and she finally put words to it.
the song
that broke her soul and never knew itself.
she could suddenly
articulate.

enunciate
the pain
so all
ideas
accumulate,

collection floating
in a bubble overhead
trying to suffocate,

but now she hears inside,
and
recognizes
this
is just the sound of lies

that lived so long
without
her
knowing it

she reaches deep into the
sky
and grasps the needle of Your
honesty
and Fragments,
fall
from clouds
quite frantically.

And now the bough
is broken,
cradles gone

and darkness
can no longer
carry on.

Providence

                                                                                   On the road
                                                                              full of thorns
                                                                           i am finding
                                                                        patches
                                                                       of grass
                                                                         and barefeet
                                                                            strumming
                                                                                next to you

           next to You

       and accepting
      that
        this road
               will not
                be carved
              by me
      yet I am free 
                                                                                    to lift my head,
                                                                                  Unabashed,
                                                                                     Move ahead,
                                                                                        and embrace
                                                                                           t he way
                                                                                            You've got it
                                                                                            jotted
                                                                                          down,
                                                                                                   
                                                                                                 (instead)

the lines will never be yellow again
forever stained
black and red
by the touch of
this
neverending nightmare

without name

Little one,
I did
have dreams for you.
Memories now
of things
forever
Unhappened.

Missing
photos, squirms,
the
black and white
sketch,
and yet,

I watched myself
cradle you
     pinkandblue
and fight
with daddy to keep you close at night.

And Still,

I saw myself
crouched low,
tying your shoe,
and teaching you how to,
the way I've taught
so many
others

           that were never mine.

I won't see that clearly again.
When the stars are out,
             
          I will know the clouds now.

And how
You
could never
belong
to
Me.


 

Life Support

how could i forget
the way you looked at me then?
happy for the happiness that brought you fear

and then when the fears actualized,
how,
in the hospital beside me,
allsixfeetfourinchesofyou
was smashed into the chair
where you sat for hours
stroking my hair
and trying to pull the sadness out of me

"I have never loved you more"

and standing and demanding
that they care as much as you did.

And in the days to follow
your needs went unremembered,
so that you could eat my tears
and bring me flowers
and promise all I'd ever want
would arrive
"on a silver platter"
if I just said the word.

In the evening I reflect on it.
How
Your love
was
My Only Oxygen
for days.


 

Perdiendo

on Sunday
there was a blue stick
and
green paper
with ink fears and promises
on it
and knees squeezed between
chapel chairs
and prayers,

On Monday
there was singing and
and trembling
and wonder
and Imperial Chicken
and layers of gold
glowing 'round her head,

On Tuesday
there was a clanging
in the clock tower
and time stood still for days
while well meaning
friends summoned hope
that could only betray,

On Thursday,
late into night,
the porcelain dream took flight,
leaving
almost at once,
(except for the screaming
and hours of blood)
and she was left
empty
in places
that she
now longed to
never be full again.

eh

last night you broke through again,
as so often you do,

a forceful finger that is
Always Pressing

into

it(
So fragile already)
the yawn
and the eyelash.

What tiny effort you must exude
to intrude,

with burst
into the delicate soap bubble
of the midnight
mind.

Do you not know by now

how unwanted is your silhouette
within the ally,
how painfully unpleasant
that your essence has become?

if it weren't for prayers
and all twelve stairs
the stolen flutters
may have opened shutters
that would
have
swallowed
more than
hope.

hamster wheel

truth be told
she's tired of you
she yawns at the thought of the same everyday everything
and the way you hurt her
by accident
in a pattern

she sees you scrape together effort
in ways that mean little
because she cares about words
and you care about
riddles

and she's bored of it

or maybe that's what happens after
anger and regret
when touch gets grey
and comfort's the only way
you let each other in

if you would break the cycle
she would
break the cycle if you would

tragic

do you remember
the touch that swallowed our hearts,
how moments so small
built all our everything,

like wheels on dry grass
and the loom of our hands
and holding your earrings?

i do.

and i have reached
further and harder than surgeons
to pull myself out of you

but I can
Not.

the flecks and pieces of me
lodged
so deep and invisible:
splinters of a shattered microchip
forever lost in you.

And this.
binding up.

Always.

of inquisitions
about
pieces of you
inside me too.


Sometimes,
when I don't want to,

I still find them.
& me.
Clutching and Pushing at this urge to give them back.

loyalty

We are the same afraid.
Branches cutting through our clear vision of one another.
Making us find the other
unrelated.

But it is not so,

as we have shared
skin
   and
song
   and
breath,

apparitions we can't hold,
but long to.

When our hands
dare
to touch again,
to summon hope
and slay
the distance,
the retraction is quicker.
Connection banished
and
poisoned forever by
photographs
of that
One electric shock.


