I am black and I am white.
I am filthy; I am pure.
I am lost and I am found.
I am and am not breaking ground.
I am weak and I am strong.
I am depraved and I am clean.
I am nothing; I am all.
A broken, perfect song I sing.
I am war and I am peace.
I am human; I am soul.
I am wicked; I am holy.
I am frail and indestructible.
I am fickle; I am steady.
I am empty; I am full.
I am dark and I am light.
I am ambivalence in whole.
But God is simply “I Am.”
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
For Those of You Whom I Haven't Spoken to in Awhile
Here's a summary of my summer (oh how I love alliteration!):
In June, I babysat a WHOLE lot in attempt to earn money for my trips. Praise God, the money came in, and I was able to go to Precept Bible Boot Camp! Woohoo! We studied Matthew 1-7, the emphasis being on The Beattitudes and The Lord's Prayer. I learned a TON. The thing that really stood out to me was mercy. I feel like I finally have a good grasp on the concepts of mercy and forgiveness, how they are the same and how they are different, how to be merciful, etc.
In July I continued babysitting and earning money, and had plenty for Mexico :) Woot! Woot! This trip was ridiculously different from the last one, from going to one church instead of two, to having the whole team together the whole week, to doing VBS in the mornings AND afternoons as compared to doing door-to-door ministry in the mornings and VBS in the afternoons...I can hardly scratch the surface of differences or I'll drag this on forever, but anyway, I feel as though God did great and mighty things only HE could do with the diverse group He had to work with. It was perfect :) About a week after the trip, I joined a prayer meeting group and have attended every meeting on Thursdays. However, as the group is mainly college age students, and they are heading back to Lipscomb this weekend, I won't be able to attend, unless a kidnapping takes place (which I wouldn't doubt) at some point, until next summer.
This month, I've mainly be laying around, resting up before school starts, hanging out with friends--normal teenage stuff, I suppose. I also had a job interview and was hired on the spot :) So I will be assisting a dance teacher three hours every Saturday morning. As long as I can get a few students, I still intend to teach elementary Spanish this year, also.
Random tidbits: Loree and I will hopefully be teaching a Discover 4 Yourself (D4Y) study for elementary students at our church on Sunday nights, I'm only going to tutorials one day (Monday) a week this year (Praise the Lord!), I'm going to try to talk with Precept International about their missions board sometime soon, many of my friends are scattering abroad like the tribes mentioned in James 1 but God is my Best Friend and He's teaching me to hold fast to that lately.
So, that's my life recently, in summary. It's pretty dry facts, but this would take me a crazy amount of time to type up if I included all the details :P
In June, I babysat a WHOLE lot in attempt to earn money for my trips. Praise God, the money came in, and I was able to go to Precept Bible Boot Camp! Woohoo! We studied Matthew 1-7, the emphasis being on The Beattitudes and The Lord's Prayer. I learned a TON. The thing that really stood out to me was mercy. I feel like I finally have a good grasp on the concepts of mercy and forgiveness, how they are the same and how they are different, how to be merciful, etc.
In July I continued babysitting and earning money, and had plenty for Mexico :) Woot! Woot! This trip was ridiculously different from the last one, from going to one church instead of two, to having the whole team together the whole week, to doing VBS in the mornings AND afternoons as compared to doing door-to-door ministry in the mornings and VBS in the afternoons...I can hardly scratch the surface of differences or I'll drag this on forever, but anyway, I feel as though God did great and mighty things only HE could do with the diverse group He had to work with. It was perfect :) About a week after the trip, I joined a prayer meeting group and have attended every meeting on Thursdays. However, as the group is mainly college age students, and they are heading back to Lipscomb this weekend, I won't be able to attend, unless a kidnapping takes place (which I wouldn't doubt) at some point, until next summer.
This month, I've mainly be laying around, resting up before school starts, hanging out with friends--normal teenage stuff, I suppose. I also had a job interview and was hired on the spot :) So I will be assisting a dance teacher three hours every Saturday morning. As long as I can get a few students, I still intend to teach elementary Spanish this year, also.
Random tidbits: Loree and I will hopefully be teaching a Discover 4 Yourself (D4Y) study for elementary students at our church on Sunday nights, I'm only going to tutorials one day (Monday) a week this year (Praise the Lord!), I'm going to try to talk with Precept International about their missions board sometime soon, many of my friends are scattering abroad like the tribes mentioned in James 1 but God is my Best Friend and He's teaching me to hold fast to that lately.
So, that's my life recently, in summary. It's pretty dry facts, but this would take me a crazy amount of time to type up if I included all the details :P
Saturday, July 4, 2009
How?
How?
How am I worthy of this trust?
How can you be so faithful?
How can I sit and do nothing,
When you give me Everything?
When you are my Everything?
How am I worth so much trouble?
How can You be so forgiving?
How can I hold so much in myself,
When You want me to come to You with all my burdens?
You are holy.
And I am wholly.
Wholly surrendered.
I am wholly Yours.
How am I worthy of this trust?
How can you be so faithful?
How can I sit and do nothing,
When you give me Everything?
When you are my Everything?
How am I worth so much trouble?
How can You be so forgiving?
How can I hold so much in myself,
When You want me to come to You with all my burdens?
You are holy.
And I am wholly.
Wholly surrendered.
I am wholly Yours.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I Tried
I Tried
I tried to piece it all together,
Tried to read between the lines,
Tried to hypothesize, test, and solve it.
But I failed each and every time.
I tried to master all there is,
Tried to perfect each simple rhyme,
Tried to ace every subject handed me,
Make a penny be a dime.
I tried to exceed expectations,
I tried to be the best,
I tried to honor all God’s wishes,
I tried to give a hundred and ten percent.
I tried to keep myself from falling,
Tried to keep myself from failing,
Tried to never be pulled down,
And tried to lift others up.
When that failed…
I tried to pick up all the pieces,
Tried to be my only hope,
Tried to find my own redemption,
Tried to make what goes down go up.
Then I realized…
Only You can piece it all together.
Only You can be the Master.
Only You can set the limits of expectations.
Only You can keep me from falling.
Only You can pick up the pieces.
Only You can fix my brokenness.
Only You can save me from myself.
I tried to piece it all together,
Tried to read between the lines,
Tried to hypothesize, test, and solve it.
But I failed each and every time.
I tried to master all there is,
Tried to perfect each simple rhyme,
Tried to ace every subject handed me,
Make a penny be a dime.
I tried to exceed expectations,
I tried to be the best,
I tried to honor all God’s wishes,
I tried to give a hundred and ten percent.
I tried to keep myself from falling,
Tried to keep myself from failing,
Tried to never be pulled down,
And tried to lift others up.
When that failed…
I tried to pick up all the pieces,
Tried to be my only hope,
Tried to find my own redemption,
Tried to make what goes down go up.
Then I realized…
Only You can piece it all together.
Only You can be the Master.
Only You can set the limits of expectations.
Only You can keep me from falling.
Only You can pick up the pieces.
Only You can fix my brokenness.
Only You can save me from myself.
Monday, May 18, 2009
You Choose
How can one so strong to save,
Beat the weak and strike the lame?
How can one designed to shine,
Darken the void, make the children cry?
The Holy One has destined you,
To love and heal and calm, but you choose
To spit and mock, oh you deny
The Savior’s love, but Christ has come,
And He loves.
How can one so wise deny
The Way, the Truth, and yeah, the Life?
How can one designed to love,
Hate and lie and boast and grunt?
The Holy One has destined you,
To love and heal and calm, but you choose
To spit and mock, oh you deny
The Savior’s love, but Christ has come,
And He loves.
Why are we so quick to say
Lies and filth and buy cheap fame?
Why are we so apt to choose
Death over life?
Fear takes over our ways.
We need to step up,
And be bold because
God has a way out.
He’ll be our shelter,
If only we choose.
The Holy One has destined you,
To love and heal and calm, but you choose
To spit and mock, oh you deny
The Savior’s love, but Christ has come,
And He loves.
Beat the weak and strike the lame?
How can one designed to shine,
Darken the void, make the children cry?
The Holy One has destined you,
To love and heal and calm, but you choose
To spit and mock, oh you deny
The Savior’s love, but Christ has come,
And He loves.
How can one so wise deny
The Way, the Truth, and yeah, the Life?
