thinking about spring...
how it means new life, beginnings, and the budding of beauty that has lain dormant for some time.
it is a comforting thought, to think of the warmth in the midst of such a bitterly cold day
and to think of green in the midst of grey and brown.
and to think of love and dancing in the midst of loneliness and sorrow.
and to think of giving in the midst of want...
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
need each other
this post has been a long time coming.
what of those who have to hide? who feel ostracized? the forgotten? the outcast?
i've sat down and had some heart to hearts with several wonderful people the past few days and have discovered something to be truer than i had originally thought:
we need each other.
i can't do this alone. neither can they. nor can other lesbian and gay people. we can't do this alone.
when we don't have the support of those around us, we lose something. something special. something spiritual. something essential.
when straight people separate themselves, they lose something. something special. something spiritual. something essential.
to those who aren't accepting, we cry: please. don't make us go it alone. you need us too.
we all need each other.
we can't keep avoiding it. can't pretend anymore.
we all are worthy of love, and not one of us more than another.
we need each other. then healing can come.
what of those who have to hide? who feel ostracized? the forgotten? the outcast?
i've sat down and had some heart to hearts with several wonderful people the past few days and have discovered something to be truer than i had originally thought:
we need each other.
i can't do this alone. neither can they. nor can other lesbian and gay people. we can't do this alone.
when we don't have the support of those around us, we lose something. something special. something spiritual. something essential.
when straight people separate themselves, they lose something. something special. something spiritual. something essential.
to those who aren't accepting, we cry: please. don't make us go it alone. you need us too.
we all need each other.
we can't keep avoiding it. can't pretend anymore.
we all are worthy of love, and not one of us more than another.
we need each other. then healing can come.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
expensive
don't have much to say right now as my emotions seem to be stronger than my thoughts in this moment. but i need an outlet to say it, and well, this seems to be the safest place.
it hurts to love someone enough to let her go,
and it aches to stay silent because you know if you said something,
it would only hurt her in the end.
love is expensive.
total giving.
it hurts to love someone enough to let her go,
and it aches to stay silent because you know if you said something,
it would only hurt her in the end.
love is expensive.
total giving.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
sorrow
sorrow.
"may the love of jesus fill me as the waters fill the sea
that i may be calm to comfort sick and sorrowing"
i felt deep sorrow well up within me today. sorrow over relationships that have gone by the wayside, over mourning the loss of my precious grandmother and still missing her, over feeling stuck, stagnant....
i sat in my truck while the rain poured and the tears streamed down my face. i felt sorrow that made me feel as if i were going to throw up. i went inside and melted down. completely.
i have been taking care of a friend's cat, and this cat is so tiny but feisty. the past couple of days however, she has wanted attention. she was crying, so i picked her up and held her and she became content. i loved on her and sang to her and cried as i realized i feel like her, only there's noone to hold me, to sing to me... at least it doesn't feel like it... i can't hear God singing over me...
i contacted a couple of friends and told them i was sobbing uncontrollably. each encouraged me in her own beautiful way.
we need each other.
"there's joy in the strength during sorrow"
and it is hard to believe in that line which comes from a song i wrote this past week. but i needed to hear it.
i ran... hard.... and fast. and put on some loud music.
i sang the words to the top of my lungs...
"how long? will we wait?"
"your love frees me"
"all over me, your love is all over me"
i took the time to make a meal for myself and ate slowly.
sorrow. and then peace. and lamentations...
i'll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
the taste of ashes, the poison i've swallowed.
i remember it all—oh, how well i remember—
the feeling of hitting the bottom.
but there's one other thing i remember,
and remembering, i keep a grip on hope:
God's loyal love couldn't have run out,
his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
they're created new every morning.
how great your faithfulness!
i'm sticking with God (i say it over and over).
he's all i've got left. (Lamentations 3, The Message)
surely....
God is with me now.
in the sorrow.
naming me worthy and loved.
i remember the sorrow
i remember the sick feeling that i am alone.
i remember rock bottom.
but i remember love and possibility and community
and "the Love that will remain" and there...
my sorrow turns to joy.
"may the love of jesus fill me as the waters fill the sea
that i may be calm to comfort sick and sorrowing"
i felt deep sorrow well up within me today. sorrow over relationships that have gone by the wayside, over mourning the loss of my precious grandmother and still missing her, over feeling stuck, stagnant....
i sat in my truck while the rain poured and the tears streamed down my face. i felt sorrow that made me feel as if i were going to throw up. i went inside and melted down. completely.
i have been taking care of a friend's cat, and this cat is so tiny but feisty. the past couple of days however, she has wanted attention. she was crying, so i picked her up and held her and she became content. i loved on her and sang to her and cried as i realized i feel like her, only there's noone to hold me, to sing to me... at least it doesn't feel like it... i can't hear God singing over me...
i contacted a couple of friends and told them i was sobbing uncontrollably. each encouraged me in her own beautiful way.
we need each other.
"there's joy in the strength during sorrow"
and it is hard to believe in that line which comes from a song i wrote this past week. but i needed to hear it.
i ran... hard.... and fast. and put on some loud music.
i sang the words to the top of my lungs...
"how long? will we wait?"
"your love frees me"
"all over me, your love is all over me"
i took the time to make a meal for myself and ate slowly.
sorrow. and then peace. and lamentations...
i'll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
the taste of ashes, the poison i've swallowed.
i remember it all—oh, how well i remember—
the feeling of hitting the bottom.
but there's one other thing i remember,
and remembering, i keep a grip on hope:
God's loyal love couldn't have run out,
his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
they're created new every morning.
how great your faithfulness!
i'm sticking with God (i say it over and over).
he's all i've got left. (Lamentations 3, The Message)
surely....
