Hello Again, Fear

The little girl closed her eyes, feeling the curve of the couch cushions that supported her, sagging and clammy like pancakes that are left out all day. Sleep tugged at her. Then, the flick of a shadow. Her eyes flipped open, and she froze.
I still remember that night, remember the abrupt introduction to fear I experienced. I recall my imagination racing, tripping over itself as sleepless hours trudged on. Years afterwards, I asked my mom about that night. She claims she never saw anything, but I was convinced that I saw a black hand slowly emerge from a potted peace plant resting on a side table at the foot of our blue upholstered couch.
We moved often when I was growing up. Every two or three years we would pack up and haul off to another Midwest state for my Dad's residency or training to become a doctor. My family was stable through all of this; I was not. I was an only child for six years until the addition of three siblings. I had a difficult time discovering and sustaining friendships because of my selfishness in my only-child years and my isolation that resulted from being homeschooled. My mom and dad were my constants, my supportive pillars, but another move and middle school toppled my temple with Samson-like force. I rarely strayed from the confines of my stable bubble, which propelled me to depression because of my deep yearning for friendship. Though my relationships with both my mom and dad were very strong, I felt trapped like I had a perpetual itch to traverse beyond the boundaries of my dwelling and was unable to do so. My parents decided it would be wise to enroll me in a few classes at the local middle school for social contact. I was terrified and feared failure. From then on, my initial reaction to any new experience was one of panicky anxiety. A few years prior to this time, I developed a nervous habit of pulling my hair out. Heightened by additional stress, my destructive habit became obsessive. My eyelashes and eyebrows disappeared, and my hair thinned and became bald in different areas. I fell deeper into self-loathing sometimes wanting to die, always wishing to be beautiful or disappear. In my insecurity and sheltered naivety, I continued to struggle finding like-minded friends or any friends at all. Fear grew discretely, hiding behind my broken awkwardness.
I remember a girl inviting me to a Cardinals baseball game. I accepted, giddy that she wanted me to accompany her, but panic hit me like a meat hook, as I realized that I was going to drive two hours away to watch a game in a stadium with thousands of fans with a girl I barely knew. My parents would not be there to protect me. What if I got lost? What if I got sick? I tried to go to sleep, but the panic was overwhelming. I broke out in tears and ran sobbing to my dad who was reading his email. I pleaded, begged him to call and tell her I could not go. He tried to assure me that I was over-reacting. Short of breath with tears cascading from my eyes I begged and begged. He remained indifferent, knew I needed to go. I slunk helplessly onto a chair, exhausted and shaking as waves of nausea rose and fell over my body. The next morning my friend and her family arrived to pick me up at my house. I took a deep, shaky breath, hugged my parents, fought tears at the thought of never seeing them again, went to the game, and quite enjoyed myself.
Middle school finally withdrew. I flushed depression and ADHD medication with it. My hair grew back and I became relatively normal. We moved, once again, and I took the opportunity to polish up my first impressions and project Confidant Karin. Regardless of my fresh canvass, old problems lurked silently beneath the smooth surface of my heart.
Darkness. I only knew I was not alone for the bold voices offering up intent prayers to the Lord or explaining a fresh vision or word from the Holy Spirit. Shack Church. Twenty teen and college youths crammed into a metal thirteen by twelve house we lovingly dubbed "the shack." Lights off and hearts surrendered, we were a growing bunch of dripping passionates zealous for the heart of the Lord. "Guys, when he was just praying, I saw a demon behind him. It's gone now." With these words from a young woman in our group, I was introduced to the other half of the spirit realm: the forces of darkness. I panicked. Shaking, sobbing in the blackness. I was not even fully aware of what had set me off. It took several minutes of prayer from faithful friends to give me back my composure. I was freshly alarmed. Months later, sitting at home alone, my lights on in my bedroom and completely safe, the sensation hit me again. I could feel them around me. Demons. I was in the middle of my floor, too frozen to even crawl into bed. I just cried and rocked back and forth, sensing that I was surrounded, feeling very alone and more fearful than I had in a long time.
Whenever I confessed my growing distaste and struggle with my problem, I felt shrugged off by all "normal" people. They always told me I was too emotional, that I "just needed to trust God." I did trust God. When fear came, I would speak his promises to myself, and pray scripture, but it did not remove the fear. I knew there must be something terribly wrong with me. I shut down and continued to cry out to the Lord.
One of the hard parts about being a Christian is struggling with something, knowing that you have been given the authority to overcome it and still struggling. I knew the verses. I knew the Lord was with me and had not given me a spirit of fear. I knew my fears were irrational, that I had authority over fear and demons. Yet time and time again the hairy monster returned. It was not until a couple months ago that I was reminded of some important equipment I had been ignorant of using. Acknowledging my stronghold, I sought out the wisdom and prayer of a Godly couple I respected and trusted. I explained my problem and desire to be set free. The lady responded gently, "We had a friend who underwent a similar situation--feelings of vulnerability to the kingdom of darkness. She began to put on her armor verbally and wear it by faith. I would encourage you to do that whenever you get up in the morning, and when you're feeling susceptible to fear. We'll also pray for you."
It had never occurred to me that I needed to put on my armor. It made perfect sense. I was in spiritual warfare, and the enemy had an open target. Yes, I had authority and ammunition, but I was not wearing adequate protection.
A few nights later I sensed fear skulking around my heart. I began to pray against it in Jesus' name and prepared for war. Remembering what had been suggested to me, I began to summarize Ephesians 6:13-17. Lord, I equip my feet with the readiness that comes with the gospel of peace; I put on the belt of truth and the breastplate of righteousness. I put on the helmet of salvation, take up the shield of faith, and unsheathe the sword of the spirit.
I slid my cell-phone open and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the blinding light, "9:53." I lay awake as I had so many nights before recounting the events of my day. It was dark--very dark. I tried waving my hand in front of my face, scared myself a little and chuckled at my childish foolishness. My mind skipped over to the night's condensed blackness. What was lurking unseen in my room? There it came again, my old foe Fear. I strapped on my armor and began to pray. I was not paralyzed! I turned over in bed. That wasn't so bad. I silently gave thanks to the Lord for his goodness rejoicing for this small victory. I noticed redemption slowly replacing old habits with freedom. "You are good," I whispered as the peaceful heaviness of sleep accompanied the joy in my heart. "...put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.." (Psalms 130:7)

