The Best Blue

The best blue is at the edge of light, right before it reaches darkness.
It catches the last rays of illuminant; holds onto the warmth that loved it all day.
The best blue clings to the light so that it doesn't fade to darkness.

Love Letter

Dear Lover,

Thank you for your love notes. They may not make my cheeks blush, but they make my heart swell because they tell me that you care deeply about me.

Thank you for keeping my heart tender. It may not make it easy, but it is how your heart has always been to me. I know that because of this, you often have not had it easy.

Thank you for opportunities to tell of your love. Of such a mighty love others must hear. In this way, the strength of your love will grow ever stronger.

Thank you for stories of how you love others. When you love others well, you love me well, for from them I receive an overflow of your love.

May my heart never cease to gush for my intimate and attentive lover.

Penny by penny,
Your beloved

house

sitting in this house.
walls of thoughts.
regret to the left. yearning to the right.
fears ahead. memories behind.
i built these walls.

roof of justice. floor of grace.
the window is a tease.
there is no door.

trapped perhaps?
mind. heart. soul.
it's all in here.

knock. knock. knock.
i hear it.
how do i let you in?

oh, thanks for turning on the light.

how did you get in?
oh, you always were?
yes, keep knocking on those walls.
knock until they fall to the ground.

let the floor rise and the roof sink.
may they draw nearer still
until justice and grace meet.
then i can dwell in your tent.

How foolish I am to be so blind to my needs.
Too often I put my head above Yours,
and turn my face from You.

I seek refuge apart from You,
and I set my tent in fields far from You.
My mind wanders aimlessly amidst its futile ways;
my heart is stranded in desolate ground.

It is then that Your loving Hand
reaches down and opens my eyes.
Along many paths do I chase,
but on my own I cannot find my way.

How arrogant and foolish I am,
my pride consumes me.

Tired and weary, I surrender
and fall at your feet.
Tears may well and fall,
and sadness may weigh heavy.

But how blessed I am
to have my needs set clearly before me.
To know that You are my Source, my only Strength.
Nowhere else can my dependence be.

With Thanksgiving

Oh Lord, my God,

I am wretched, rebellious, and arrogant
but I may come and bow down at Your feet?
How loving you are!

My filth laid down before you in heaps and piles,
all taken away and forgotten.
How merciful you are!

My broken body, mind, and heart
washed and mended oh so well.
How gracious you are!

My soul made alive by Your Spirit
able to reflect Your beauty.
How wonderful you are!

My wants and my desires
transformed according to Yours
How sovereign you are!

by prayer and petition

My Comforter,
you know the ache of my heart
that comes from regret of the bad.

My Source,
you know the agony of my heart
that comes from missing the good.

My Sovereign Lord,
take it all, the bad and the good,
redeem and restore
so that You are most glorified.

Your will be done in me.

Thank You

oh Lord my God,

I want to dwell in my doubt
I want to flee my fear
I want to damn my depravity
You comfort, You keep, You forgive

You do not sit in idleness
You do not runaway
You do not withhold mercy
You comfort, You keep, You forgive

You draw near and intoxicate me with your peace
You surround so that you are all that I can see
You love in order to redeem and renew
You comfort, You keep, You forgive

I hope
I surrender
I repent
You comfort, You keep, You forgive

Glory to You always and forever. Amen.

paved roads

My mind is taking me down the road of time. The road is paved with regret. We are driving backwards. We wave good-bye to apathy and his faithless friend. We turn our heads away from arrogance who sits on the front porch of selfishness.
We stop and get out and run through love-filled fields where stocks of joy, peace, and hope grow.
But it's not the same. Why would it be without our heart? So we look for it and find it. It sits at the end of the road. The road that is paved with regret. Why did we pave this road so? And how do we keep from driving on it?
We drove away from it in order to drive forward without it. But go any further back and we will encounter it. Look ahead through the past and it's all we can see. Where to go, I do not know.
Lord, please take me somewhere.

