Anticipation of being Yours

Apprehension, a new day filled with mystery, awakened from deep sleep—
One more hour, 6 winks for sure, off to run the day away,
I have arisen and pound the pavement as I am trying to be disciplined about
Daily watching life fly by… faster than I can count the moments.
How uncertain and unsearchable, O God of my questings,
Question upon question resurrects out of my soul, wondering I thought dead.
What happened to the childish simplicity I used to embrace,
Have I matured beyond the health of my own faith, that inexplicable embracing?
I ponder as I wander, running through winding streets. Beauty I grasp at,
Wonder I taste, a whole new world simply awaiting me
To discover, uncover, freedoms unimaginable.
Yet the yoke of obligation reminds me who I am,
The responsibilities of living from occupational orientation
To screenings, paperwork, finances… I am not so free as I think to be.

Yet I conjure in this mind of mine all sorts of abstractions
Theology, philosophy, the fields which feed my imagining and envisioning
Of a life within my head, a “precious” relationship with Jesus, which seems
Too exclusive to be had with a Lover Who is intimate with the world.
Am I too open with You, Jesus, too exclusive in an inseparable paradox?
In love I find myself again, enamored with the Son of God—
Lost in wondering, yet fundamentally accepting… the things I believe without
Question, unless cause for contemplation arises; conversation outside
Turns the wheels within, from fundamentalist faith and orthodoxy,
To the policeman who doesn’t believe in God, and wonders at theology.
What good is it, this study of God, if only bloats overweight egos,
Obese with knowledge and puffed up with pride…
Jesus, I know nothing, make me more humble yet.

Is it boasting to think there is no good in me, are You there?
Your spirit working within me compels more engagement of your work…
How I hesitate in my wondering, but You encourage the questions—
As long as am purposeful in my focus and not given to meaninglessness.
You say You will guide me in paths of righteousness, A love beyond
That which I know I am worth; You see my state and were full of pity…
Is there pity still or has it become real love, was it love all the time?
How dare I to think I can stand sinless before You? If so, only You
Enable the freedom to be released into such a wonderful world
Where I breathe the air of heaven day in and out…
Where Hell is the disunity of my soul with Yours, I am wondering
About the most basic of all belief, devil, angels, heaven, hell…
Faith is not about perception, will You blame me now,
For now I have beheld the glory of Your face in my heart, but still
Struggle to believe, to take hold of Your unending grace?

I long and I grasp, reaching for more every moment, what propels such ache
Why is today not enough, why even in the most bliss of a moment must I reach
Beyond the contentedness of strangers, the placating embrace of friends
Where comfort cannot reach me and time seems to have anything but end,
Where hope is dissected by a knife which cuts deeper than piercing truth..
Your hands, open wounds, bleeding hands; I kiss them…
Sweetness of love mingled with blood of pain, Jesus I am bleeding too.
But it is my soul now I have cut, the body is worthless to waste such effort.
Your tender words, maybe I do not trust myself to act in and believe them…
I let my faith sway in the wake of others’ breath, but I adore;
Falling before, I feel a stranger, ashamed still to show old scars and living in
Past memories I have no business clinging to and relishing in regrets.
Have You made all things new, or am I awaiting still, some mystical descent
A promenade of You love, glorious baptism and a pure white heart,
The olive branch of Your dove from the flooded plains of my spirit?

Purposefully I seek to create the beauty I notice is absent, filling the moments
But not the emptiness, deeper than the reach of human flesh or heart, I am
Pushing closer and closer, hoping that orthodox religion will provide stability
I need to keep seeking more, loving deeper. Your hands are before me, needy this time,
Show me today the tasks You set before me, as I lay me down to sleep…
Into those hands and feet have I committed the shame, lusts, nightmares and Forbiddenness of truth in love, desire, the redemption of my soul hanging
By just a slender thread, the knife in my hand, to cut or to carve…
Fashioning a person as I discover and uncover the image You have invested—
Overwrought I have worked my hands to less than bone, restore the life again.
You have planted only hope and wholeness, a life I keep refilling with bitterness
That should be one of anticipatory joy, maybe a slice of more profound witness
To the eternity of today, the moment, with You, intimacy for all.
You must, You can, You do bring that relief my soul craves like refreshing wine
Offering to strip all the fears away; show me how to be Yours.

