Monday, May 19, 2014

My Kinda Jesus

So often when people talk about Jesus they talk about conquerer Jesus who rose from the grave, or compassionate Jesus who forgave the sinner, or healing Jesus who made the blind man see or even sacrificial Jesus who died so we might live, but they forget betrayed Jesus who was handed over to his enemies or angry Jesus who turned over tables, or lonely Jesus who ached for someone to be near him in his suffering, or desperate Jesus who asked why God had forsaken Him. There is no emotion that we feel that He did not, He knows your heart and feels your pain, you are NEVER alone. 

Friday, May 16, 2014

Her Stories

She told her stories and she had her dissenters, 
people who refused to believe that kind of evil existed, and others who knew their friend was not capable of such ugliness.
She told her stories and her heart broke with every sarcastic and unbelieving glance.
She told her stories when physical wounds had healed and proof of reality was far past her reach.
She told her stories to free herself and warn others
But she was crazy
And so they did not listen
She told her stories and lived them out in nightmares
She told her stories and begged God to protect her children from them.
She told her stories and no one listened
And by and by, they told their stories which were altogether her stories on repeat
They told their stories when physical wounds were not healed and proof of reality was possible

They told their stories and they had her stories to prove they were not crazy

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Crying and Screaming

I can't remember
I can't forget
I wake up at night, 
screaming about things I don't remember.
crying about the things I do
Sick at my stomach and unable to move
I can't put a face on it, 
was it him or him, was I big or small, 
but my body remembers . . .
If only I could remember,
I could work my way through
If only I could forget,
I could pretend I'm normal
unbroken and unafraid
but no.
Not this time
Maybe never
Maybe monsters will always be bigger
Maybe I will always be stuck in the place of remembering and forgetting and 
wishing for neither. 

As I Lay Sleeping

As I lay sleeping the phone rings. It is him, he is scared and alone. I rush quickly to get dressed and make my way to him, terrified I won't make it in time. This time it's bad, I can tell from the sound of his voice. It reminds me of when I would listen to him cry as my father locked him in his room. I can't breathe. I am driving but the road is swirling about, making me feel dizzy and sick.

I call and I call, but he no longer answers. I try helplessly to figure out where he is based on the things he said when he was making more sense. . . wrong. Over and over I call his name but no one answers. Maybe, I figure, his vision is blurry too, so I drive to a similar location. Still not answering. I lower the windows and dial the number and listen. . . nothing. Keep driving, keep calling, keep listening. Finally I hear it. Oh God, I hear his phone but not him, please let him be ok. I run frantically around the area trying to find him, I keep calling.

There he is. . . curled under a bush, not moving. He is cold and stiff. I panic, afraid that I am too late. I drag him out, God he's so heavy. I don't remember him being this heavy last time. I get him turned over and am bombarded with the smell of alcohol and vomit. His eyes slowly open, "Lady" he says "it's ok, my sister is coming, just leave me here." He seems confused when I explain that it's me, that I have found him, that I will take him home.

Home to what? Home to broken dreams and promises. Home to empty walls and beds? How can that be home? Perhaps the concrete where he was lying was a little warmer than this place.

My heart breaks a million times over as I watch him stagger around and cry about all he's lost. I want so badly to help. Just like when he was little I would try to figure out how to push the food under the door so he could eat. Now it seems there is nothing I can do. I stood there helpless and sick until the mosters inside finally quieted enough to let him rest.

I tuck him into bed and kiss his forhead. I am so sorry.  "Sorry for what," he says. "Sorry for all of this," I reply, "Sorry that I can't help this time." I leave the house tired and thankful that I found him. Please God if you can't make his burden any less, please always let me find him. Please don't make me say good-bye to someone else over a broken heart.

It’s Not Glitter

 No one warns you about how dried blood flakes and glistens like glitter that you just can’t seem to get off.  No one tells you how fingerpr...