How can one designed to love,
Hate and lie and boast and grunt?
The Holy One has destined you,
To love and heal and calm, but you choose
To spit and mock, oh you deny
The Savior’s love, but Christ has come,
And He loves.
Why are we so quick to say
Lies and filth and buy cheap fame?
Why are we so apt to choose
Death over life?
Fear takes over our ways.
We need to step up,
And be bold because
God has a way out.
He’ll be our shelter,
If only we choose.
The Holy One has destined you,
To love and heal and calm, but you choose
To spit and mock, oh you deny
The Savior’s love, but Christ has come,
And He loves.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Thy Will Be Done
Through these blind eyes
It’s hard to see the light.
It’s hard to see my future,
What is coming?
What is going on?
Because…
I can’t see past clouds inside my vision.
I can’t see the light.
Where’s the light?
Where’s the light?
Show me the light, Lord.
Heal my blinded eyes.
I don’t need to see past the vision,
But help me make it through
What’s in front of me.
Take my hand.
Pull me through.
Make it right.
Thy Will Be Done.
Through these deaf ears
It’s hard to hear Your voice.
The whisper, light and beautiful.
What do You have to say?
Where are You?
Because…
I can’t find You, though I seek You.
Are You always there?
Are You always there?
Shout it to me, Lord.
Heal my deafened ears.
I can’t hear Your words.
But help me find the treasures
Hidden in Your Word.
Take my hand.
Pull me through.
Make it right.
Thy Will Be Done.
It’s hard.
I can feel.
Though I can’t see.
Though I can’t hear.
I can feel.
I can feel.
Capture me.
Embrace me.
Save me.
Help me, Savior.
Save me.
Show me.
Thy Will Be Done.
It’s hard to see the light.
It’s hard to see my future,
What is coming?
What is going on?
Because…
I can’t see past clouds inside my vision.
I can’t see the light.
Where’s the light?
Where’s the light?
Show me the light, Lord.
Heal my blinded eyes.
I don’t need to see past the vision,
But help me make it through
What’s in front of me.
Take my hand.
Pull me through.
Make it right.
Thy Will Be Done.
Through these deaf ears
It’s hard to hear Your voice.
The whisper, light and beautiful.
What do You have to say?
Where are You?
Because…
I can’t find You, though I seek You.
Are You always there?
Are You always there?
Shout it to me, Lord.
Heal my deafened ears.
I can’t hear Your words.
But help me find the treasures
Hidden in Your Word.
Take my hand.
Pull me through.
Make it right.
Thy Will Be Done.
It’s hard.
I can feel.
Though I can’t see.
Though I can’t hear.
I can feel.
I can feel.
Capture me.
Embrace me.
Save me.
Help me, Savior.
Save me.
Show me.
Thy Will Be Done.
This Thing Called Love
V1
He wants to be somebody’s hero.
No one ever saved him,
No one really raised him.
What’s love?
So he sets out on a mission
Trying to gain himself some respect.
Trying to be perfect.
He doesn’t know that he can’t handle this life on his own.
Chorus
This thing called love’s a tricky thing.
We throw it up
Then it comes down.
If there’s only one thing we can learn,
Let it be that love is only true when it is pure.
V2
She wants to be somebody’s everything.
No one ever loved her.
No one tried to rescue her.
Why not?
So she tries to be an angel.
She plays the damsel in distress,
But what’s next?
She’s trying to find her hero.
She’s on the edge of breaking now.
She’s been thrown on the ground too hard.
Too much.
(Chorus)
Bridge
So the hero and the angel rendezvous,
Cause you know,
They were meant for each other, these two.
But then the hero becomes pressured to rescue someone better,
And the angel just can’t seem to stop her lies.
So they split apart.
What happened to their plans?
But what they didn’t realize,
Was that Love was always by their sides.
And the hero could have been saved,
And saved some lives a long time ago.
This faulty angel on the ground,
Her Savior wouldn’t let her down.
She’d been looking eye-level way too long.
If she’d look up she’d see a hand to hold.
A hand to hold.
(Chorus)
He wants to be somebody’s hero.
No one ever saved him,
No one really raised him.
What’s love?
So he sets out on a mission
Trying to gain himself some respect.
Trying to be perfect.
He doesn’t know that he can’t handle this life on his own.
Chorus
This thing called love’s a tricky thing.
We throw it up
Then it comes down.
If there’s only one thing we can learn,
Let it be that love is only true when it is pure.
V2
She wants to be somebody’s everything.
No one ever loved her.
No one tried to rescue her.
Why not?
So she tries to be an angel.
She plays the damsel in distress,
But what’s next?
She’s trying to find her hero.
She’s on the edge of breaking now.
She’s been thrown on the ground too hard.
Too much.
(Chorus)
Bridge
So the hero and the angel rendezvous,
Cause you know,
They were meant for each other, these two.
But then the hero becomes pressured to rescue someone better,
And the angel just can’t seem to stop her lies.
So they split apart.
What happened to their plans?
But what they didn’t realize,
Was that Love was always by their sides.
And the hero could have been saved,
And saved some lives a long time ago.
This faulty angel on the ground,
Her Savior wouldn’t let her down.
She’d been looking eye-level way too long.
If she’d look up she’d see a hand to hold.
A hand to hold.
(Chorus)
"Where"
Some of the next few posts are actually older poems and songs, but I didn't post them earlier because they're kind of corny :P But oh well. Imma post them now and you can read or not lol.
Where do you go when there’s nowhere to run to?
Where do you go when there’s nowhere to turn?
What do you do when your life is all before you?
What do you do when there’s nothing left to lose?
Run into the arms of Jesus.
He’s waiting for you; calling out your name.
Fall into the comfortable embrace
When you don’t know what to do.
Run into the arms of Love
He’s romancing you; He wants to help,
Help you make it through.
He loves you.
Where do you find a purpose for living?
How do you know that your life is worth the fight?
Why must you suffer through trials and temptations?
How come nothing ever seems to turn out just right?
“Baby, I’m here for you.
Please come back.
I’ll hold you forever.
You can make it through, with me.
I love you, baby.
Let me be your Daddy.
Let me be your Lover.
Let me show you my Love.”
When your world falls down,
When it crashes from underneath
When you feel like you’re stranded
Nothing left to do but sink,
Run to your Daddy, your Lover, your Friend.
When all the world fails you
He’ll become your world.
Run into the arms of Jesus.
He’s waiting for you; calling out your name.
Fall into the comfortable embrace
When you don’t know what to do.
Run into the arms of Love
He’s romancing you; He wants to help,
Help you make it through.
He loves you.
Where do you go when there’s nowhere to run to?
Where do you go when there’s nowhere to turn?
What do you do when your life is all before you?
What do you do when there’s nothing left to lose?
Run into the arms of Jesus.
He’s waiting for you; calling out your name.
Fall into the comfortable embrace
When you don’t know what to do.
Run into the arms of Love
He’s romancing you; He wants to help,
Help you make it through.
He loves you.
Where do you find a purpose for living?
How do you know that your life is worth the fight?
Why must you suffer through trials and temptations?
How come nothing ever seems to turn out just right?
“Baby, I’m here for you.
Please come back.
I’ll hold you forever.
You can make it through, with me.
I love you, baby.
Let me be your Daddy.
Let me be your Lover.
Let me show you my Love.”
When your world falls down,
When it crashes from underneath
When you feel like you’re stranded
Nothing left to do but sink,
Run to your Daddy, your Lover, your Friend.
When all the world fails you
He’ll become your world.
Run into the arms of Jesus.
He’s waiting for you; calling out your name.
Fall into the comfortable embrace
When you don’t know what to do.
Run into the arms of Love
He’s romancing you; He wants to help,
Help you make it through.
He loves you.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Melody and Harmony
The mask of true voices—
Carrying highs and lows.
The melody and harmony
Like a carousel—round they go.
Up and a down and a one, two, and three.
Then they stop—
Here’s the bridge.
A break in tune and note and flow.
Then back up the ladder,
And hiding in ditches,
The notes pick up flow
And bring heart-warming wishes.
A rhyme and a scheme and a one, two, and three.
Riding again,
Hand-in-hand,
Melody and harmony.
Carrying highs and lows.
The melody and harmony
Like a carousel—round they go.