 

Re-learning how to love Jesus

My Jesus and I have been having a little relationship conflict. Over the summer I ask, do you exist? His answer is silent or not in the way I am looking for or expecting. I suppose mysticism served its purpose for a while, now that atheism has taking its toll, skepticism has set in and I am a jealous lover. So this summer our marriage has gone through stresses and strains and as I have learned about love, I have contemplated whether I do wrong to exclude Jesus to myself by calling Him Lover. Sometimes I wonder about jealousy, about Yhwh being jealous in His love… and that makes me realize that although He loves me, He can’t trust me at all. I have flitted between far too many lovers seeking some sort of excitement in every one-night stand relationship to prove myself incapable or unwilling of retaining His trust. Jealousy must only be the product of doubt in relationship, I think, tell me if I am wrong, please. Jesus is exclusive in His love in one sense, but not in another. He is as open to loving anyone as deeply as they will love Him back… actually, He will cultivate intimacy and unity as much as they will, but it will not exist unless they are willing. So coming off a tumultuous summer, I am wondering more than ever about the real-ness of Jesus, but trying to find voice for that to Him.

May I use a lot of words and tell you about the sermon I heard to day? It gave me something to work with, that I haven’t got in myself… I start “eating” myself when there is not enough around to consume the voracious through appetite I always find in myself. The sermon was on Romans 3.21-32… established by the premise that we cannot get right to feel presentable to God before we come to Him. That hit something in my right there, realizing that my Jesus, the very one for whom I want to be the most perfect, must be the one to whom I throw myself knowing I am absolutely helpless to be beautiful for Him. And yet if all I can come to Him is covered in mud…. Well, am I coming to Him filthy still, or is that just what I believe all the time? All sorts of questions swirled through my mind today, as a sat in a service where I hadn’t expected to find myself, wanting to finger my rosary beads again… to try and get that sense of Jesus my hands have been missing so much.

I know I have believed, even since realizing it was something of a lie, that I needed to get myself right and perfect before Jesus before I could engage in relationship. It’s like I lose myself when  I don’t think about Him. I am probably mentally a Gomer… poor Hosea, the name I’m giving Jesus for a moment, is always telling me He loves me, and only being allowed to express His love when I listen to those words from His mouth. But how do I hear them? He can I allow myself to fall unworthily into His hands, those tender and gentle hands which only ache to touch my own and the wounds I have inscribed in them, to assure my I am loved.

Listening to the pastor’s opening words this morning, I wondered about sin, and if I had to keep considering myself filthy if what he was saying is true. So the method of getting right with God that I, like many others I am sure, have often opted for is this idea of Law and meeting expectations of that Law. The pastor said that was a misunderstanding of the Law and the Prophets, like unto what the Pharisees did… opting for them as a means of becoming something like righteous out of my own efforts and works. He said that we composing the church ( a word over which I continue to stumble) should be united by realizing we are all standing in the same place of being unable to right ourselves without God. Please do not think me arrogant for wondering if Jesus has set my place of uprightness in stone before God the Father, why is it that I am told I need to continually turn back to Him in order to be made upright? Is my heart really so perpetually wandering? I heartily confess I am rarely focused enough to think about looking for Jesus, loving Jesus, being one with Jesus all the time.

The pastor today addressed my yearning for perfectness, that seemingly impossible standard which no one seems to expect from me anymore, and yet at the same time are unspokenly expected by all. At least, such is my inner perception. He was discussing the term “justification” one of those Christian words which is adored and overcomplicated by some, and hated and misunderstood by others: justification is the place of perfectness now by Jesus’ sacrifice of atonement? The question of need arises again, are we establishing that from the very beginning of everyday, a person must be justified, or is the court term the “once for all” sort of language? If once for all, must we remind ourselves by re-excavating that grace and drawing forth the remnants of what was dead? Why do we dwell in the sinfulness, we have been set free from the must of it, have we not?