line 7

line 1. i wanted the Best for him. he wanted the Best for me.
line 2. i wanted me for him. he wanted him for me.
line 3. i wanted him. he wanted not me.
line 4. i wanted the best for me. he wants the Best for him.
line 5. i want the Best for me. i want the Best for him.

somewhere between lines 1 and 2 me and him became the best.
somewhere between lines 2 and 3 i stopped wanting anything for him.
somewhere between lines 3 and 4 the best came back, in its two different forms.
somewhere between lines 4 and 5 hindsight brought me back to line 1.
somewhere between lines 5 and 6 nothing changed.
somewhere between lines 6 and 7 there entered a lot of not yet known.

line 6. i want Him to take lines 1-5 and rewrite them however He wants.
line 7.

From a mess-maker

shit, there's a mess,
and misunderstanding made it messier.

a mess of hearts broken by selfishness, arrogance, and apathy
leaving stains of regret and doubt.

apology and forgiveness to remove the regret.
fixing and healing for the doubt.

they might be in the same mess,
but they require two different solutions.

but when they're jumbled together,
how do you treat them separately?

the one that is in time does what she can
for the stain that can be treated in a unit of time.

the One that is out of time does what He can
for the stain that must be treated over time.

Trust

"Excuse me sir," she broke the silence in the cafe with her long, Southern-belle draw, "how far away is that McDonalds?"

"Oh it's just over the bridge and four blocks up," he replied. His voice was true but tired. "When does your bus leave?"

"Just under an hour from now. I'm catching the 6:15 to DC."

"Well you should have no problem making it back in time, it's just a ten minute walk. And you'll be able to stretch your money a whole lot further there than you will here. This whole place is starting to get to me. I'm trying to move on, but I've been stuck here three, long days."

His name was Paul, and his story was puzzling. A tale of unfortunate events had left him there eight hours from home, seventeen dollars short of a bus ticket with no credit card and no family to help out.

A shaky "Hello dear Paul," came from an aged, dark skinned woman who looked like she would take anyone home and fill their stomach with collard greens and chitlins. "Your pour soul was here before I left for Virginia. Still haven't been able to make it home, huh?"

"Not yet, mam, not yet. Just seventeen dollars shy is all. It'll come," said his voice. His sinking eyes and long face told a different story. When her eyes met his, she knew it was right.

She pulled out the twenty dollar bill from her purse. It was folded many times over. It had been with her many days and many miles, but she knew it was all for this. It had came to her when she appeared down and out as a blessing from a generous, trusting man. She knew that was the only way this dollar bill could ever be given away. And although it had landed in her hand under false pretenses, she hoped it would not leave her hand under the same.

But she needed to take her turn as the trusting one. And so she did.

It left her hand and met his. And now his face and hands and feet told another story. His mouth opened and no words came out. His hand grasped the money tightly. His feet turned and marched onward much like a train barreling full steam ahead.

She didn't know if he was about to break through the depot doors in full stride to the nearest liquor store or if he was actually heading to the ticket counter. She thought to herself, "well that was that." Then she spotted his bag and coat sitting in the booth across from her. In a few minutes time, he returned for his things with a ticket in hand and a smile hung ear to ear. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he cried.

Her heart rose in her chest due to the trust and hope that was swelling within.

"Hey, why don't I run down to that McDonalds before your bus comes. It's the least I can do to say thanks. If you just give me a few dollars, I'll be back in plenty time before you're headed to DC."

He put on his jacket, took her money, and left his bag and his ticket. He never came back for it. And she got on the bus much more aware of her full heart, not her empty stomach.

everyday well

She met him at the well--the well where she went everyday.
And everyday she left with a basin full of water and everyday she knew she would return the next and everyday she left fearing the day she wouldn't.
But she went there today and she met him there and she left without fear and she knew that everyday she would return and that everyday she would leave with her basin overflowing.