 

Two Rivers

it was time to decorate
but her heart was still
half-thawed
and grey,
longing to bring warmth
     but Missing...
the corners
and the nooks and the wires,
the
way they could gather, 
easily around the skirts of her kitchen,
for uninterrupted
aromas
of tender meats,
sweet pecans,
and gratitude

Yes, she was missing.

Missing
The way things fit.
The way that her
eagerly chosen
evergreens
once spread their arms into every room,

and windows, not as cold and wide,
would boast of
boughs
that once
belonged
just Right.

She was careful,
to feel the sadness in that moment.
But,
without surrender,
as she 
sought new
touches, afterward
in
the Pink Flamingo.

 

Savoring

in the dark of yesterday
you kissed me like I was brand new
playing
games like kittens
inside soft blue

visions
of pretending
that we aren't meant to

you sang, dear
"coffee-stained eyes,
I hope you know my love"

and for a moment
I did(!)
and scurried
with

amnesic fingers
to thrust the
feeling of it
past the bone and blood,
to
force the truth of it
into my heart,

        Heedful
of
Tommorow's thief.
His constant tries
to steal
our specks of joy.

emancipate

This morning I asked you
to take my heart back.

I find I
slip     it
      into the
pockets of my jeans,
corners of my wallet,

but I don't want it,

It's so ugly when I keep it for myself.

i asked you for a white horse moment,
for your ax to hack away
at these thickening
entanglements

and cut me
Out,

make me free
of all these weeds

all        this          

(wintry,
rattled,
tremulous)

Me.

This morning I asked you
to take me down,
to fight me 'til I'm
only yours again.

My Story

My art journal is, at long last, mostly finished. I kept thinking I might add a bit to it, and still ponder the thought, but it seems that next chapter hasn't happened yet.

This Art Journal is basically my life story; where I've been, what I've discovered, how I've changed, where I'm going. Hope you enjoy!

 

This first page is pretty dark and sad, I know...but so was my life at this time! The passage on the right is from Ro 1:28

"Furthermore, since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent ways of doing evil; they disobey their parents; they are senseless, faithless, heartless, ruthless. Although they know God’s righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them."

I couldn't find a good photo for my sentiments here so I thought I'd sketch one. Just a quick pencil sketch with marker outline and some pastel (not properly blended I know because the paper I used wouldn't give).

 Text here is Psalm 107:14 "He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and burst their bonds apart."

I was super happy with this page. I'm a messy art journaler and like an older, vintage style look vs. nice clean scrapbooky type lines. I originally had a photo of an eye from a magazine pasted on the left side but in my artistic frenzy I dribbled paint all over and had to make my own. A major accomplishment for me since I don't do realistic painting AT ALL. So there it is, my first painted eye...not bad for a beginner although I have a much greater appreciation for peoples ability to mix and deliver proper skin tone in portraits now that I've tried it myself. Wow, that's tough. Also, I still dribbled a little white paint where I didn't want it. I'll learn more precision someday.

Lots of experimentation here. I really liked the texture of a few of the papers, tried some bubble wrap painting (soooo fun!), and my first try with glitter gel...still not sure what I think of that because it takes FOREVER to dry. I suppose you could blow dry it like some art journalers do but I'm just not that into it.

 

I could NOT believe I found this awesome quote in a magazine. Matched so many Isaiah thoughts I've had. I had to play around with how I wanted to break up the statue (the way I really wanted to wouldn't fit on my page) thus the extra tears in the photos, but, like I said. I'm messy and I think that adds to it:)

This was my favorite photo, by far, but I realize I totally destroyed it. I will use Modge Podge and a credit card to smooth out a big photo like this next time. This is the first time that messy-lazy art didn't work out in my favor:( It's hard to see here but the bottom scrap spirals and stands off the page. I tried several things to get it to this point but some little crumpled paper and drip glue underneath certain parts did the trick.

 They are supposed to kind of go/flow together. The scrap scribbles are Je 18:11 "..but the vessel was spoiled...so He remade it into another vessel as it pleased the potter to make" This page is really supposed to show the pain of being reshaped and smashed. Like the Oscar Wilde quote ''How else but through a broken heart may Lord Christ enter in?''

 Ooops, I almost forgot this one! Lyrics are Ginny Owens "You Call Me Beautiful"(I think that's the title)

Last page...kind of a 'where I'm going' page (especially pertains to children).

I Still don't have my cover for this art journal and I'm not sure I need one. The strange 70's cartoon on the front is kinda cool actually;) 

To HEAR my story as spoken to a congregation of about 150 (?) you can copy and paste this link:

http://northbaychurch.org/index.php?s=gl&nid=174971

It's really hard to hear so you'll need a very quiet room, decent speakers and about 25 to 30 minutes time.