We were once all in the same place and might be, were it not for Jesus. Author and perfector of our faith, we call Him. I suppose He is still perfecting the faith, because I am so stubborn and blind in my loving of Him. Maybe I need to see faith as the love relationship…. Jesus is teaching me how to love Him and to be one with Him. So Jesus is God’s justice and mercy… often I have heard others wonder why if God is love, could He bear to allow hurt, I have dared to say cause hurt because of the existence of Sitra Achra… if God made all things, don’t all things tie back to God? I once long ago realized I could not understand God’s type of goodness, because sometimes the best thing for me goes against everything I say I want… sometimes love lets me have my own way, sometimes it stops me. But the Mercy part of the love/justice was just once… Jesus coming and seeing the sin with His Father, then taking me, the accused, to His Father, telling Him like He did Mary while on the cross… “here is Your son…” to me, “Here is your Father” and then dying so we could be in love.

Realizing this love I am in is nothing but a gift, what am I doing questing it… what it is… but Jesus, You are invisible. But wondering for so long, I don’t know if that’s OK. Maybe Yhwh is more existential than I want Him to be… investing my faith in the necessity of interacting with life. Jesus, show me how it is that I constantly need you… must it always be sin and perpetual grace? What blinds me to the reality of the grace You have given me?

The pastor described faith as empty hands… here are my hands, stretched out to You, empty Jesus, waiting to be filled… an open mouth, waiting to drink of the water… I have drunk before, is it the gasp of air that requires me not drink for a time. He said that this Christianity I find myself in is not meant to be a religious system, but good news, hope that we didn’t realized we needed until experiencing life. Am I asking Jesus to come down to me again, because I couldn’t ascend to Him? What’s so repulsive and unbelievable about grace? I know I need to accept it, and how does one do that? By not doing? Maybe that’s what keeps me from loving Jesus, I know how undeserving I have been and how I can remain to be, so I wonder why He loves me.

 

Missing Yesterday’s Plane

I havent had many productive thought today, Jesus… You and blood have fascinated me, I have considered all sorts of sin, freedom… slept; today will have gone by very strangely. Well, I have at least an hour and a half on here… Maybe I should find something worthwhile to contemplate.
∑ time- has been moving at a break neck speed… never certain if it is flying past me or dragging; one continual conversation, a perpetual relationship.
∑ womanhood- I have had some further thoughts about it… with the condition of blessing I was surprised to find myself in this morning… all the mingled thoughts and feelings about myself and potential situations that I have had over today.
∑ knowledge of ourselves must be Christologically formed? Cannot rightly know myself apart from Jesus, and so a deeper exploration of Him allows me to better know myself? “…a crucial aspect of the Spirits work is to reshape our understanding of self as illuminated by the incarnate Son.” Owen, 33. How would this cover women? How does our need to understand that we are loved inspite

of ourselves play in?

Thinking of that article on menstruating mystics… what I termed Holy bleeding… and sacred spaces… all that levitical distance between men and women; God pulls us apart during the times when we are most weak, in pain, and vulnerable… I was just realizing the truth of strength in weakness the other day when contemplating motherhood and the prospects of some day learning to love through the prospect of holding a child in my arms. But was not Mary told that a sword would pierce her own heart as well.

Jesus, you know I struggle in a love-hate with this body. Would that I were stronger and fitter, and that I plan to get and be over the next few weeks. But You did make me softer than I would like… as much as I struggle between staving and indulging that, I have seen in my own physicaliy how much life I can cut off… how much of nature I can disrupt by over-training, by cutting of life, killing the body more in a pursuit of life itself. And I am still desiring and planning to do that. O Jesus, Show me Yourself in California… steal my heart and my life before I frivolously squander them both. Allure a desire in me for you and purity.