Up and a down and a one, two, and three.
Then they stop—
Here’s the bridge.
A break in tune and note and flow.
Then back up the ladder,
And hiding in ditches,
The notes pick up flow
And bring heart-warming wishes.
A rhyme and a scheme and a one, two, and three.
Riding again,
Hand-in-hand,
Melody and harmony.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
A Prayer to God--Just me pouring out my thoughts
Precious Lord, fill me up and pour me out! I pass by how many people a day? Who are they? What do they need? What are they going through? God, I pass them by without a second glance, second thought about what they are going through. Whether it be death whether it be pregnancy whether it be family issues whether it be the joy that comes from friendship and the love that comes from You, people are always going through something--good or bad. When I am well should I not let the "inexpressible joy" that is within me overflow? Should I not confront the trials and temptations that people go through every day, and help others in a way that would please You? What use am I if I lay around in the comforts of my home all day long, when people are struggling to find a place to stay for the night? To provide food for their families that they won't starve? What about those who have yet to be shown Your grace and love? Even when I myself am going through trials and temptations, that does NOT change the fact that others have it worse than I do! God, I want to be a drink offering. Don't let me become useless, Sovereign God. Please, please, please fill me up and pour me out! Make me a drink offering. Take this life that I have and use it to benefit Your glory. Help me see people as you see people, and don't allow me to become complacent with my relationship with You. Use me, God. Don't let me be wasteful.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
MOAR! :P
Chapter 3
Monday, August 18.
3:00 P.M.
On the balls of my feet, I pushed a buggy cart around the supermarket, purposefully scanning the aisles for all the items that my mother and I needed. I was on a mission. The only goals were to find what I needed as quickly as possible, and get out. I hate grocery shopping.
However, while searching for the bananas, I spotted Miss Liahla. Right there, near the veggies. Well, actually I bumped into her when I was mildly distracted by the candy bars so perfectly displayed where all could see. I really need to cut back on the sugar.
�UMPH!� I proclaimed. �I�m sorry�oh, Miss Liahla. Hi.� What is she doing here? I wondered. Oh, right, haha. Dance teachers have to buy food, too. Right. Right�.
�Hi, Kathryn. How are you feeling?�
How am I�feeling? Don�t people usually just ask �how are you?�
�Um�I�m okay�I had this weird vomiting fit early this morning, though. But, I checked my temperature and it was perfectly normal. It was so weird.�
�Is that so?� But she didn�t act like she was surprised. Just a dry tone. The kind people give women when they tell you they�re pregnant, and it turns out their toddler spread the word three weeks earlier. It almost had a hint of satisfaction, even. Almost. �Well,� she sighed, �I hope you can figure out the problem,� she replied with a quick, insignificant grin. �Excuse me if it is rude, but I�m late for an�appointment, so I must be going.�
�Alright, well I�ll see you on Wednesday,� I managed to reply in a normal tone. What is it with this lady and the way she puts things? It�s like everything is a secret, or has some sort of double-meaning. Then again, my dad never had a way with words. After a shrug, I grabbed the last few items off the list, paid for them, and rode my bike home.
4:55 P.M.
As I was peeling a banana, the scent of its sweet fruit rose into my nostrils, and the smell seemed a bit more sickening than I remembered it being. Inspecting it all around and breaking the tip off to investigate the center, I checked for any blackening areas. Realizing that it was very possibly the most perfect-looking banana I�d ever seen in my life, I stuffed the tip I�d broken off into my mouth and swallowed. The taste was nothing unusual. I proceeded until I�d eaten about a third of the banana, when I found myself leaning over the kitchen sink, the soft yellow mixed with the other digested blend of food and whatnot spewing out of my mouth. What in the world? I thought. My temperature was fine before I left for the store this morning! There was no scientific reason for this that I could think of. And yet, there I was, projecting a yummilicious soup of gunk into the sink. Once I�m finished, I�m checking my temperature. If it�s normal, I�m asking the doc what�s up. This is just plain weird.
5:05 P.M.
Grabbing a dishcloth off the counter, I wiped the puke remains off my face and headed for the refrigerator to get a water bottle. After gulping down all the water I could without restarting the vomit fest, I started the search for the thermometer. Surprisingly, I actually found it in about two minutes. Practicing some dance steps, I waited for the thermometer to make that annoying beeping sound. 98.6. �It�s perfect!� I shouted to no one, frustrated. �What is WRONG with me?!� I growled. Stomping off to the bathroom so I could finish cleaning myself off in the shower, I grabbed the sides of my head in irritation. As if to add to the vexation, I realized that, not only my forehead, but my entire body, was covered in sweat. So much, in fact, I was practically soaking in the salty wet substance. That migraine was resurfacing. How much longer is this going to last? I pondered for no short period of time.
Monday, August 18.
3:00 P.M.
On the balls of my feet, I pushed a buggy cart around the supermarket, purposefully scanning the aisles for all the items that my mother and I needed. I was on a mission. The only goals were to find what I needed as quickly as possible, and get out. I hate grocery shopping.
However, while searching for the bananas, I spotted Miss Liahla. Right there, near the veggies. Well, actually I bumped into her when I was mildly distracted by the candy bars so perfectly displayed where all could see. I really need to cut back on the sugar.
�UMPH!� I proclaimed. �I�m sorry�oh, Miss Liahla. Hi.� What is she doing here? I wondered. Oh, right, haha. Dance teachers have to buy food, too. Right. Right�.
�Hi, Kathryn. How are you feeling?�
How am I�feeling? Don�t people usually just ask �how are you?�
�Um�I�m okay�I had this weird vomiting fit early this morning, though. But, I checked my temperature and it was perfectly normal. It was so weird.�
�Is that so?� But she didn�t act like she was surprised. Just a dry tone. The kind people give women when they tell you they�re pregnant, and it turns out their toddler spread the word three weeks earlier. It almost had a hint of satisfaction, even. Almost. �Well,� she sighed, �I hope you can figure out the problem,� she replied with a quick, insignificant grin. �Excuse me if it is rude, but I�m late for an�appointment, so I must be going.�
�Alright, well I�ll see you on Wednesday,� I managed to reply in a normal tone. What is it with this lady and the way she puts things? It�s like everything is a secret, or has some sort of double-meaning. Then again, my dad never had a way with words. After a shrug, I grabbed the last few items off the list, paid for them, and rode my bike home.
4:55 P.M.
As I was peeling a banana, the scent of its sweet fruit rose into my nostrils, and the smell seemed a bit more sickening than I remembered it being. Inspecting it all around and breaking the tip off to investigate the center, I checked for any blackening areas. Realizing that it was very possibly the most perfect-looking banana I�d ever seen in my life, I stuffed the tip I�d broken off into my mouth and swallowed. The taste was nothing unusual. I proceeded until I�d eaten about a third of the banana, when I found myself leaning over the kitchen sink, the soft yellow mixed with the other digested blend of food and whatnot spewing out of my mouth. What in the world? I thought. My temperature was fine before I left for the store this morning! There was no scientific reason for this that I could think of. And yet, there I was, projecting a yummilicious soup of gunk into the sink. Once I�m finished, I�m checking my temperature. If it�s normal, I�m asking the doc what�s up. This is just plain weird.
5:05 P.M.
Grabbing a dishcloth off the counter, I wiped the puke remains off my face and headed for the refrigerator to get a water bottle. After gulping down all the water I could without restarting the vomit fest, I started the search for the thermometer. Surprisingly, I actually found it in about two minutes. Practicing some dance steps, I waited for the thermometer to make that annoying beeping sound. 98.6. �It�s perfect!� I shouted to no one, frustrated. �What is WRONG with me?!� I growled. Stomping off to the bathroom so I could finish cleaning myself off in the shower, I grabbed the sides of my head in irritation. As if to add to the vexation, I realized that, not only my forehead, but my entire body, was covered in sweat. So much, in fact, I was practically soaking in the salty wet substance. That migraine was resurfacing. How much longer is this going to last? I pondered for no short period of time.
Monday, March 23, 2009
I've written 8 pages, but I'm only going to post 4. So...here it is.
I just c/p'd it, so sorry for poopy format.
