For God?
Tonight was holy.
That’s all I know.
Often, that’s all I know.
And there are nights that seem unholy—
mundane, contrived, overworked,
spent hammering away at that idol of “Success,”
building the golden calf.
But some nights are simply in God’s territory,
unreligious, wild,
full of life and truth and without form.
When I look back, what will I see?
Can I leave this place even if “results” and “outcomes” never materialize?
Will it all have been a waste,
or worth my life itself?
I am finding my way to God
Jesus, lead me in your way.
link
soft kiss
on the train
I remember.
a cheeky redemption
keeps peeking in
sneaking in
tossing me grenades of nearby babies
refilling my cup
with forgiveness and lipstick
smeared wholeheartedly
on fallen faces
bearing the mark
of the Original.
link