Miles away and running forever, away from old memories
In hopes to discover, the satisfaction of freedom–
A fresh breath of life, new hope and beginnings
Yet all my insides are churning and nervous,
No trust for myself, and the insatiable lust of curiosity;
Knowing that wealth’s only companion is weeping,
Alone in a bed after recklessly sleeping
to acquire for self another sense of assurance, pursuing
Life unto death; never gaining, only losing
the sweet virgin blush of innocent soul, body now lost
And heart’s open door- widely inviting lovers who pay.

One loses one’s charm, they all scorn away,
For the end of a prostitute is suicidal abandonment of hope, lost in herself, she pounds out the notes
Of her own funeral dirge, in disgust with her life–
For money she started,now consumed by the price
Of self-devouring need, for purpose she slaves
To be the best night he had; her focsu has faded,
A wavering vision, in the mind of natural beauty conceived, she aborted the dream-child, less
Out of need than mere curiosity- how far could she run
Unceasing, tirelessly worthless under the sun.

To hear was too little, true words hardly enough
to convince that there cold be more pain than she thought
So willingly came to seek absolute, pursue possibility,
Facades she took, masquerading about in colorful blur;
When the dance came to turns, to abandonment
she hastened, all too willing for complete experimentation.
Contemplating each moment was practice lost to times
Of ceaseless interaction and flirting so sublime,
She felt lead straight to heaven by attentions intense,
Only to be consentingly raped of all ignorance,
A seductress she became, manipulating body for heart.

One with the world, she perfected the art of mindless
Interaction, a snow princess for love, perilous but desired
For the appearance of love can be worn by stony heart-
Though just fora time; the ice must break apart,
Lest the warmth of the blood still flowing from fresh kill,
Manages to impart some life to her still, though her victim,
He lies, still overpowered in her bed, caught in a spell,
All he’s lost is his head to his own consumig desire,
she’d never believe he might passionately love,
Not after what she has done; she doesn’t know how
She could ever be loved; it was her desire once…
She forfeitted that to partake of this dust, dark clouds
Of mourning over endless delights now deemed a dream.

Could she possibly fight, finding herself in a pool filled with
Blood, she first thought her own, now only to find
The miracle of a victim, wounds flowing beyond her own
Unifying her death with his life… pouring out in abundance
Of shame; yet this is the burning of a phoenix.
Her flame enshrounds her sin-stained self, yet not alone
Was she cremated at this stake, of purifying religion
Too much test, too little faith, for hope to remain for
Resurrection, an athiest like her?

Yet the Only One could bear to die alongside and wit her-
This harlot who lost soul to questions and wonderings
Impossibly reborn again, by kiss deeper than love
She could ever pursue again, apart from this enigma,
More than Lover her Lord- whom she struggles to know
Battered and bruised by His sword- of tormenting words
Soft whisper of care, of presence timidly desired for;
Inexplicably He’s there, present more than she could
Dream to want; incurable longing not yet ended or gone,
For He’s coming still, what hope but to believe,
Imagining Presence beyond lovers who pay and leave
To one who wants to know wholly and deeply, fully-
And invites gets to know until she’s more overwhelmed;
Purgatorial loving, she’s found a lot in life.

O my, ehxaustion. taking over!

 

Beginning to Contemplate Blood

bleeding wounds,loss of blood
Its sticky red substance traces
swirling paths of lost salvation
towards my ankles;
I wonder if we women in our bleeding
have any part in redemption…
the continual bleeding of Jesus’ holy wounds
intersects with our continual loss of life.
Month after month apart from breath and flow
we are wounded, life fading for life to impart
draws blood from the motherly womb-heart of God,
who Himself becomes weak for our help.

Yet I, I a runner lose blood at meaningless expense- cutting my own knees through clumsy torn pavement, tripping over air. Yet it reminds me of life, before my own eyes.
I have a lot of thoughts I am putting into words, experimenting with what blood has connecting to in life.
So there will be more thoughts following soon.