Title
Prologue
It had been only two days since Mrs. Trisha had left the dance school, but we already had a new teacher. Her name was Miss…Lara? Lori? Lauren? It was something like that. Too many names start with the letter “L.” Anyway, none of us students knew anything about her, including her name, apparently. From what I’d heard, she was from some foreign country. No one really knew quite where. To be quite honest, I don’t think anyone cared. We were all still busy drying leftover tears from our tired eyes. Mrs. Trisha had been one unique gal with one sweet personality, and we all missed her immensely.
But that’s beside the point. What is the point, you ask? Like I so subtly mentioned earlier, we had a new teacher. And she was nothing of the sweet sort, despite the initial popular opinion. I won’t even compare her to Mrs. Trisha. She was, however, unique. Yeah, unique…that’s one word to describe her.
Chapter 1
Saturday, August 9.
10:15 A.M.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been teaching for the past five years, non-stop. Dance is my passion. I couldn’t live without it. It’s as important as air.”
“Well that’s good to hear. Because, as you know, Mrs. Trisha is loved by all of us. The whole city, even. She has such a sweet heart, and we all truly miss her.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard a lot about her. It’s going to be difficult to teach after her.” She laughed with a soft, melodic tone. Almost like humming, but more sweet. If you could taste it, which I could almost swear you could, you would find your taste buds tingling with something like lemon-sugar frosting. Yes, it had a slight tang mixed in with its sweetness.
My mother chuckled back with a loud snort in-between breaths. “Ah, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” With a sigh, my mother playfully spat my rear-end and said “Come on, Kit-Kat, we gotta get movin’ before your brother spasms out thinking we left him. Otherwise, the whole police department will be surrounding his school thinking there’s a murder-scene.” With another chortle, she and I left the dance studio’s Meet-the-Teacher gathering.
Delicately waving her small, strong hand, Miss Liahla (yes, I learned her name) gently sang out with her high, gentle voice, “I can’t wait ‘till class, Kathryn!” I replied with an awkward wave.
Chapter 2
Saturday, August 16.
7:07 P.M.
Class time. And I had just left the house. Good thing we only live about a mile away from the studio. Anyway, I got there. Throwing on a ballet shoe with one hand and holding my legwarmers in the other, I hopped and stumbled over to the center barre, attempting to form coherent apologies for being late.
With a gentle gesture of her hand, Miss Liahla reassured me that it was alright. “But,” she added, “don’t be late next time, okay?” She smiled. Whether it was of forgiveness or a threat, I couldn’t tell. Either way, the shiver that slipped down my spine put enough melancholy in me that I didn’t want to chance being late again. Odd how her casual kindness always has some sort of…tang? to it, I thought to myself. Before I knew it, the complex high and low notes of a recorded piano were drifting through the room, and the intense focus of the dancers stiffened the hot Texas air like murder. Odd choice of words, maybe. But that’s exactly what this feels like. Murder. And then my thoughts shifted into focus, and I danced. Too late to have learned the combination, I had to follow the dancer in front of me, but I danced. And I danced mightily. Who wouldn’t with an angel of confusion gliding through the room, watching your every step, sweetly criticizing your every move with the scurried flicker of her eyes? And yet…there was nothing creepy about it. And yet…everything about it sent warning signals throughout my bones, screaming “CAUTION!” But Miss Liahla was just the new teacher, and I was a paranoid teenager who over-thought everything. I was just over-exaggerating. My thoughts refocused again and I danced, ignoring the feeling that puke was flowing through my bloodstream.
Sunday, August 17.
2:55 A.M.
Oooooh, I thought to my nauseated self. “BLAGH!” Throwing up in the toilet, I shoved my long hair out of the way. Stupid virus. Why can’t you just stay in one place? MUST you be so sharing? After two hours of bonding with the sewer-destined water, my observant mother slumped into the bathroom, hitting her head on the doorway. “Ow!” she gasped, placing a palm on her forehead. “WHAT is that atrocious sound?!” she demanded. After another refreshing vomit, I wiped the corners of my mouth with a dishcloth and just looked at her. Holding a fist to her own now-verdant mouth, my mother gasped “Oh! Oh!” Gagging, she queried, “Do you need anything?” Rolling my eyes I said, “Yeah, go back to bed and don’t puke. I don’t even want to flush my own digestions, much less yours. Go to bed, mom.” With one last gasp, she said “Okay” and scurried back to her bedroom at three in the morning.
Sunday, August 17.
1:02 P.M.
What time is it? I wondered. Slapping the nothingness beside me (for what reason, I’m not sure), I glanced over at my clock. 1:02, the blinding red lights shared. Gasping, I jumped out of bed, only to collapse on the floor with a migraine about one second later. “MOM!” No response. “MOM, what day is it?!” I shouted, crawling on the floor to check my calendar. Standing up, I remembered she was at work. Divorced mothers have to do that. Right. It was Sunday. Praise God! May’ve missed church, but praise…God. Mr. Ultmen would never forgive me if I was late for math class.
I tried to remember how long I’d stayed up. After a few moments of mind-boggledness, I remembered seeing 4:49. Oh my goodness! Is it possible to dry heave so long and not be hospitalized? Well, I guess it is, considering I did. Haha. My next thought was that was I starving. Cheerios, here I come!
Title
Prologue
It had been only two days since Mrs. Trisha had left the dance school, but we already had a new teacher. Her name was Miss…Lara? Lori? Lauren? It was something like that. Too many names start with the letter “L.” Anyway, none of us students knew anything about her, including her name, apparently. From what I’d heard, she was from some foreign country. No one really knew quite where. To be quite honest, I don’t think anyone cared. We were all still busy drying leftover tears from our tired eyes. Mrs. Trisha had been one unique gal with one sweet personality, and we all missed her immensely.
But that’s beside the point. What is the point, you ask? Like I so subtly mentioned earlier, we had a new teacher. And she was nothing of the sweet sort, despite the initial popular opinion. I won’t even compare her to Mrs. Trisha. She was, however, unique. Yeah, unique…that’s one word to describe her.
Chapter 1
Saturday, August 9.
10:15 A.M.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been teaching for the past five years, non-stop. Dance is my passion. I couldn’t live without it. It’s as important as air.”
“Well that’s good to hear. Because, as you know, Mrs. Trisha is loved by all of us. The whole city, even. She has such a sweet heart, and we all truly miss her.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard a lot about her. It’s going to be difficult to teach after her.” She laughed with a soft, melodic tone. Almost like humming, but more sweet. If you could taste it, which I could almost swear you could, you would find your taste buds tingling with something like lemon-sugar frosting. Yes, it had a slight tang mixed in with its sweetness.
My mother chuckled back with a loud snort in-between breaths. “Ah, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” With a sigh, my mother playfully spat my rear-end and said “Come on, Kit-Kat, we gotta get movin’ before your brother spasms out thinking we left him. Otherwise, the whole police department will be surrounding his school thinking there’s a murder-scene.” With another chortle, she and I left the dance studio’s Meet-the-Teacher gathering.
Delicately waving her small, strong hand, Miss Liahla (yes, I learned her name) gently sang out with her high, gentle voice, “I can’t wait ‘till class, Kathryn!” I replied with an awkward wave.
Chapter 2
Saturday, August 16.
7:07 P.M.
Class time. And I had just left the house. Good thing we only live about a mile away from the studio. Anyway, I got there. Throwing on a ballet shoe with one hand and holding my legwarmers in the other, I hopped and stumbled over to the center barre, attempting to form coherent apologies for being late.
With a gentle gesture of her hand, Miss Liahla reassured me that it was alright. “But,” she added, “don’t be late next time, okay?” She smiled. Whether it was of forgiveness or a threat, I couldn’t tell. Either way, the shiver that slipped down my spine put enough melancholy in me that I didn’t want to chance being late again. Odd how her casual kindness always has some sort of…tang? to it, I thought to myself. Before I knew it, the complex high and low notes of a recorded piano were drifting through the room, and the intense focus of the dancers stiffened the hot Texas air like murder. Odd choice of words, maybe. But that’s exactly what this feels like. Murder. And then my thoughts shifted into focus, and I danced. Too late to have learned the combination, I had to follow the dancer in front of me, but I danced. And I danced mightily. Who wouldn’t with an angel of confusion gliding through the room, watching your every step, sweetly criticizing your every move with the scurried flicker of her eyes? And yet…there was nothing creepy about it. And yet…everything about it sent warning signals throughout my bones, screaming “CAUTION!” But Miss Liahla was just the new teacher, and I was a paranoid teenager who over-thought everything. I was just over-exaggerating. My thoughts refocused again and I danced, ignoring the feeling that puke was flowing through my bloodstream.
