there was always a
girl inside me a little more
shy and awkward and
scared than i'd like to
admit
and then she knew pain and she was
nothing that she
was before and You
put me back
together so much
better than before
sometimes dreaming of him and
flattering him and
sitting inches from him always and
telling him everything and
trusting him and
flirting and
hinting and
vulnerably adoring are
not always so
obvious
to him
sometimes flattery and
flirtation and confiding and
finding any way to be close to her and
longing for her and
flattering her and
trusting her and
waiting and
hoping and
promises that she is
remarkable and she will
find someone who
utterly adores her, are
not always so
obvious
to her
we live in our own
minds and our own hearts and we
often find ourselves wondering if we
imagined the whole thing
simple, deductive logic
muddled by
longing
sometimes you just have to
brave it, have to
risk it, have to
kiss the girl, and
pray for a
happy ending
how do you let life
pass you by
how do you not come to his
birthday party or christmas or
thanksgiving or
every
day
how do you not know that he
loves to dance and sing
and imagine and
create
how do you not know his
favourite colour or about how
he's obsessed with ketchup and
brobee and swimming and
train sets and the rain and
helping people
cook
he can count to ten, you know
and he makes up stories and
songs and he
doesn't even
know who you
are
i keep passing myself in the
mirror, barely recognizing myself, i have
changed so much
and i guess i've grown
see, i've lived a little and i've
encountered a few troubles and i've
learned to love jesus a little
better
the truth, however
is that while my troubles have
not been few, they've also
not been all that
"glamorous"
i don't know
suffering like he did or
real pain or
what it even feels like to
be alone
see, god is
faithful and he will not
let me be tempted beyond my
capacity
and i'm just now learning how
very, very small that
capacity really is
i lie down at night with
hair disheveled and clothes ragged, post-
cooking, which happens from
scratch and from the heart and
after the laundry's all
done, after the
chasing and the wiping and the
playing and loving and
protecting from fatal injury
the entirety of my energy, spent
looking one hot mess, but
still and always
smiling
he lies down at night with
hair disheveled and clothes ragged, post-
scarfing favorite foods, after
spilling and grass-staining and ripping, after
fleeing and squirming and
playing and loving and
forever falling down
the entirety of his energy, spent
eyes wide,
disaster in his wake, and
still and always
smiling
little baby hands with five
tiny baby fingers, always
running away with food and
toys and books and
my heart
sometimes life reminds you that it is frail, and to embrace it.
i am not afraid of dying, and so i don't always pay it proper respect. but i'm fortunate, in a bizarre way, to have a son with a heart condition, which serves as a semi-regular reminder that life ends someday. and reminds me to live.
and so, this week, i have.
i've talked a lot about jesus.
i've hugged zebediah and told him i love him more than he can stand.
i've gone to the park.
i've called my mom every day.
i've eaten a lot of mashed potatoes and pizza.
i've gone running out of doors.
i've been honest and vulnerable.
i've listened to a lot of mewithoutYou.
i've laughed and smiled and cried and felt.
i've listened to music on cassette.
i've driven with the windows down.
i've watched the sun rise and set.
i've drank obscene amounts of coffee.
and i've breathed deep and kept on keeping on.
as should everyone.
feeling in need of
nothing in particular, i
sing out
be my everything,
be my everything
we are not stories that can be
re-written, we cannot
re:imagine things in order to
repair them, nor heal with
the power of thought.
we walk forward and fast and
messily and beautifully
wakes of destruction behind,
striding briskly toward what
hope we have left,
faint as it may be.
featured on "with those who, a journal of empathy" by founder Ben Devries, October 2010
i gave up rain for faucets,
built my own cave to
dwell inside.
i take weapons to my hair and
brushes to my
(painted) face.
baby's milk's made
in a factory, and i'm
not talkin' 'bout my body.
i even grow my own food faster
than you ever could.
mother earth, i am
not your machine.
--
definitely not as free-flowing as what i generally aim for, but i found it difficult to create the imagery in any kind of comfortably flowing or well-put together piece. some days, everything just feels so synthetic, and that is all i mean to portray.