her story. His story

Her Father led her into a magical forest and guided her to the gates of a castle. A few skips from the entrance, rocks had been stacked and white pillars erected, creating a perfect seat to rest before venturing through the gates.
Her widened eyes greeted her throne with gladdened bewilderment. "How did Father prepare this spot for me? He was holding my hand the whole way here?"
After taking her perch, her fingers guide her red dress over her knees, and she breathed a regal breath.
This sight kindled fondness in his heart that spread a smile across his face. "Let's make up the story of the young princess who enters a magical forest and finds her castle. What will be the name of your prince and the color of his hair and how will your monster growl?" Each response came from a spark in her mind and left a glisten in her eyes.
She filled in the details of the story her Father's foreknowledge had already written. And she continued to think she was writing a story all her own.

nature's call

the wheat stocks wave in the wind:

beckoning you to their golden field

where for you every grain is sealed.

pools of blue sing aloud with a cascade:

of their calming waters may you sip

and into their depths shall you dip.

the roses blossom in your presence:

let their fragrance draw you near

may their lush petals keep you there.

F! Depravity

It’s adults raping friends’ teenage girls

And fathers too coward to do anything but blame their own

 

It’s parents too negligent to notice learning disabilities

And leave their children to fumble through the same grade three times

 

It’s brothers molesting little sisters

And making their tongues captive to false shame

 

It’s drunken mothers beating gentle-spirited daughters

And leaving them at home, alone with an unwanted guest called pain

 

It’s minds filled with Truth that set up roadblocks

And keep Him from reaching their hearts

 

It’s ten year old boys raping six year old girls

And many mocking letters sent to eyes that long for restored innocence

 

It’s parents’ rage that punish with hot irons

And shackle their children with heavy chains of fear

 

It’s mothers always high on alcohol and drugs

And negligent of their daughters who in turn question every ounce of their worth

 

It’s angry attitudes eager to gossip and fight

And unwilling to lend an ear to a fellow aching heart

F! Depravity

 

anthem of a wanderer

setting off for a new frontier
unrevealed is my home,
surrounded by a fence of freedom.

heart swollen with hope,
mind void of expectations,
feet eager to venture.

here i come.

The music of simplicity

The rhythm of clothes swishing against a stonewash covered in soap suds.
The beat of a drum leading a procession of Virgin Mary through the streets.
The chime of bells ringing with every push of the ice cream cart.
The timbre of pebbles crunching under horses' hooves and wooden wheels that move the carriage along.

The music of simplicity.

Kaleidoscope

Different dialects sing together in one voice, different paths converge at one table.

Adventurous spirits and open minds, adoring wives and warm-hearted husbands, earnest smiles and honest souls. Tumbled together and captured by the light.

Beauty is amplified and joy is shared.

Granada

Granada is a beautiful town resting on the shore of Lake Nicaragua. This "gem of the country" draws in the tourists who fill the hostels and sip $1.25 double mojitos on Greengo Street. But Granada's greatest treasure often goes undiscovered because its barried in the barrios unmarked on tourists' maps. But it is here where you find joyful eyes that sparkle like diamonds and pearls of wisdom wrapped around Grandma's words.

It is in these homes where people still rise to the crow of the rooster and wash away the sweat of the day with cool waters poured overhead from a bucket. It is in these streets where kids still roam without parents' apprehension and every adult has the right to lend an ornery child an earful. It is in these kitchens where meals are still prepared over wood-burning fires and clothes are still cleaned with a stone wash and pair of able hands. It is on these patios where neighbors still gather to enjoy the sunset, rocking chairs, and most of all, each other's company.

It is a place that reveals the real pricetag of washing machines and wi-fi hookups, and makes you question whether luxury really leads to leisure. It is a place that makes you miss the simpler times you never knew.

Proclamation of Creation

Proclamation of Creation

The sun emerges from its tent in the heavens like a bridegroom coming forth from his pavillion--his strength beaming unhindered for all the world to behold.

His white laden bride stands glowing at the end of an aisle that sprawls the sky. Drawing her closer into his presence, his might unveils the intricacies of her face.

The sun is like a champion rejoicing to run his course, radiating with every step of his victory lap. His faithful witness always present in the celestial stands to lead the crowd in ascribing him glory and splendor.