Sunday, August 17.
2:55 A.M.
Oooooh, I thought to my nauseated self. “BLAGH!” Throwing up in the toilet, I shoved my long hair out of the way. Stupid virus. Why can’t you just stay in one place? MUST you be so sharing? After two hours of bonding with the sewer-destined water, my observant mother slumped into the bathroom, hitting her head on the doorway. “Ow!” she gasped, placing a palm on her forehead. “WHAT is that atrocious sound?!” she demanded. After another refreshing vomit, I wiped the corners of my mouth with a dishcloth and just looked at her. Holding a fist to her own now-verdant mouth, my mother gasped “Oh! Oh!” Gagging, she queried, “Do you need anything?” Rolling my eyes I said, “Yeah, go back to bed and don’t puke. I don’t even want to flush my own digestions, much less yours. Go to bed, mom.” With one last gasp, she said “Okay” and scurried back to her bedroom at three in the morning.
Sunday, August 17.
1:02 P.M.
What time is it? I wondered. Slapping the nothingness beside me (for what reason, I’m not sure), I glanced over at my clock. 1:02, the blinding red lights shared. Gasping, I jumped out of bed, only to collapse on the floor with a migraine about one second later. “MOM!” No response. “MOM, what day is it?!” I shouted, crawling on the floor to check my calendar. Standing up, I remembered she was at work. Divorced mothers have to do that. Right. It was Sunday. Praise God! May’ve missed church, but praise…God. Mr. Ultmen would never forgive me if I was late for math class.
I tried to remember how long I’d stayed up. After a few moments of mind-boggledness, I remembered seeing 4:49. Oh my goodness! Is it possible to dry heave so long and not be hospitalized? Well, I guess it is, considering I did. Haha. My next thought was that was I starving. Cheerios, here I come!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
A Simple Prayer of Thanks to God
What words could express
How thankful I am;
How much I love You?
How many heartbeats would it take
To equal the times You’ve helped me through the trials and temptations of this life?
What colors could show You
The varied emotions that define how I feel towards You?
What art form could I pursue to bring You glory?
How bright could I shine to reflect the praise You are so much more than worthy to receive?
How loud would my voice rise to bring you worship?
How carefully would my body move to dance to the rhythm of Your love?
What heights could my soul reach to touch Your face?
How many children would I care for to serve You enough?
How many people would I love?
How many weak would I serve?
How many hurt would I mend?
How many broken would I help?
How many weary would I offer rest?
How many souls would I witness to?
How many burdens would I carry?
How many days would I live before I could scratch the surface of ways to thank you enough for being You?
How thankful I am;
How much I love You?
How many heartbeats would it take
To equal the times You’ve helped me through the trials and temptations of this life?
What colors could show You
The varied emotions that define how I feel towards You?
What art form could I pursue to bring You glory?
How bright could I shine to reflect the praise You are so much more than worthy to receive?
How loud would my voice rise to bring you worship?
How carefully would my body move to dance to the rhythm of Your love?
What heights could my soul reach to touch Your face?
How many children would I care for to serve You enough?
How many people would I love?
How many weak would I serve?
How many hurt would I mend?
How many broken would I help?
How many weary would I offer rest?
How many souls would I witness to?
How many burdens would I carry?
How many days would I live before I could scratch the surface of ways to thank you enough for being You?
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Attending Himself to Fame: An Excerpt
This is the introduction paragraph and conclusion paragraph to my 12 paragraph research paper on William Shakespeare. If for whatever reason someone wants to read the whole thing, let me know and I'll e-mail it to you (although I don't think I would want to read it all :P).
Introduction:
“All the world's a stage/ And all the men and women merely players/ They have their exits and their entrances/ And one man in his time plays many parts/ His acts being seven ages,” Jaques proclaimed in Shakespeare’s As You Like It (II. vii. 139-43). Through life’s twists and turns, William Shakespeare collected a mass of experiences: the loss of siblings during childhood and children in adulthood, the sentiment of growing into manhood, and the shift from husband and father to writer and actor, to name a few. Gaining knowledge year after year, Shakespeare climbed the ladder of success, although sometimes he tripped on a step or two. Nonetheless, each fall simply left behind a bruise to remind him not to repeat the mistake, and eventually everything in his life worked out for the greater good. Beginning with his childhood education, Shakespeare apprehended the basic nuggets of knowledge that sustain one through the trials and temptations of life—how to count and to read, to wake yourself up on time, and not to steal classmates’ sweets or draw funny pictures of your teacher while you’re supposed to be taking hefty notes. After his schooling was completed, he married and disciplined his own family in the ways of life and love, bestowing upon them boons of wisdom and personal experience. When the time was ripe, he packed up and headed for London where his talents and abilities flourished as he created dramas and trouped with Lord Chamberlain’s Men. Toiling day after day in heat of the sun, he worked alongside Lord Chamberlain’s men to create his future home—The Globe Theater. Vitality granted him eminence.
Conclusion:
Surely, the prolonged hours of studying when William Shakespeare was a child was the starting point of his later beloved fame. The lessons, the disciplines, and the focus he maintained led to the inestimable outcome of Shakespeare. When his own teachings were perfected, he himself became a husband and a father, conducting his own household. However, one day he decided to journey to London—the focal point of his fame. Wherever acting companies accepted him, he wrote dramas and even played a few minor parts. Continuing this process for some time, he eventually found himself supporting solely Lord Chamberlain’s Men—the acting troupe that, after some time, climaxed his career. Accepting the opportunities that came his way, Shakespeare fought the battles of hunger, aspersion, and disapproval until he ascended the stairs of fortune—and the Globe Theater—where his name forever remains renowned. Even in death, Shakespeare tied his words together with strings of black humor. On his gravestone was scribed:
GOOD FREND FOR JESUS SAKE FORBEARE,
TO DIGG THE DUST ENCLOASED HEARE.
BLESTE BE Ye MAN Yt SPARES THES STONES,
AND CURST BE HE Yt MOVES MY BONES (Palomar).
Forever shall Shakespeare be remembered as the man who pursued knowledge, endured trials, and boldly attended himself to fame.
Introduction:
“All the world's a stage/ And all the men and women merely players/ They have their exits and their entrances/ And one man in his time plays many parts/ His acts being seven ages,” Jaques proclaimed in Shakespeare’s As You Like It (II. vii. 139-43). Through life’s twists and turns, William Shakespeare collected a mass of experiences: the loss of siblings during childhood and children in adulthood, the sentiment of growing into manhood, and the shift from husband and father to writer and actor, to name a few. Gaining knowledge year after year, Shakespeare climbed the ladder of success, although sometimes he tripped on a step or two. Nonetheless, each fall simply left behind a bruise to remind him not to repeat the mistake, and eventually everything in his life worked out for the greater good. Beginning with his childhood education, Shakespeare apprehended the basic nuggets of knowledge that sustain one through the trials and temptations of life—how to count and to read, to wake yourself up on time, and not to steal classmates’ sweets or draw funny pictures of your teacher while you’re supposed to be taking hefty notes. After his schooling was completed, he married and disciplined his own family in the ways of life and love, bestowing upon them boons of wisdom and personal experience. When the time was ripe, he packed up and headed for London where his talents and abilities flourished as he created dramas and trouped with Lord Chamberlain’s Men. Toiling day after day in heat of the sun, he worked alongside Lord Chamberlain’s men to create his future home—The Globe Theater. Vitality granted him eminence.
Conclusion:
Surely, the prolonged hours of studying when William Shakespeare was a child was the starting point of his later beloved fame. The lessons, the disciplines, and the focus he maintained led to the inestimable outcome of Shakespeare. When his own teachings were perfected, he himself became a husband and a father, conducting his own household. However, one day he decided to journey to London—the focal point of his fame. Wherever acting companies accepted him, he wrote dramas and even played a few minor parts. Continuing this process for some time, he eventually found himself supporting solely Lord Chamberlain’s Men—the acting troupe that, after some time, climaxed his career. Accepting the opportunities that came his way, Shakespeare fought the battles of hunger, aspersion, and disapproval until he ascended the stairs of fortune—and the Globe Theater—where his name forever remains renowned. Even in death, Shakespeare tied his words together with strings of black humor. On his gravestone was scribed:
GOOD FREND FOR JESUS SAKE FORBEARE,
TO DIGG THE DUST ENCLOASED HEARE.