 

Wondering at Mystery of Love

I think Jesus just baffles me in life….

In the stillness of morning, night before dawn
The quiet of life and business of work afforded me opportunity to ponder
Blank amazement stunned my mind,
Blown away my a mysterious concept,
An ambiguous, unexplainable reality: love.
We of the church claim love as our closest bond
Yet degrade ourselves as incapably sinful…
Our words reveal our condition—we know ourselves too well,
Openly beating and berating our souls—
Before each other our pains we bear, to wallow unpitying and ashamed.
In a pit full of filth, yet stuck in company
Hopelessly droning confessions and pining in grief
Without word of relenting or sight of relief.
Pondering, there too I see myself-unmoving;

From the whirling carousel to the prostitute’s lair
I tread and I trod, falling deep into despair
Where life is too heavy, body a clumsy burden.
But I am convinced of otherwise from outside,
My soul searching and desperate as it is—
Thirsts though with You, my Jesus, I am One
You have entered my being—embodied my soul,
Disarmed trembling hands, absorbing the blood
That spilled from the deep wounds inflicted to distract.
Jesus, my gracious lover, I’m heaving a last breath
To try and wonder, confused as I am,
How You could bear to love me, while
Nails rip into Your hands.

For a crucifix I reach, perhaps in that I’ll understand love.
Yet out of my hands, more than faith from above
Flows a fountain only obvious
By Your blood coursing through fleshy veins;
Not lifeless silver or dusty meditation.
Too mystical You are to succumb to the bounds
Of my limited imagination, confounded belief.
A mystery of love, an engagement You demonstrate
Through members of Your body with Your life invigorated.
How do I know it is Your love, not of them?

You have deprived us of language,
By which to understand reason and depth.
You call us Your body, what I do to one, I do to You—
A tangible Jesus, my hands in Yours?
Light too bright for my eyes,
Will imagination transfigure them into You?
Is it by love, more than faith You enable belief
Pushed forwards by an inexplicable relief
Of burden thrown down, trampling my hope—
By the touch of mortal hand?
Words which describe our bodies as temples
Which You inhabit when two are together—
Do You live in the love, that essence of relationship,
Where self desires to lay aside all for another?

Can I only know You Jesus by loving other,
To embrace, must I touch someone…
Not divorce from this place
Where physical reality is all I can sense?
You have breathed in me spirit, I know for I feel,
But feelings are fleeting, love is deeper still.
Can I hope to comprehend, gain knowledge of You,
Without love for my brother,
How is any belief true?

Here I am so helpless… in wonder I am lost,
Staggering drunk in the shadow of Your cross—
Something of love I can’t understand,
Which compelled You to death while I carved in Your hand
The bloody word of my guilt, my name with a nail?
Your wounded feet I wish I could kiss
But stigmata doesn’t seem to exist in mindless bliss
Of mere scholarship, aestheticism, I tried before…
A living machine which whirls and roars
But is empty,  so empty… devoid of all life.
Will You in Your mercy, aid in my fight
To engage in relationship, Your mystical self
To hold in my hands and love more than life.

With faith You have gifted me, ability to love?
Form me a faith by teaching me love—
Open my heart to receive from above
A sight most holy, spiritually engaging Your world.
For in Your image is bound up this love
Tear me open to uncover what I have hidden
That which I most desire,
Yet most fervently refuse to grasp.
Teach me how to love you.

 

Wondering to Surrender

Have you ever wanted to pour out your soul and none of it made sense? Heaven in the moments, hell also present? I am trying, dear Jesus, to give you all me self…yet I still find a gaping hell of sin keeping me apart.

The Gaping Hell of Sin

I am at endless depth, there seems no end
To self—no escape from this prison.
My body- that temple in which I worship—
Imparting life to worthless gods,
Spilling my own blood as sacrifice.
My Molech, cravings within myself
Achings which I desire my Jesus to fill;
My Psyche soul is too enflamed to satiate
All the lusting love of her heart on a faceless lover.
Dark form, tangible only in others’ temple,
Wounds form in uncut flesh of other hands…
My own, trembling reach out to tocuh—
But invisible form and empty air,
Are all that my faith can grasp.