And when he moves on to race a new course, and others are apt to forget his feat, she lingers behind as a reminder, relecting his light amidst the night´s darkness.

Declaration of Glory

But the lover and his beloved cry out from the altar to the ends of the earth. They tell of another groom and his bride. His love for her so lavish is breathed life into her soul so that now she stands before him: her beauty having never been more brilliant.

And the champion and his devoted showcase knowledge from which all the world shall draw. They know of another victory and his follower; he defeated his opponent and finished his course with perfection. He has gone on to receive his crown in another champion´s circle, having promised to return. But in his absence she remains to testify to his triumph, extending his praise so that others might anticipate his return.

Dancing Alone

What's the point of dancing together with our bodies perfectly in sync, moving as one to the beat of the music, if you don't gaze into my eyes to discover the rhythm of my heart?

And why lend me your strength with our palms pressed close or guide my steps with your gentle touch on the small of my back if you don't whisper in my ear to assure my mind that you are near?

The music got me into your arms, but that alone cannot keep me here.

Worship with peace, trust, and hope.

Hope in mercy, grace, and truth.

Know the truth of sacrifice, redemption, and life.

Live in peace, joy, and love.

Love with tenderness, service, and devotion.

Monterrico

The sun races away to another place
but leaves a departing gift of orange, purple, and pink
which the clouds take with outstretched arms and draw into themselves
as they float overhead
palmtrees blowing kisses to mountains resting afar
as the wind carries away their greetings
all the while the sea declares its might
with every churn and crash releasing a drowning roar
that is hushed to silence by the whisper of white seafoam
eager to meet every black grain of sand.

Acres of Hope

They are the stretches of splendor that draw out a great sigh of relief as you gaze upon them.

They are the silk-laden skies of stillness that lead you to an undeniable peace.

They are the canvases painted with beauty, wonder, and awe that are undoubtedly the work of a masterful artist.

They are the endless expanses of clouds with the sun radiating above who reaches across countless miles to caress your cheek with rays of warmth.

Street Art

"Hey Sexy, where ya headed?" She heard his words as soon as she stepped out of the subway station, but they met her ears with no surprise. So often she scurried down streets-turned-catwalks filled with horn blasts and horny men. With every whistle or cloaked request for something more the pain returned for which she held her beauty responsible. Too many times too much notice had turned into unwanted action.

Now after every comment she scanned trash piles for paper bags to cover her head, or she at least vowed to drape a tarp over her body the next time she left the apartment. She was quick to wish away her golden curls, piercing blue eyes along with her comforting smile and attention-grabbing backside. Dwindling were the days she appreciated her beauty; increasing were the times she cursed it never once considering the artist who formed her. She didn´t know her beauty was a reflection of his own essence, the pride of his artwork. And so it remained the object of her disdain.

Her story is tragic, but its greatest tragedy is that its not hers alone, as far too many women claim it as their own. But perhaps their confusion can be illuminated with the light that corrected her misguided thoughts. One day her creator revealed to her his own radiant, awe-inspiring beauty. He helped her to understand his gift to her in being able to display this for others to see.

The result was of course beautiful.

Gone are the days of strutting down concrete runways lined with lustful eyes behind windshields and polluted with men´s unworthy desires. Instead she parades as a piece of art in the exhibit entitled ´Creation´. Like all other masterpieces she invites patrons of this gallery to be captivated by her beauty--a beauty that not only envigorates the eyes, but is also enriched by her mystery. She yearns for onlookers not to see her, but to behold her maker´s Beauty of which she is an incarnation.

Lessons worth Learning

Strength for the frailty
Hope for the longing
Trust for the pain
Faith for the not-knowing
Dedication for the time
Patience for the waiting
Humility for the brokeness
Honesty for the loving

Besos Frijoles

I´m quite fond of butterfly kisses. They always part from their sender with a heartwarming innocence, and they are received just the same. Even when shared between two lovers they simply capture the purity of their hearts´desire. But of course these precious gifts are best when they come from the eyelashes atop the big, hopeful eyes of a child. Every young heart knows that their love is wanted and worth receiving. If only we well-worn hearts had the faith of a child.