BLESTE BE Ye MAN Yt SPARES THES STONES,
AND CURST BE HE Yt MOVES MY BONES (Palomar).
Forever shall Shakespeare be remembered as the man who pursued knowledge, endured trials, and boldly attended himself to fame.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Playing Worship
This isn’t how I should live.
I need to act, no be, more real.
I shouldn’t be lifting my hands like praise
When I’m wondering what my neighbor thinks.
Why am I sitting here, on my knees
While it feels like a habit, not thankful for grace?
Why am I acting like such a fool?
Does it seem, right now, like I’m holier than you?
When I go back home, will I be more cruel?
If I’m living for earth but seeming like I’m for God,
Should I not hide in my closet until I set things right?
Should I not ask for forgiveness for hypocrisy,
If I’m living for God but acting like earth is my eternity?
Now should I confess my sins to those
Whose faces I’ve pondered while I’ve played worship?
Now should I admit my sin?
What if I even play holy again?
Maybe I should have been real from the start.
Maybe the answer to my questions wouldn’t hide in the dark.
And yet it’s too late to take back what I’ve done,
So I’ll ask for forgiveness, and now I’ll move on.
With my life so short and my decisions so many,
I choose to live for God,
To worship my Savior.
To live real; to praise Him.
I choose to not play worship.
I need to act, no be, more real.
I shouldn’t be lifting my hands like praise
When I’m wondering what my neighbor thinks.
Why am I sitting here, on my knees
While it feels like a habit, not thankful for grace?
Why am I acting like such a fool?
Does it seem, right now, like I’m holier than you?
When I go back home, will I be more cruel?
If I’m living for earth but seeming like I’m for God,
Should I not hide in my closet until I set things right?
Should I not ask for forgiveness for hypocrisy,
If I’m living for God but acting like earth is my eternity?
Now should I confess my sins to those
Whose faces I’ve pondered while I’ve played worship?
Now should I admit my sin?
What if I even play holy again?
Maybe I should have been real from the start.
Maybe the answer to my questions wouldn’t hide in the dark.
And yet it’s too late to take back what I’ve done,
So I’ll ask for forgiveness, and now I’ll move on.
With my life so short and my decisions so many,
I choose to live for God,
To worship my Savior.
To live real; to praise Him.
I choose to not play worship.
Friday, February 13, 2009
I Refuse to Not Live Love
I refuse to restrain myself from loving people. Most limit themselves to making time for a few close friends. If everyone only has time for a few people in their lives, some people will be excluded. I refuse to let someone rot in hell because the redeemed didn't have enough time to tell them about Jesus and share his love with them. I refuse to hide my lamp under a bowl when it should shine so everyone can receive its light. I refuse to not love everyone. I refuse to not love because there isn't enough time in my schedule. I refuse to not live love.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Who are you?
Lisa was loud, could be obnoxious, and talked too much. She showed off quite a bit, but somehow she always seemed so self-concious about everything. It was pretty annoying, actually. Her classmates even talked to each other every now and then about how much she was getting on their nerves. You couldn't sneak up on her with a hug or even poke her shoulder without her jumping. Why was she so nervous about everything?
John wasn't himself today. Or yesterday. Or the past few weeks...or months, really. He slouched around and moaned about everything that went wrong. But when he was in public he'd fake a grin and punch the other guys' shoulders, trying to be so cool, sharing stories of how much he weight-lifted over the weekend. But when he called his friends it was always "I'm such a loser," "I suck at life," "No one likes me." Some of his so-called friends left him in a second if they felt like it. What was this guy's problem, anyway?
Sara went to church on Sunday mornings and nights, Wednesday nights, and all the events. She was one of those Jesusfreaks. Helped at all the volunteer projects, participated in all the missions trips, took notes during service. She was a goody-goody alright. One Wednesday night the youth minister wasn't there, so one of the other youth leaders talked about your average big topics: sexual purity, don't drink, don't do drugs--all that jazz. When the leader started talking about porn, he gave some statistics. When he mentioned a poll taken over how many women had been addicted to porn, the girl sitting beside Sara jokingly commented "Sickos." Sara flinched.
Eliza--she was something. She probably had 50 friends. At least that's what she called them. Most of them were "projects" she was studying, trying to figure out what made them tick. The others were mainly buddies she could text when she was bored. She was cautious about sharing her own personal life with people. But she dated around, usually having a new boyfriend every few months. Most people just avoided her. I mean, she jumped from friend to friend, beau to beau, whatever was to her benefit at the moment. She was emotional and seemingly selfish and she spent most of her time writing or reading or doing something antisocial like that. Why be her friend? She might just leave them behind when it was inconvienient.
Most of the people that inflicted the pain upon these four people were Christians. All of these people are in my real life (although I obviously gave them different names for privacy purposes). But this is what the Christians didn't know:
Lisa was molested by her cousin when she was little.
John had fallen in love (to the point he had her over God), the girl had broken his heart, and he was seriously considering suicide.
Sara had been addicted to porn just a few years ago.
Eliza had been emotionally and (possibly) physically abused by her father when she was younger.
We all have things in our past that we're not proud of, whether we caused the pain ourselves or not. What's great is that it's in the past. Unfortunately, healing from the damage takes time and love that we aren't offering. How can healing come to everyone when we're judging, mocking, and not loving? Maybe if we'd take the time to get to know people we'd better understand why they are the way they are instead of throwing unnecessary stones. If we're called to love, then why isn't healing raining down?
John wasn't himself today. Or yesterday. Or the past few weeks...or months, really. He slouched around and moaned about everything that went wrong. But when he was in public he'd fake a grin and punch the other guys' shoulders, trying to be so cool, sharing stories of how much he weight-lifted over the weekend. But when he called his friends it was always "I'm such a loser," "I suck at life," "No one likes me." Some of his so-called friends left him in a second if they felt like it. What was this guy's problem, anyway?
Sara went to church on Sunday mornings and nights, Wednesday nights, and all the events. She was one of those Jesusfreaks. Helped at all the volunteer projects, participated in all the missions trips, took notes during service. She was a goody-goody alright. One Wednesday night the youth minister wasn't there, so one of the other youth leaders talked about your average big topics: sexual purity, don't drink, don't do drugs--all that jazz. When the leader started talking about porn, he gave some statistics. When he mentioned a poll taken over how many women had been addicted to porn, the girl sitting beside Sara jokingly commented "Sickos." Sara flinched.
Eliza--she was something. She probably had 50 friends. At least that's what she called them. Most of them were "projects" she was studying, trying to figure out what made them tick. The others were mainly buddies she could text when she was bored. She was cautious about sharing her own personal life with people. But she dated around, usually having a new boyfriend every few months. Most people just avoided her. I mean, she jumped from friend to friend, beau to beau, whatever was to her benefit at the moment. She was emotional and seemingly selfish and she spent most of her time writing or reading or doing something antisocial like that. Why be her friend? She might just leave them behind when it was inconvienient.
Most of the people that inflicted the pain upon these four people were Christians. All of these people are in my real life (although I obviously gave them different names for privacy purposes). But this is what the Christians didn't know:
Lisa was molested by her cousin when she was little.
John had fallen in love (to the point he had her over God), the girl had broken his heart, and he was seriously considering suicide.
Sara had been addicted to porn just a few years ago.
Eliza had been emotionally and (possibly) physically abused by her father when she was younger.
We all have things in our past that we're not proud of, whether we caused the pain ourselves or not. What's great is that it's in the past. Unfortunately, healing from the damage takes time and love that we aren't offering. How can healing come to everyone when we're judging, mocking, and not loving? Maybe if we'd take the time to get to know people we'd better understand why they are the way they are instead of throwing unnecessary stones. If we're called to love, then why isn't healing raining down?
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Love the World Like You Do
Your love made me;
It’s sustained me
Through the faded memories of years gone by.
It’s changed me;
Rearranged my life.
The pattern’s getting older:
I break myself and You mend me.