Contented

love settles
In
and Down
curling up


by a glowing fire

Chasing has a certain thrill
but security
proves
warmer

so I will light the grateful spark
behind my eyes,
inside my heart,
at the predictably
of You

always    coming      home

to Me

compromise

scrape together justice with razor blade and mirror
freedom places handcuffs on your mother, sister, friend

he's got ideas
she's got ideas
and shaming's s'posed to lead to tolerence

       would be nice,
oxygen in every crevice
      would be nice
oxygen in every tongueless mouth

but one tube's 
shy to feed us all
when a hundred pet causes
are standing on it

put explosives in your windows
 so they learn to be doors

annihilate your doors
 until they're open to the world

until you can see beyond
your own
ambitions

and overestimated ways

although
laughing
and
dancing
in late hours
with her
red dress
stirring
up jealousy
from those that saw her
            happy

she would return
alone
even while together
with him

she would awaken
with questions
in her heart
about what would be said
of her now

10 Things You May Not Know About Your 'Christian' Neighbor

Stereotyping groups is always crappy, and you especially feel it when you are one of the group being stereotyped. I grew up being stereotyped as a hub-cap stealing, ganja smoking, ignorant, illegal immigrant because of my Hispanic ethnicity, and that was only a little bit painful. As a 'Christian' I have now experienced a few more stereotypes that actually hurt even worse and I'd love to address them briefly by stating a few truths about myself and at least a few others who are brave enough to call themselves 'Christ followers' in a world that despises such people:

1. We don't all judge you. Some of us are a lot more concerned about all the crap that we don't have figured out yet and are quite preoccupied with taking care of that.

2. We don't all think that homosexuals are going to hell. While some of us still believe that same-sex behavior is not pleasing to God based on the Scriptures that define our morality, we also realize that a LOT of what we do is not pleasing to God (adultery, premarital sex, drunkenness, gossiping, etc) and we actually don't think we are any better or more deserving of heaven than anybody else. We recognize that we will all struggle with sin continually and that all of us needs forgiveness and grace. 

3.We are not all Republicans. Some of us care a lot about environmental, educational and social issues and are often torn between the two parties or even, gasp (!) vote Democratic. Some of us have even dared face the fact that Jesus wasn't a Republican or Democrat, too.

4. Most of us realize that the church is a mess. Of course it is! It's made up of flawed people from a hundred different backgrounds and perspectives and they are all trying to somehow help other people. We know that church leaders and members mess up all the time and the only thing we claim as perfect is God Himself.

5. We are not all ignorant. There are actually some really great minds in the church. I look at people like Isaac Newton, Galileo, and Copernicus who had an appreciation for the Divine. Piper, Strobel, Lennox and Ravi Zacharias are a few modern day scholars on that level who, although incredibly intelligent, still believe in God. So it is actually possible that some of us have used our brains to think things through and have still arrived at our unpopular conclusions about Christ.

6. We were not all raised in "Christian" families. Many of us come from backgrounds of drug addiction, sexual immorality, abuse, or atheism. Some of us have questioned and rejected the same philosophies as non-Christians and still come out on the believing end.

7. Not everyone who calls themselves "Christian" actually knows much about the bible or is even trying to follow Christ. Some people call themselves "Christian" because their parents are "Christian" or it makes them feel like a good person, and those people really aren't sure what they believe. So when they say or do something that offends you...don't assume that all "Christians" believe or feel the way that they do.

8. Some of us actually wish you would be friends with us because we like playing the same board game or listening to the same music. We aren't always trying to 'evangelize' rather than appreciate you but we sure love talking about what matters to us when we get the chance...probably just like you do.

9. Some of us feel equally horrified by the atrocities of the church over the centuries, from the holy wars and Andrea Yates, to the very existence of the Westboro Baptist Hate Group, etc. We have incredible faith that whatever 'god' these people are supposedly following is definitely not Jesus.

10. Not all of us listen to Christian radio and walk around saying "God bless you" and "hallelujah". Just sayin...

and this napkin

love you so much I'm split wide open
aching through the parts of me
that make you look so ugly

you were the one that sewed me up
when my stitching came undone
but my clumsy songs
just make you seem
unworthy

I want to make you look beautiful
I want to make you look like all you've been to me

I want to make you look beautiful
but I've just a broken crayon
and this napkin

fireworks

oh, dear changing season,
you have summoned a slumbering pen to wake
and find her lungs,

with your smeared explosions
of

honey-
fuschia-peach-

and
citrus-scarlet-

hot

 (as liquid crayon
bursting from scraggly brushes)

,with your
hillside all afire
but never burning up

,shouting as to Moses
about Supremacy