But I´ve recently found myself craving a different type of kiss--los besos de frijoles negro. Yes, black bean kisses. They still come with the same innocence, and their giver is just as hopeful. But beneath the black residue that they leave, there lies another message. It´s what I learn when the puckered lips of a three year old, bearing the leftovers of her dinner, find my own lips wihout hesitation. They impart a bit of her mess, and although it feels quite out of place, it momentarily becomes my own. But in a second´s time, my hand wipes away the traces of a learning eater, and I do so with joy because they were gladly given to me. For they come from a willing heart, one that wants to love just as she is, one that finds no need to hide what she´s been eating.

I just can´t get enough besos frijoles; perhaps because they remind me that I am a learning lover.

puddles on the floor

the cistern is broken.

the tears flow out.

they have no where to go.

they gather together.

their surface rising higher.

their fall quickly diminishing.

they immediately meet their resting place.

they have no choice.

the result is tragic and not chosen.

the drowning is done.

heartfelt journey

I'm going on a journey, and I am going to follow my heart.

My journey is going to start with a Southbound train. The train will stop in New York City. Just over three years ago the city captured my heart, and now there are many people here who are close to my heart.

Then I am going to get on a plane that is headed for adventure, because adventure has always made my heart beat. The plane will land in Guatemala. It was here that I witnessed a remarkable act of selfless love, and it deeply moved my heart.

I am going to meet people from different cultures because a while back I learned a tough lesson about appreciating diversity and from it my heart grew stronger.

I am going to help with a soccer camp for Nicaraguan girls because this sport has given my heart much joy.

I am going to stand in awe of breathtaking mountains and boundless seas because the hand that made them also holds my heart.

After all that I am going to come back and walk across a graduation stage because all the papers and exams and lectures enriched my mind, some of which trickled down to my heart.

But then I am going to spend two months at a camp in the quaint town of Golden, Missouri. It was here that my heart first found some long-term direction.

I am going to go to a couple of weddings because it is good to celebrate, and this will probably give hope to my heart.

And then I am going to wander, most likely in the South because I think I am a Southern girl at heart.

At the Ledge

We leaped, we skipped, we ran.

Not knowing where we were going, 

but loving where we were.

I walked, I crawled, I stopped.

Now I am here at the ledge 

and I know I have to jump.

There's a beautiful horizon before me

But my face is buried in the ground

because I don't want to look up.

You said you'd be here too

and that I'd be in your arms

tucked inside close to you.

But I'm alone

and I'm terrified to jump

without you here beside me.

You see my eyes lost sight of you

but my heart never did.

So I'll be still and wait.

Until I can dare to step out on my own

Or until you come and take my hand and hold my heart.

Somethin Fresh for those who Fresh Out

Hey J.R. you missed somethin while you was locked up.

I know you said you were still preppin your game,

Removin the cobwebs and strippin the rust.

But how bout I get you fresh on the times,

Ill spell it all out for you and give it to ya straight.

Its obvious that you think you's a playa,

But if you comin after me you better know how to play my game.

You see I aint no Barbie doll just plastic and pretty.

Im not an icon of beauty just because you think I'm candy for your hungry eyes.

There's more to me than polished pearls, thick hips, and sparklin baby blues.

Inside there's a beatin heart that needs to be cherished

A thoughtful mind that deserves to be valued

And a real desire to be wooed and pursued.

This doesn't happen by me strokin your ego and makin your hormones happy.

Because when you touch me on the outside, your reach cuts within.

It stabs my beaten heart and rattles my mind until its out for the count.

I know you aint a stranger to how this goes down

So dont think you got me by actin a fool.

And you better keep listenin because I'm not through tellin you wats good.

I wasnt mass produced in a factory made for you to have and to use

And then be disposed of just so you can snatch up who's comin out next.

So you best take note of who I am and what makes me special.

Don't move from me to another like it aint no thang

Cuz thats not how I roll and its not how you get anywhere wit me.