God is with me now.
in the sorrow.
naming me worthy and loved.
i remember the sorrow
i remember the sick feeling that i am alone.
i remember rock bottom.
but i remember love and possibility and community
and "the Love that will remain" and there...
my sorrow turns to joy.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
surely
"surely goodness and mercy shall follow me..." ps 23
this weekend i had the opportunity to retreat and focus on spiritual formation. in one of the sessions, psalm 23 was read and i was surprised by the impact i felt in the depths of my soul as i heard the words "i shall not want..." and "restores my soul"... then, "paths of righteousness"... followed by "my cup runs over" ending with a word that stuck with me in a constant tension that i still feel...
"surely"
i have a lot of thoughts tonight after a weekend of being silent and listening to what God is telling me. i also have realized that i don't share as much as i'd like, so i am opening the door a little more.
i realized that the word surely doesn't sit right with me. in my journal, i wrote out:
it doesn't feel true. surely? my cup feels empty, the pastures are barren, and the waters are turbulent. i don't like the looks of the paths. i don't think i trust You. not right now.
i am wanting (deeply longing for) love
i need restoration
i need direction
i feel empty
i'm unsure of my future
surely?
my heart aches to love someone intimately and deeply in partnership... i am falling in love with someone i shouldn't. i am trying to focus on loving the people around me the best i can. i feel so incredibly alone.
i realized this weekend, a very ugly truth... that my longing for romantic love is greater than it should be, and at times, has been and is a false deity i bow down to and revere far beyond what it deserves. it's hard not to delete this line.
i took clay in my hands and walked to where i could look over the water... surely... i repeated the word in quiet whispers which echoed in my soul and seemed to bound across the cold and still water, and off the rocky face of a great evergreen laden hill, only to return in the noise of the falls powered by a recent rain.
surely...
shivering, i went inside and the clay became warmer in my hands and began to take form. after much kneading, digging, smoothing... i held a small clay boat with two seats inside. i looked at it. i don't trust the waters. i have no oars or life preserver. the waters are rough, and i can't swim. i'm alone and afraid.
surely goodness and mercy...
i had a very real and honest conversation with someone. another coming out experience, and a positive one. during our conversation, i caught a glimpse of how broken we all are. and a thought came to me...
just as Christ's body was broken, Christ's body is broken.
we can pretend that we have it together and continue to outcast the people who we think are "sinners" while we ignore the fact we are all broken. the body is broken.
take this bread, eat. my body, broken...
surely...
last night i was asked to review the day and ask for God to show me where s/he was and where i missed God's presence. during the time of silent reflection, i reviewed seeing God in the trees, in the sound of rushing water, in the soft ferns, in the smell of rain, in the emotion i felt...
just as the time was about to end, a gentle prompting told me...
surely... God is in the boat.
this weekend i had the opportunity to retreat and focus on spiritual formation. in one of the sessions, psalm 23 was read and i was surprised by the impact i felt in the depths of my soul as i heard the words "i shall not want..." and "restores my soul"... then, "paths of righteousness"... followed by "my cup runs over" ending with a word that stuck with me in a constant tension that i still feel...
"surely"
i have a lot of thoughts tonight after a weekend of being silent and listening to what God is telling me. i also have realized that i don't share as much as i'd like, so i am opening the door a little more.
i realized that the word surely doesn't sit right with me. in my journal, i wrote out:
it doesn't feel true. surely? my cup feels empty, the pastures are barren, and the waters are turbulent. i don't like the looks of the paths. i don't think i trust You. not right now.
i am wanting (deeply longing for) love
i need restoration
i need direction
i feel empty
i'm unsure of my future
surely?
my heart aches to love someone intimately and deeply in partnership... i am falling in love with someone i shouldn't. i am trying to focus on loving the people around me the best i can. i feel so incredibly alone.
i realized this weekend, a very ugly truth... that my longing for romantic love is greater than it should be, and at times, has been and is a false deity i bow down to and revere far beyond what it deserves. it's hard not to delete this line.
i took clay in my hands and walked to where i could look over the water... surely... i repeated the word in quiet whispers which echoed in my soul and seemed to bound across the cold and still water, and off the rocky face of a great evergreen laden hill, only to return in the noise of the falls powered by a recent rain.
surely...
shivering, i went inside and the clay became warmer in my hands and began to take form. after much kneading, digging, smoothing... i held a small clay boat with two seats inside. i looked at it. i don't trust the waters. i have no oars or life preserver. the waters are rough, and i can't swim. i'm alone and afraid.
surely goodness and mercy...
i had a very real and honest conversation with someone. another coming out experience, and a positive one. during our conversation, i caught a glimpse of how broken we all are. and a thought came to me...
just as Christ's body was broken, Christ's body is broken.
we can pretend that we have it together and continue to outcast the people who we think are "sinners" while we ignore the fact we are all broken. the body is broken.
take this bread, eat. my body, broken...
surely...
last night i was asked to review the day and ask for God to show me where s/he was and where i missed God's presence. during the time of silent reflection, i reviewed seeing God in the trees, in the sound of rushing water, in the soft ferns, in the smell of rain, in the emotion i felt...
just as the time was about to end, a gentle prompting told me...
surely... God is in the boat.
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