You hold me in Your arms, like a child.
Your baby girl.
And all the world will know what You’ve done for me.
Because how can I sit still,
In this world that’s freezing over,
Cause it keeps getting colder.
But Your warmth covers me.
And I desire to share it with the ice-world
This place has become.
Please take me.
You’ve saved me.
And now You want to save the world.
With Your son,
Holding my hand.
Draw me nearer to You.
Let me love the world like You do.
Let them sing Your praises.
It’s sustained me
Through the faded memories of years gone by.
It’s changed me;
Rearranged my life.
The pattern’s getting older:
I break myself and You mend me.
You hold me in Your arms, like a child.
Your baby girl.
And all the world will know what You’ve done for me.
Because how can I sit still,
In this world that’s freezing over,
Cause it keeps getting colder.
But Your warmth covers me.
And I desire to share it with the ice-world
This place has become.
Please take me.
You’ve saved me.
And now You want to save the world.
With Your son,
Holding my hand.
Draw me nearer to You.
Let me love the world like You do.
Let them sing Your praises.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Wash Me White
V1
When I’m hurt You are my comfort
When I’m down You are my joy
No matter where I am You hear me
No matter how I am You are.
(pre-chorus)
Sometimes I’m alright, Lord.
Sometimes I am just fine.
On occasion I am happy
But I need You desperately.
Will You wash me white?
(chorus)
So let Your healing rain.
Pour it down upon me,
Make it heavy.
Let Your healing rain.
Make it brisk,
Cause I need peace, now.
V2
When I’m lonely You’re my company
When I’m weary You’re my strength.
No matter when I sin You cleanse me.
No matter why, You raise me up again.
(pre-chorus)
(chorus 2x)
When I’m hurt You are my comfort
When I’m down You are my joy
No matter where I am You hear me
No matter how I am You are.
(pre-chorus)
Sometimes I’m alright, Lord.
Sometimes I am just fine.
On occasion I am happy
But I need You desperately.
Will You wash me white?
(chorus)
So let Your healing rain.
Pour it down upon me,
Make it heavy.
Let Your healing rain.
Make it brisk,
Cause I need peace, now.
V2
When I’m lonely You’re my company
When I’m weary You’re my strength.
No matter when I sin You cleanse me.
No matter why, You raise me up again.
(pre-chorus)
(chorus 2x)
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Worth
What now?
What’s worth the time?
What isn’t wasted?
What’s not a crime?
Is it worth the time to study?
Is it wasteful to speak?
Is wisdom not bound with sorrow?
When should I turn the other cheek?
Is anything worth my time?
Is anything not wasted?
When this pondering is finished
Will I decide that this, too, is wasted?
While my thoughts are infinite
And my answers are scarce,
I hold tight to the fact that God is always there.
Through my trials, temptations
Through my losses and gains
I remember that He is, was, and always will be the same.
Despite my careless feelings
Towards how life may turn out;
Despite peoples’ politics
And their impertinent shouts;
Despite the wisdom and folly
That confuse the whole earth,
God sent His only Son—
The One thing that holds worth.
What’s worth the time?
What isn’t wasted?
What’s not a crime?
Is it worth the time to study?
Is it wasteful to speak?
Is wisdom not bound with sorrow?
When should I turn the other cheek?
Is anything worth my time?
Is anything not wasted?
When this pondering is finished
Will I decide that this, too, is wasted?
While my thoughts are infinite
And my answers are scarce,
I hold tight to the fact that God is always there.
Through my trials, temptations
Through my losses and gains
I remember that He is, was, and always will be the same.
Despite my careless feelings
Towards how life may turn out;
Despite peoples’ politics
And their impertinent shouts;
Despite the wisdom and folly
That confuse the whole earth,
God sent His only Son—
The One thing that holds worth.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Power and Beauty
Although the world is telling you lies every single day,
“Money is power, and bones are beauty”
God knows you are beautiful; He made you that way.
Riches don’t come from power; Beauty isn’t flesh.
The best reward one can receive had bruises bloodied on His face
And strikes stained on his chest.
“Money is power, and bones are beauty”
God knows you are beautiful; He made you that way.
Riches don’t come from power; Beauty isn’t flesh.
The best reward one can receive had bruises bloodied on His face
And strikes stained on his chest.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Face Reality
Church is just a game to play.
We can hardly make it through Monday
Before we’re weary, careless, broken.
Somehow though we’re smiling Sunday.
Love isn’t just for the weekends.
Love isn’t just for the rich or the poor.
Love isn’t just for the joyful.
Love isn’t just for the ones who just mourn.
Love isn’t just for the weary.
Love isn’t just for the foreign.
Love isn’t just for the hearts that are broken.
Love isn’t just for Sunday.
Hypocrisy won’t save any souls.
Saying “God Bless You” won’t feed all the hungry.
Smiling through pain only adds some more tolls.
If we aren’t true we can’t face reality.
We can hardly make it through Monday
Before we’re weary, careless, broken.
Somehow though we’re smiling Sunday.
Love isn’t just for the weekends.
Love isn’t just for the rich or the poor.
Love isn’t just for the joyful.
Love isn’t just for the ones who just mourn.
Love isn’t just for the weary.
Love isn’t just for the foreign.
Love isn’t just for the hearts that are broken.
Love isn’t just for Sunday.
Hypocrisy won’t save any souls.
Saying “God Bless You” won’t feed all the hungry.
Smiling through pain only adds some more tolls.
If we aren’t true we can’t face reality.
And some others
Most are songs, but some are poems. [side note] The last few are from last year. Don't worry :P [/side note].
Broken and Betrayed
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
She lied in every way.
She took my sin and played a game.
She rolled it like dice.
It’s like a needle in the hay.
I said “She’ll pay the price.”
But then I think about You and Your forgiveness.
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
He beats me to the ground.
He curses and spits in my face.
He slaps me again.
But I act like he’s renowned.
But my love he disdains.
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
Dizzying
It’s overwhelming.
Captivating.
The way You hold me.
I feel Your embrace.
It’s something different.
Something fragrant.
The way You move me.
I feel Your love.
It’s dizzying the way You are,
What You do to me.
How You seem to be.
It’s unfathomable, Your love.
The way You romance me.
Pull me closer.
It’s alluring.
Mesmerizing.
The way You touch me.
I feel Your breath.
It’s something unique.
Something pleasing.
The way You move me.
I feel Your love.
It’s dizzying the way You are,
What You do to me.
How You seem to be.
It’s unfathomable, Your love.
The way You romance me.
Pull me closer.
I need You.
I want You.
I feel You.
I hear You.
I need You.
I want You.
I have You.
I have You.
(repeat bridge)
It’s dizzying the way You are,
What You do to me.
How You seem to be.
It’s unfathomable, Your love.
The way You romance me.
Pull me closer.
His Nail-Pierced Hands
So this is what surrender looks like
Scabbing wounds trying to heal.
Burdens lifted from my shoulders.
Trusting Someone more than real.
What have we come to?
What went wrong here?
Why didn’t we just let Him take the sin
With his nail-pierced hands?
What if we surrender
Our lives in the full?
Stop trying to dictate, to conquer.
Be humble, forgiven?
So this is what surrender feels like
No more scars; No more pain.
Holes in my denim jeans
From praying so hard here on my knees.
What have we come to?
What went wrong here?
Why didn’t we just let Him take the sin
With his nail-pierced hands?
What if we surrender
Our lives in the full?
Stop trying to dictate, to conquer.
Be humble, forgiven?
I’ve wondered many times what would happen.
If we would just accept forgiveness.
If we would let God cleanse us thoroughly.
I’m not sure and I don’t think I’ll ever see it.
Unless someone gives complete surrender.
Everyone gives complete surrender.
Then we all can be free.
Why didn’t we just let Him take the sin
With his nail-pierced hands?
Living Sacrifice
I cried.
You answered.
I called for help.
You said “Here am I.”
Simple words,
For my sweet Savior.
All I have to offer.
Here is my example
Of a living sacrifice.
I asked you,
“Will you be there?”
You said “I will never leave you,
Nor forsake you.”
Simple words,
For my sweet Savior.
All I have to offer.
Here is my example
Of a living sacrifice.
Kiss of Hell
Fogging up the glass
On your car’s front window.