Trust

"Excuse me sir," she broke the silence in the cafe with her long, Southern-belle draw, "how far away is that McDonalds?"

"Oh it's just over the bridge and four blocks up," he replied. His voice was true but tired. "When does your bus leave?"

"Just under an hour from now. I'm catching the 6:15 to DC."

"Well you should have no problem making it back in time, it's just a ten minute walk. And you'll be able to stretch your money a whole lot further there than you will here. This whole place is starting to get to me. I'm trying to move on, but I've been stuck here three, long days."

His name was Paul, and his story was puzzling. A tale of unfortunate events had left him there eight hours from home, seventeen dollars short of a bus ticket with no credit card and no family to help out.

A shaky "Hello dear Paul," came from an aged, dark skinned woman who looked like she would take anyone home and fill their stomach with collard greens and chitlins. "Your pour soul was here before I left for Virginia. Still haven't been able to make it home, huh?"

"Not yet, mam, not yet. Just seventeen dollars shy is all. It'll come," said his voice. His sinking eyes and long face told a different story. When her eyes met his, she knew it was right.

She pulled out the twenty dollar bill from her purse. It was folded many times over. It had been with her many days and many miles, but she knew it was all for this. It had came to her when she appeared down and out as a blessing from a generous, trusting man. She knew that was the only way this dollar bill could ever be given away. And although it had landed in her hand under false pretenses, she hoped it would not leave her hand under the same.

But she needed to take her turn as the trusting one. And so she did.

It left her hand and met his. And now his face and hands and feet told another story. His mouth opened and no words came out. His hand grasped the money tightly. His feet turned and marched onward much like a train barreling full steam ahead.

She didn't know if he was about to break through the depot doors in full stride to the nearest liquor store or if he was actually heading to the ticket counter. She thought to herself, "well that was that." Then she spotted his bag and coat sitting in the booth across from her. In a few minutes time, he returned for his things with a ticket in hand and a smile hung ear to ear. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he cried.

Her heart rose in her chest due to the trust and hope that was swelling within.

"Hey, why don't I run down to that McDonalds before your bus comes. It's the least I can do to say thanks. If you just give me a few dollars, I'll be back in plenty time before you're headed to DC."

He put on his jacket, took her money, and left his bag and his ticket. He never came back for it. And she got on the bus much more aware of her full heart, not her empty stomach.

promises for after the storm

it entered with the sting of the cold and the bite of the wind

as the storm picked up, snow fell harder 

and this white whirlwind made everything else quite unclear  

but falling snow must eventually rest--which it did wonderfully

it washed, cleansed, and purified everything that it encountered

it was a pristine blanket covering all that lay still under its touch

a beautiful sight it was, but so much of its beauty went unseen

for as the snow melted away, the blanket faded into the earth below

now the roots and seeds having sat dormant, dry, and barren 

tasted the refreshing water seeping through, which quenched their lingering thirst

they delighted in the ferocity of the storm

having brought buckets pouring forth much needed nutrients 

into their wide-opened, welcoming mouths

they grow, bud, and flourish in ways they never did before

the trees clap their hands and their mountains and hills burst into song

they are alive

"...and so is my word that goes out from my mouth..."

Is. 55

clay

there is a heap of tender clay in your hands. 

my tears fall and soften this red lump, a messy mass in your palm.

my pain moves your fingers gently and purposefully.

it is yours to knead and press, to shape and bend just the way you want it.

you may place it on your wheel which spins seemingly out of control.

the world surrounding appears to orbit too fast to make sense of it all.

but really you speed the wheel along so that it is the clay which races--

moving in circles, going nowhere except in the direction of its transformation.

all the while your guiding hands never falter.

for they are always constant in your creation, keeping it on the wheel where it needs to be.

you take your time with this red pulsating piece.

and once off the wheel, you wait patiently while it rests still finding strength in the warmth you provide.

then at just the right time, you take it up, fix your gaze upon it, and adore your artwork--

my heart perfectly formed by you the Potter, ready to love and live, to be used amidst the rest of your handiwork.