untitled

There is no song as true as that which the heart sings.
No path more unfamiliar.
No sorrow but its own.
For it will feel, and so may carry, the pains of those it loves,
yet, none can feel its potency but the owner of its key.
No heart and mind are the same.
Similar ones are found and cling to each other,
yet each has its own parcel of trinkets
and thoughts it alone holds.
No one can fully know the heart of another—
with exception to its Maker:
He who knows the hearts of all.

confused days

Evanescent frills of wispy sensation accompany a sip of lemonade.
One of those perfect days.
The ones that have an identity crisis confused between summer and fall.
The trees are just freckling with tints of cider drippings, as
I muse from my hammock of twine.
The birds are more timid this time of the year;
they bother me not.
Their fledglings eloped from the roost.
Only cardinals meet to spar over berries,
as they usher in the arrival of The Chill.

a study on diction and style. the weary

The lamp cast its lurid glow.
It’s audience a lone woman.
Smoke caressed her raisoned face.
Sirens raced into the night.
Her back to a café wall; she dared not move for fear of the unspoken.
A wind rasped her shoulders.
Silence.
Dark met her; they conversed for a while.
She was weary she said.
Dark gave his condolences.
Frothy stars came out to dance.
She cared not.
Something unspeakable.
Something grim.
She wrapped her coat tightly around her shoulders.
Wandering back to her shift, the street lamp’s company resigned.

fair

Sticky spools of pink spider webs casually tossed in the dust.
The night like a magician’s cape, velvet and sleepy.
Bulbs on tired rides and melancholy kiosks flicker their midnight “adieus”.
Only silence is heard, only the rustlings of leaves like a wood nymph chuckle.
Taste the autumn air, a melty ice cube that tingles your teeth.
Only silence is felt, only stillness is shared.
Only darkness is welcome, now, in the autumn fair.

stink. i'm so human

Sifting through misconceptions.
Thought patterns subconsciously sew into a patchwork quilt.
The hourglass is flipped. The jackles are visiting today.
Just as ugly as the days before.
The scrap inside me and scratch old wounds raw.
Healer, I’m hurting.
My future lost its luster in the sequined dazzle of the marionette.
How foolish.
Forgive me;
take it if you wish.
I’m blundering in a fog,
Where did everyone go?
I call out.
Few answer.
But You beckon me just the same,
Even louder.
“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Daily I give You everything.
In swirly glooeyglompenness,
You are my foothold.