With the shallow breaths your lying mouth breathes.
Suffering from your own splintered stakes
You created by yourself.
Hoping for something unfalse to
Save you from your breaking glass.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
Stopping traffic
On the road your soul can’t take.
With your hands on the wheel,
Wishing for more control of your paths
That you let Satan guide.
Attempt to understand where you started letting go.
Defense against your evil heart’s murderous state.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
Locked inside the mental gate
Where you embrace pain
Of years gone by.
Now you have the knife at hand,
Cut yourself.
Blend in.
Pray for hope.
You hold your sorrow
Anyways.
Trapped inside the mental gate
Where you embrace pain
Of the un-real.
Now you have your gun at hand,
Kill yourself.
Satisfy
Your soul’s hunger.
“Not yet,”
You say.
Wait.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
Now you let go.
Let your
Bloodied Savior
Save.
Dropping death’s bittersweet kisses down to hell’s gates.
You let G-d break your rusted chains.
Untrue Apologetics
My dimmest shine
Held in the Divine
Holy Presence
Taking over my advantage.
Holding my breath.
Waiting for You to come.
Place breath in me.
Please let Your words flow in my mouth.
Be the settled peace spoken through me.
Black thoughts fill my mind.
Replace them with Your holiness.
Bitter tears rest on my eyelids.
While I wait for You to take them in.
My heart twists in knots as I wait for You.
My patience runs low and I hope for You.
I pray you hold me as I fall,
On my knees, bearing it all.
On my own, I plead for You.
Bloody bullets come from my unreal prayers.
Ending in a demented field of untrue apologetics.
Then an honest anvil takes a hold
And I realize I didn’t truly mean it.
Darkness grips my whole,
And I consume myself in torture.
Then You freeze the time-frame of the moment,
And I know I am somehow forgiven.
Broken and Betrayed
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
She lied in every way.
She took my sin and played a game.
She rolled it like dice.
It’s like a needle in the hay.
I said “She’ll pay the price.”
But then I think about You and Your forgiveness.
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
He beats me to the ground.
He curses and spits in my face.
He slaps me again.
But I act like he’s renowned.
But my love he disdains.
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
I feel broken and betrayed.
But somehow still the same as yesterday.
Fine, just fine in every way,
But I know that I’ve been broken and betrayed.
I hear Your name; It comforts me.
I know I’ll make it through,
Somehow; Some way.
You’ll take away my pain.
You’ll take it all away.
Dizzying
It’s overwhelming.
Captivating.
The way You hold me.
I feel Your embrace.
It’s something different.
Something fragrant.
The way You move me.
I feel Your love.
It’s dizzying the way You are,
What You do to me.
How You seem to be.
It’s unfathomable, Your love.
The way You romance me.
Pull me closer.
It’s alluring.
Mesmerizing.
The way You touch me.
I feel Your breath.
It’s something unique.
Something pleasing.
The way You move me.
I feel Your love.
It’s dizzying the way You are,
What You do to me.
How You seem to be.
It’s unfathomable, Your love.
The way You romance me.
Pull me closer.
I need You.
I want You.
I feel You.
I hear You.
I need You.
I want You.
I have You.
I have You.
(repeat bridge)
It’s dizzying the way You are,
What You do to me.
How You seem to be.
It’s unfathomable, Your love.
The way You romance me.
Pull me closer.
His Nail-Pierced Hands
So this is what surrender looks like
Scabbing wounds trying to heal.
Burdens lifted from my shoulders.
Trusting Someone more than real.
What have we come to?
What went wrong here?
Why didn’t we just let Him take the sin
With his nail-pierced hands?
What if we surrender
Our lives in the full?
Stop trying to dictate, to conquer.
Be humble, forgiven?
So this is what surrender feels like
No more scars; No more pain.
Holes in my denim jeans
From praying so hard here on my knees.
What have we come to?
What went wrong here?
Why didn’t we just let Him take the sin
With his nail-pierced hands?
What if we surrender
Our lives in the full?
Stop trying to dictate, to conquer.
Be humble, forgiven?
I’ve wondered many times what would happen.
If we would just accept forgiveness.
If we would let God cleanse us thoroughly.
I’m not sure and I don’t think I’ll ever see it.
Unless someone gives complete surrender.
Everyone gives complete surrender.
Then we all can be free.
Why didn’t we just let Him take the sin
With his nail-pierced hands?
Living Sacrifice
I cried.
You answered.
I called for help.
You said “Here am I.”
Simple words,
For my sweet Savior.
All I have to offer.
Here is my example
Of a living sacrifice.
I asked you,
“Will you be there?”
You said “I will never leave you,
Nor forsake you.”
Simple words,
For my sweet Savior.
All I have to offer.
Here is my example
Of a living sacrifice.
Kiss of Hell
Fogging up the glass
On your car’s front window.
With the shallow breaths your lying mouth breathes.
Suffering from your own splintered stakes
You created by yourself.
Hoping for something unfalse to
Save you from your breaking glass.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
Stopping traffic
On the road your soul can’t take.
With your hands on the wheel,
Wishing for more control of your paths
That you let Satan guide.
Attempt to understand where you started letting go.
Defense against your evil heart’s murderous state.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
Locked inside the mental gate
Where you embrace pain
Of years gone by.
Now you have the knife at hand,
Cut yourself.
Blend in.
Pray for hope.
You hold your sorrow
Anyways.
Trapped inside the mental gate
Where you embrace pain
Of the un-real.
Now you have your gun at hand,
Kill yourself.
Satisfy
Your soul’s hunger.
“Not yet,”
You say.
Wait.
And now you don’t know who you are;
Where you are.
Staring at the shattered glass
You know your sins did break.
And now you don’t know why you are;
How you are.
Blowing frozen teardrops up to heaven’s gates.
You beg for freedom from your self-created chains.
Now you let go.
Let your
Bloodied Savior
Save.
Dropping death’s bittersweet kisses down to hell’s gates.
You let G-d break your rusted chains.
Untrue Apologetics
My dimmest shine
Held in the Divine
Holy Presence
Taking over my advantage.
Holding my breath.
Waiting for You to come.
Place breath in me.
Please let Your words flow in my mouth.
Be the settled peace spoken through me.
Black thoughts fill my mind.
Replace them with Your holiness.
Bitter tears rest on my eyelids.
While I wait for You to take them in.
My heart twists in knots as I wait for You.
My patience runs low and I hope for You.
I pray you hold me as I fall,
On my knees, bearing it all.
On my own, I plead for You.
Bloody bullets come from my unreal prayers.
Ending in a demented field of untrue apologetics.
Then an honest anvil takes a hold
And I realize I didn’t truly mean it.
Darkness grips my whole,
And I consume myself in torture.
Then You freeze the time-frame of the moment,
And I know I am somehow forgiven.
To HIM Be the Glory
I know in the past I've been paranoid about people stealing my writings (mainly because they have been stolen), but I've thought many times before about how God uses me as a tool--I'm simply the typist behind the words, the poetry, the songs--whatever it may be. And I talk about how I want what I write (type) to bring God glory, to inspire others, to make a difference. Well, how is any of that supposed to happen when I sign my name under what I write, when I call it "my" writings, and especially when I'm too worried that people might put their own name under it when I wrote it? Well, it's not mine. It's God's. I'm just the typist. So, anything that might inspire someone, show them His glory, help them through a hard time, I'm going to start posting.
So here's my first one. I wrote it last night in less than a minute. That was totally God.
When I run out of words to say
And I think our conversation’s over
I start to go away
But then I hear You call my name.
So I envelope Your words
Inside a melody of praise
I melt in Your embrace
And let You hold me.
Once my voice is shushed
And I simply sit in silence
I come to realize
That I can praise You in the quiet.
Despite my endless babblings
Over anything and nothing
I have come to discover the truth
That peace be still means something beautiful.
So here's my first one. I wrote it last night in less than a minute. That was totally God.
When I run out of words to say
And I think our conversation’s over
I start to go away
But then I hear You call my name.
So I envelope Your words
Inside a melody of praise
I melt in Your embrace
And let You hold me.
Once my voice is shushed
And I simply sit in silence
I come to realize
That I can praise You in the quiet.
Despite my endless babblings
Over anything and nothing
I have come to discover the truth
That peace be still means something beautiful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
