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.  

Does Destiny Stand A Chance?

The wonderment of destiny and chance. How can one override the other? Who is the authority? Who has the final say? Destiny you make everything purposeful and sure, but with you is bitterness. Why is it your way or none at all? Destiny you offer security yes, but you are also a dictator. Is there no consideration for any other choice? And Chance, with you is possibilities but fear is your companion. Chance is a gambling man with no sense of obligation to any one person. You play with other people's lives and are separated from the outcome.  Is it all a game for you and we are your pawns? There are truly pros and cons with you both. Can I even know what is best for me? In a moment of choice I feel so confident and sure only for that confidence to be turned into regret and doubt. I am a frail being. My sight can be blurred and limited.  I am in deed in need of a savior. How my mind races from one choice to the other like it is playing musical chairs. When will the music stop? Where will I be when it does?

Puzzle Piece

There is nothing like the voice of strangers to make me feel so alone. Strangers, not from the stand point that you are unknown to each other, but in the fact that you travel on two different paths. Maybe parallel but separate. The voice of people that hear but do not understand. Your desires are like the wind that blows to them. You could utterly break down what it feels like to yearn for a heart that beats to the same rhythm as yours and oh the harmony of knowing you are not alone in the world. That there is a soul that exists outside of yourself that understands. The comfort of that. The utter peace that washes over. My puzzle piece. Are you buried somewhere in the world underneath pretentiousness and background noise? Do you amuse yourself with the beggarly elements of this world In hopes you might drown out the deep calling out to deep. Does the sound of my soul call out to yours? Do you know I'm out here? I exist. Am I being washed away like childhood fables? Will you know me when you see me? Feel me when I speak? My puzzle piece. 

A Cry In The Wilderness

A child cries out in the darkness for her Father. Her eyes open but surrounded by the cold emptiness of a place where  no light lives. Tears creeping down her cheeks she searches for His familiar voice. Where is he? She wonders. Her searching turns to anger and resentment. Her questions change. She no longer just wants his presence. She wants to know Why. Why is He allowing this fear and uncertainty to consume her. Why does every person around her seem so unconcerned, or mystified by her state. They speak with no wisdom. They move with no strength. Why? She is tight lipped now and doesn't want to talk to her Father. Afterall, why hasn't he talked to her first. Surely He knows where she is and the state she is in. Where does His voice dwell? Where did she lose it? Just then, "the voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the dessert a highway for our God." (Is. 40:3) So he wants her to make a way in the dessert?! Her frustration grows because she is already consumed with the lack of motivation to even speak life. Yet, she can not forsake all that she knows. The seed of His voice, His house, His love is embedded too deep. She kicks against the goads. She wrestles. She sees but is blind. She knows but is confused. In this wilderness her heart pants. The deep thirst stands at attention. Where is the fountain of His salvation? The Rivers of deliverance. "He turneth the wilderness into a standing water, and a dry ground into watersprings."(Ps. 107:35) Life teaches what words could not. So that the soul that stands in darkness can see truly. No longer standing under clouds with no water. No longer drinking of the streams of bitterness. In this dark place a voice can be heard crying in the wilderness. Precious Child, listen.