heart for the nations

"Because of thirst the infant's tongue sticks to the roof of its mouth; the children beg for bread, but no one gives it to them." Oh Lord, save Your children, for they are destitute, without father or mother, stripped of blessing and hope. Their future whispers only of death and pain from this they find no rest. Save Your people. Jehova Jireh, be quick to hear their plea. Prepare the hearts of Your Beloved to serve those in need. Quicken the spirits of us, Your disciples. May we be trained by the heart of God to feed the nations, to clothe the naked, to nurse the sick, to bind up the wounded, to father the fatherless, to care for the widow, and to give life to those lost in the prisons of darkness giving them hope by the power of Your Son. Prepare us. Strip me of selfishness, of the need of abundant food and air-conditioning. Comfort blinds our hearts. "Arise, cry out in the night...pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord. Lift up your hands to him for the lives of your children, who faint from hunger at the head of every street." Lord, Your heat is for Your lost sheep. May our hearts follow Yours in purity. We desire the day of Your return. Our hearts long to speed Your coming. Let us go to the nations by trust and faith and by Your perfect will. Send us out filled with Your Holy Spirit trusting You for our daily bread. Lord we've committed our lives to follow You. Use us, we're in love with You. Where You go, let us follow; we long to follow. Send us to the nations.

Elise; Christ at the dinner table

“Hey, Elise?—Nevermind…”
“What?”
“Well, I was just going to see if you could fill up my glass of water, but I don’t want to bother you. I can do it myself…”
“No! It’s okay! If you need it filled up again, I can do it.”

Knocked between the eyes by overwhelming humility,
a blow to my big head.
I was looking at Christ.
This six-year-old.
Still scented with the fragrance of being sealed with the Holy Spirit,
my new sister in Christ.
She was heaping burning coals on my selfishness.
I’m taken back, stumbling.
How I’ve despised her.
She’s everything I’m not, and have struggled to be.
confidant,
athletic,
bold,
level-headed,
socially natural,
easy-going,
and not afraid to speak her mind.
She’s the one who’s space is tidy, who offers to help Mom fold clothes, iron, wash dishes, and clean.
She’s the one always ready to help, as I slip away for some alone time to write and think.
and now this raw display of selflessness;
tonight I was faced with Christ at the dinner table.
Christ in my dear sister, Elise.
“…whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not some to be served, but to serve…”*

Lord, I ask that you grant me humility, a humble heart. Teach me how to serve. Give me the humility to learn from my younger sister , my dear, dear sister whom I cherish with all my heart, Elise, your precious selfless servant.

*Matthew 20:26-28

An apple a day does nothing; i just need a heart-checkup

His clock reigns supreme.
I cast down epitaph on the gravestone where I died to sin: “to all her previous ambitions, cares, and strivings; they count as loss.”
For the sake of the Lamb, to fear His Name is to pronounce death to personal passions.
They rot under the
penetrating,
squelching
unique,
and
desirable
radiance
of His love.
Making my love work is like voluntarily planting a tumor in my heart.
It grows, eating up the tender, beating flesh of my reddish vital organ, until growing so big, it overshadows my One True Love.
It must be surgically removed which causes pain and moderate scarring.
“Regular check-ups with your Creator should be administered regularly to ensure that your heart is humbled and healthy.”
You never find that savory morsel of advice
in the health tips
on cereal boxes.
Like the Israelites, I choose to test and experiment according to my desires.
Karin, it would’ve been much easier to surrender in the first place.
Fall in love with the Lord.
It’s best.
He can (or not) chose to grant me the desires of my heart in his timing—no side-effects or scarring required.

the Lord's diversity

A coffee shop on the corner of a street I don’t know.
Inside, wisps of wonderful greet my nose.
Dim lights cast an aura of welcome to my eyes.
Musical young men set up their amps, all the while light-hearted joking is tossed from mouth to mouth.
The first musician takes his place.
He finishes.
The second replaces him.
I’ve never seen a leaner human being.
Is it possible that all the vital organs are tucked away in his small frame?
He’s alive; I suppose they are.
From his wiry build comes a sweet voice.
He weaves a folk-ish ballad all his own; death has the pedestal in his music.
My heart breaks and is lulled by the mournful song.
“Lord, this is your creation, gifted so generously, yet lost with the sorrow of fallen-ness.”
There’s an element of intrigue intertwined in the presence of these young men.
I sense a bond between them, almost like a tight brotherhood, a shelter from rejection, a cove to thrive in the uniqueness of different masculinity.
Their music takes them to a place much different from the war cries of men in battle or the intensity of a fight.
Yet, they are not less; they simply relate to others based on their unique view of themselves and bond to music.
I was refreshed to be around so many different personalities, all made in the image of God, all exactly unique.
A taste of the Lord’s diversity.

