Heart Writer: Lovely One (For Melba)

Heart Writer: Lovely One (For Melba): Another pedal falls from the flower that grows in this Valley. How beautiful you were  How timelessly elegant you were Like a child in your ...

Lovely One (For Melba)

Another pedal falls from the flower that grows in this Valley.
How beautiful you were 
How timelessly elegant you were
Like a child in your ways
And now you stand beholding the face of God
Your time here has ended but only to walk in gardens of majesty
Surrounded by voices of angels
Eyes filled with glory
How tiny you were here
Tender
But how enlarged your heart must be now knowing face to face what we hope for
Rest in everlasting joy lovely one.

Awake

Death of those Lil ones so utterly destroyed by abuse of every sort
Those tormented by the wicked ones who inhabit the Earth
Given over to exercise evil with all their inaginations
but what of those who live?
Not to rob the memory of the precious lives of those that were taken but to look now on to those chosen to live on
Why live on and for what?
To be angry? Confused? Forever victimized?
Maybe to be a voice for all the voices that were taken away.
Can those Lil ones who lived rise from the ashes?
Can they indeed live forward?
Restore these and they will speak
Speak for the hurt, the abused, the lame, the departed
Use these for good
To be a light in a dark place, the day grows shorter and night is upon us. Awake us from sleep.

Overwhelmed

Where is hope when my feet are heavy and I feel paralyzed by despair?

Where is the light when I feel surrounded by an abyss of sorrow?

Where is fellowship when I feel alone in a crowd?

Where is melody when all I hear is the noise?

Where is the warmth of the sun when the rain will not stop pouring down?

How many times will my heart be disappointed?

I want to believe without fail

I want to live in the warmth of the Sun

I want a symphony to emanate from my own heart

I want to be satisfied with my own company

Tip the balance

Change the direction of the wind

Amend what is written in the stars

I dare not ask for what is fair because what do I know of such things

I have both taken and been taken

Rain down mercy and lead me out of this place.

Breathe Again

My feet above the grave a Lil one whose feet were quiet enough to tip toe past the noise of this world
How I wish I had one audience 
One chance to breathe into her dry bones
These gifts that you have bestowed upon me let them not perish within me
Afford me the opportunity to give your breath once again
To believe in miracles again
To believe in the miracle of second chances 
Let not my heart grow cold with every passing day
Show me mercy and renew a right spirit within me
My castle is overgrown and my gardens have laid waste
But breathe in me again and I will stand upon hinds feet again
I will walk among the lilies and call for my beloved 
Answer when I call and remember me again

Rise up!

Who will be the light for a generation drowning in darkness
Who will tell them it's ok to love and be loved?
A generation of people shoved into a box marked, "what I think you are"
Can we see passed imperfections and the residue of a life torn apart by self destruction?
Their jaws locked, fists clinched, bellies empty, hearts broken staring at the face of someone that just has to be lying
Ears that can't hear, 
"What is truth? We know not."
Where is the preacher for this generation?
And where is his light?
Where are the dragon slayers?
They sit on ledges in dark places believing they are alone and can't be rescued from their demons
Rise in me 
Arise, slay, speak 

Fickle

How unsatisfied we can become with things
Unsatisfied with time
Unsatisfied with people 
How fickle and selfish we can be 
How bored we become
Constantly chasing the next thing 
Running after more time 
Comparing the company we keep 
Wanting always wanting
And bored because we do all these things
Can we stop for a moment and appreciate what we have?
Enjoy the time we have been given
Embrace the people before us
Life is but a vapor whispers the preacher 
My heart cries for my ears 
Open and listen it intercedes 
Awake out of sleep. 

Building

When a city is destroyed, if there are inhabitants left in that city, they build. They have to. We were not created to live and abide in death and destruction but to pass through. Death is not the end. So we build. How will we build though? Will the materials be the same? Who will build with us and for what purpose? In the beginning just lifting up one piece at a time is all we can do. The task it's self being so daunting. Build, reflect, rest and sometimes breakdown. Breakdown because this has to be done at all. Breakdown because this building will never replace what was lost. It will, however protect what is still alive. So be careful how you build. We build a city with walls. Walls that keep things in and keep things out.

At the Root

There is a root of bitterness that bores into the pit of the stomach

It provides the illusion of power and time

Power, because we believe we can control the destructiveness of its silent rage

Time, because we are deceived into believing we have plenty

This root harbors questions that may never be answered

It is home to regret and secret shame

The power of this root shields us from the full brunt of pain and heart ache, so we give place

An illusion of strength, but inside it bores away at all the qualities that bring forth life

Qualities such as hope, forgiveness, reconciliation, faith, and true healing

This wicked root silently secreting its poison into the core of our being, moment by moment, day by day

Until, we no longer recognize ourselves.

In this time of losing there is an illusion that we are in control

So we don’t fight when we should

We silence the voice we were given to combat this darkness

Speak, Speak, Speak

Speak Life

Forgive quickly, hope in tomorrow, believe in miracles, and never give up!