Cattletorph and the Demise of the Meddletorphs

Cattletorph looked upon the land one dee.
Deedle dom de treedle deedle knee
The rain be comin' just a fur as he could see.
Doddle dee tree deedle domdle key
He spake to the Roodles who were melting with the sound.
Heedle fom fe reedle feedle lee
"We better start a'marchin' for the sun has drown."
Homdle feem fo reedle feetle me
But the poor little maidens of Meddletorph town
Codle lom tee hodle troddle ze
Couldn't march too well (for their eedlenorphs were down)
they were floomfed by a lout from the sea
.

yes, Jesus loves me. No longer a cliche

“You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride;
You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes…”
A month ago, these were the words I longed to hear. I desired for the Lord to use such language to capture my heart; but God doesn’t talk like that; his voice is something like, “I love you”, but not sappy language like the words in Song of Solomon. Yes, I know he loves me; yes, I know he desires to have my heart, but falling romantically in love with the God of the universe? Come on. While an appealing concept, I couldn’t picture myself falling hopelessly in love with a God who is called The Ancient of Days, Father, King of Kings, etc. He sounds old. Falling in love with a God whom I call father? Noo, thank you. Yet, as I prayed that I would fall in love with God, the idea became a challenge. Was this falling in love with God business a true feeling, or just an expressive metaphor that we Christians use to get the point across? I decided to test it out. “Lord, you said ask and you will receive. Lord, take me into the desert and speak tenderly to me. (Hosea 2:14) I want you to captivate my heart. I want to fall in love with you.” I prayed this prayer over, and over, and over again. Each time thinking, “Great, okay I love God, but I’m not sensing the romance. Is this all by faith, or is there feeling involved?” Psalms 130:5, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits…” I prayed this—and I waited…and waited…and….I waited. Last night, I arrived late to the last of Mr. Rick’s sessions on the Bridal Paradigm, or his six week course on understanding the love of God. Frankly, I was dealing with some flesh issues and didn’t really want to be there. My soul groaned as he laid out the plan for the night—he would wrap up the course, and then we would worship. I did not want to worship, but I listened as he wove the reality of the love of Christ beautifully through his words, prayer, and scripture. I listened intently, then he opened up a time of worship. I surrendered and tried my best to focus on God. As I became more and more lost in praising him, forgetting my flesh, the Lord spoke. He was a handsome, young prince dressed in a white tux, and I was wearing a beautiful ball gown. He came over to me and took my hand while leading me onto the marble dance floor. We began to dance. He was charming, and romantic, and funny. He joked with me as he led me effortlessly across the floor. He was perfect. I was in love…whoa, wait! What? Yes, I said it. In love. Breakthrough. At this moment, the Lord came to me not as my father, or The Ancient of Days, but just as I needed him right then, my Prince of Peace. I enjoyed his company. I desired his presence. He was romancing my heart. He is romancing my heart.

A Date with the King

He delights in me.
A voice, more tender than any other lover
Desiring intimacy
He who saw the beginning
He who spoke the beginning into beginning
Saw Satan fall like lightening
The inventor of wisdom
From whom all knowledge
And understanding flow
Holding cells and galaxies in place
By His Word
Surely He is content with Himself
Of this I am not ignorant
I am merely dust…
No. I am the image of God
His Spirit resides inside me
Praise God!
He is GOD.
YET He beckons me.
Why do you desire me?
More often than not, I don’t desire you.
You are slow to anger and
Rich in love
Rich. In. love
I am blind-folded
And led into hardship
Yet His hand is secure around
Mine
I know His voice.
Lord, I desire your love
Consume me.
Lead me into the desert
And speak tenderly to me
Woo me with deep passion
Stirring the deepest waters
Of my soul
Depths I have not opened to another
Depths I dare not venture into without
Guidance
You stir my heart
And I stir Yours!
My Darling
Place me as a seal on Your arm
You desire me to grow I faith,
So You whisper to me
In ways that stretch my comfort
Growing me into your Bride
I am still young
But You are patient
You are Patience
My soul rejoices
In You, my Lord.

Refine me like gold, oh Lord

Gold. The most coveted metal. What makes this substance of more value than the splendor of silver or beauty of precious jewels? The process. ALERT! BORING FACT TIME (provided to you by one who is less than an expert to make matters even less-interesting). In order to achieve 1 ounce of gold, one must first chisel out approximately 100,000 ounces of ore. Next, this ore must be hauled off to a mill where it is crushed into a fine powder. After this stage, the ore is mixed with a concoction of chemicals (of which I couldn’t even begin to pronounce the names) and is heated seven times by fire (reaching temperatures I cannot fathom). Each time the dross, or impurities, must be scraped off the top of the heated gold, until it has reached its purest form.
Scripture is dead on (of course) when it addresses the idea of our hearts being refined like gold, but I never quite grasped the parallel. After the fall of man, we acquired (wait, that’s such a pleasant word, shall I say were cursed with?) a sin nature. When fully developed (or even when newly birthed in a young child), this nasty disease, which affects all aspects of the body and soul, seems to overshadow and squelch the precious, original purpose for which we were first intended. Like the ore, our sin nature and iniquity must be crushed and humbled when we chose to take up our cross and follow our King. Then, like ore is heated seven times (funny how the process of refining embraces the number of completion…think that’s chance? I think not.) to remove impurities, we are given trials—heat, and circumstances, which cause our imperfections and all that is impure to rise to the surface. Yet, each time, as God removes the dross, or immorality from our heart and actions, we are in the process of being refined. Each time, we grow in wisdom and in oneness with the will of God. We are not purified by one trial or one heated experience. Purification takes time until the day when we will be presented to God, pure, whole, shining in beauty. Anyway, I’m just blown away at the patience of God. He is SO good. We must let him refine us. I still have a fair amount of dross. Praise the Lord he’s not finished with me yet.

Painting

Canvass of white
splashes of hue
coming to life
flourishes of a brush
swiftly dancing
artistic saplings
from the brain
are seeping creative juices
a growing pallette
of twirling tones
time is cheering the masterpiece
don't rush art
one last
touch,
it is complete

Upon Observing a Commitment

A dirge sung to monotony
Trembling under a satin gown
Love devoted to friendship
Candles lighting the heart
Memories clicking through cameras
Petals lining an isle
Bands of silver exchanged
Lips pressed in devotion
Violins playing Canon
A cheer for the couple wed

A Sonnet

Winter chill is slipping slowly away
For only Frost left a goodbye letter
The sun will rise but faster each day
Yes, things will look up for the better
Birds begin to sing a soft sweet chorus
Please, never forget to count your blessings
Torrents of joy will come swiftly for us
I will not wait long or keep you guessing
The earth has put on a showing of green
Patience, my darling, I’ll give you my love
Soft rolling meadows are a tranquil scene
Listen for comfort, the coo of a dove
Yes, days are cut short, our life but a song
Have peace, my dearest, I won’t be too long

Study of Shakespeare, 1/26/2007

From the journal

Never is the soul satisfied when it continues to conjure thoughts of listless desire. In the quiet of solitude, the mind's eye roams, happening upon unseen ideas and seeking subtle answers in the shelter of knowledge. The mind, and untrained fledgling flitting incessantly without proper direction. Wisdom is cultivated only in the personal garden, but its seed must be planted by the hands of a skilled Gardener. He speaks softly, in gentle parables, unknown to the fool, misunderstood by those who are not his own. He imparts direction and waters Young shoots of future. In his pockets lie assorted pleasures, which he casts upon the soil to fertilize and encourage growth. In his path, all are comforted. He speaks tenderly to the broken, words of love to his beloved. How blessed are those who follow in his footsteps. They do not falter, but are clothed in joy. How blessed are those who follow him. They grow in wisdom and discernment. The minds of those who seek him are molded into beauty. The Gardener tames the restless bird and woos it into learnedness. Joy is no longer and object of dispute to be clawed at frantically by the hearts of the broken. With the Gardener there is joy, and those who find joy can't help but distribute its abundance. How blessed are those who follow the Gardener.

Mm grand joy

Lovely darling, duly loved
Florescent colors, spectrum of happiness
Life, it's wonderful unitl you're lonely,
but even then, we're not alone
Happiness is temporary,
like sipping sappily sweet tea
Hands are soft with lotion,
hearts are soft in obedience
Don't we just want to be loved?
Love is contentment,
but you can have that without love
Sunny days are meant to be soaked in,
heat is cherished in the winter
Mood is easily chosen
and a bad one detrimental to health
and healthy hearts
Mm, it's good having been made
Maker brings love and contentment every morning
and drips them into my waking heart
when i let him
He smells sweet of happiness
Of lingering joy
I love him most of all, all others pale