#Jaidynsvoice

Continue

With so many things uncertain my thoughts wander

They walk in times past and speak of yesteryear's

Life was not without adversity then, but the pain seems like that of an old movie

I watch this movie with no sound and it cuts in and out

I can see myself crying in the shower and pleading to God

Now I sit about to clock into a time suspended in restlessness and doubting

A time of loneliness and fear

There will be times I tell myself that I can do this

Utter words of strength and encouragement

And there will be moments of hopelessness

Either way I will continue

I have to
#Jaidynsvoice

One More Moment

We foolishly believe we know the brokenness of a heart and the heaviness of a soul. Then in a moment that we cannot rewind the picture snaps into focus. Reminding again that life is precious and that some moments are so fleeting and others seem never ending. I don’t believe I have all the answers by any means. I am, however, acquainted with my own frailty and faults. I have been told again life is but a vapor. It seems so short…Always. We beg for more time. We beg for one more moment. But because there is no reverse, neither is there a forward we move and live in this present grief. “It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart” (Ecclesiastes 7:2). I know that the lesson is not supposed to be regret and shame, for the product of those is crippling and only breeds more death. When my son was hit by a car I dealt with an array of emotions, but it also changed me. I try to be aware of how I drive, especially, at corners. I try to make eye contact. I try to give what I wish my son was given. I look in both directions because in a moment…lives are changed forever. 

Image of you

I see you still

In little faces

In frozen images

In my mind

In my dreams

I see your eyes peering back at me through our children

I wonder if they can see you reflected back at them

Your image like the wave of the sea

Coming into view and then pulling back again

Always there

In my memory

In my regrets

In my hopes for our children

Like the hand of an old clock, your face moves back and forth continuously

Not feeling entitled to grieve like others

Not wanting to injure others with my sorrow

So inside it stays

In images

In tears that tip toe in the dark

Telling my heart to whisper and use it’s inside voice so as to not disturb the world

What we want and What we say we want

What if I crawled up in a ball and laid in the room?

What would happen?

Your box staring back at me.

Your earthly remains held together by a clear plastic bag.

What am I being held together by?

Today my heart is flooded with the sound of old worship songs.

Songs that made us cry. Songs that softened our hearts and brought us to our knees.

You finally reached the end of the broken road you tread upon.

You cried telling me you had nothing. I asked you what you wanted. You said undergarments and clothes that fit. Plain t-shirts you said. Of course I thought.

I went to buy you all the things You said you wanted and I knew you would like. I even found the socks you talked about.

You didn’t get to wear all that I bought you before He called you home.

They sat folded on your dresser.

Now they belong to our oldest son.

I hope you liked them.

What a thing to think about right?

The things we say we want and the things we really want can be entirely different can’t they? Yeah, they can.

Thoughts...

3/23/16

Thoughts…

“Blanca, you need to come home. I believe my brother just passed away.”

The phone call that sent my heart racing. The day had finally come. The moment I would have to face my greatest fear. I felt the breath leave my lungs and I couldn’t find it again. It was gone. It went with him perhaps. Not the breath that keeps me alive, but the one that kept us together. Knitted here on Earth. It separated from my being. No longer to be defiled by my unfaithfulness and cruelty. No longer to be saturated with my inability to understand why all this had to happen at all. Always confused to why it had to be this way. Withal I had given for years upon years I was left with all I had withheld. But that is the state of man isn’t it? Either degrading our efforts or giving ourselves too much credit. How prideful we are. Believing we are in control or retain time in our grasp. It is like when an insect flies about your head. You determine to catch the little pest in your hand. You reach, swing, palm open and clinch! It’s gone. Surely you have prevailed. You slowly open your hand only to discover an empty palm. In all that we determine to do and all we reached out to clinch, time continues to pass. People continue to walk toward the grave. Are we actually spending our lives distracting ourselves from this fact? One day I will know as I am known. All these questions will be answered. For you my friend there is no more wondering.

Opening the box

Where am I? I feel so lost. I miss him. Miss seeing him. He was always home, so whenever I decided to come home there he was. He was not always pleasant to be around, but he was always around. Now his remains sit in a small clear bag, in a small black box with his name on it. That box sits it a green velvet bag. One day I was missing him so much I removed the box from the velvet bag and opened the box. My heart was racing because I didn’t know what I would see or how I would feel. I removed the clear plastic bag from the box and squeezed the bag. If I could I probably would have opened the bag to feel the sand like ashes in my hands. All I could think was, “this is all that is left.” I cried in pain. How could a personality, a person filled with hopes and dreams, a father, a husband, a brother, a son, a friend be reduced to what was held in my hands. Where are you?! I am alone. God, I am alone. All these years I dreaded, hoped, feared and even forgot that this day would come. Your body so filled with holes and scars from all of your surgeries. No more belly pats. No more scratching your back with a knife; which I hated by the way. No more anything. No more making yourself bust up until you went into a coughing fit; which I loved by the way. How ridiculous we could be sometimes. How over it we both seemed to be at the end. Just tired; both of us. The bitterness too much at times. We kicked and screamed because it was all so unfair. And no one understood. To be with you that last hour. To give you a hug before you left. I don’t wish you were here instead of there because frankly here sucks, but you knew that. I hope you are filled with all the things you lacked here. I miss you my friend. 

Disguised Grief

3/9/16

(Job 2:13)13 So they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that [his] grief was very great.

Grief disguised

So because grief disguises itself; it eludes us and calls into question the reality of its existence. I remember seeing a man that lost his newly born child. He came to church smiling and proclaiming the goodness of God, but his wife was overcome with grief. She spoke not a single word. She dared not even lift her eyes past the ground. How she grieved I thought. As for her husband I was uncertain. He seemed less impacted by the sorrow of the time. I am sure there were those that looked on and thought “wow what great faith he possesses!” I was not one. I focused on the wife and her grief and allowed her pain to fuel my fear. “God, could I live through such loss? I dare not even imagine it.” For years she remained a contact point of grief and loss for me. I thought what a tragic life. Years later the husband would break down talking about his loss. I thought well now he must be in touch with his loss. I spoke from ignorance having never experienced such a loss myself.