Alone, I am alone, but are You with me?
Jesus, Master, Saviour- Lover most ardent,
Do you hear the rasping whisper of my life—
Crying out of a fading faith and failing hope?
I have severed myself off from Your grace
In unconscious disbelief I deny myself mercy.
Faint and gasping, a tree withdrawing—
Roots from water, I am dry and thirsty land.
Diseased as I am, blood courses through me,
A part of the everlasting arm flowing with life—
Me? A tree of life? My insides have shriveled,
I slashed through the bark, baring wounds—
Oozing and open that a god may feast on me.

Foolish Pandora, a vampire has raped you—
Surrendering your soul to a parasitic demon,
Though I have created this wretched slave-lord myself,
I chose this form of spiritual prostitution
And have become infested with darkest might.
One with the night, will you, Holy Jesus, save me?
You stretched forth Your hand to me:
‘Put away the harlot dress, shut of the glaring light
Do not abandon and sell Yourself, come from wrong to right.’
Yet why do I hesitate, what attracts me to this,
Relentless bed full of hate, abuser most cruel,
How sadistic am I-not to give You myself,
Not to take my place as Your cherished bride…
From what am I running, with whom can I hide?

The miles of endless pavement I pound,
Meaningless penitence, no mark on the ground—
Once more I am lonely, listless and lost
Turning my shame-flushed face from the cross;
On magnificent crucifix, You hang awful about my neck,
Image of Your crumpled form crushed to my breast.
Yet I don’t seem to remember, memory fades
The wrist once baring Your mark has no name.
My Jesus, Mysterious Yhwh, the Only three but One,
My salvation is wavering, I’m craving a touch.
Is it my choice, just listen and obey?
Have I lost my footing to seductive folly’s sway,
Of vanities, philosophies, endless questioning?

Each morning I wake, the same notes I sing—
Of blindness and wandering, unsurety and loss
Whoever said self might bear to die on the cross?
Yet Jesus, You command it, death to self I must bring
No more suicidal hopes and fantasies—
But ghost-like have I become, failing and falling—
Down under the sun where emptiness reigns.
Can I touch You, will You have me,
If so I am Yours; is the choice up to me?
I fall under Your flood, this dusty earth—
With which I am one, pining here under the sun.
Kissing colder than frost, my very breath imparts ice
And death, there feels no love in me to give,
Yet You keep on loving, constancy supreme—
I feel empty of love, that You did not pour out.

Will You buy me, darling Jesus, seductress though I am?
Caressing Your face with blood-stained hands
Of children, my soul’s products of love—
I can’t listen to my heart, all goodness is rotten…
A stony princess, perilous to love.
Why can’t I accept it, why torment myself
With hard-hitting blows of mental source—
I torture my thoughts with superfluous words,
Convinced as I am beyond the extent of Your love;
I bend and I cower ashamed to turn above,
To lift my face and cry out of help
My sin overwhelms my ability to release, to let go, to focus….

O Jesus, my heart has been restless, at last in frustration it stills.
Open this skin and pour in it, please fill—
All that I am, was, will be… with the heavenly joys of love in darkness.
Ready as I am to surrender, teach it to me.
Broken beyond some overwhelming sense, I open my heart, I release and I vent…
Confessor most holy, abandoned at Thy feet I lie.
Hear my contrition, and absolve me, I cry.

 

Of Yhwh, carousels, and swords.

It’s been a long absence from the blog, I feel, and out of touch with thee are the fingerprints of my soul, as if returning to internet access and the freedom of speaking to no one in particular other than a more public expedition to Jesus is a foreign concept. Speaking out loud to You, again? You have cut far more incisions in this soul of mine than I am capable of feeling anymore… but if the sword ceases to be wielded, nothing more will change. So here I have come, to submit myself again to Your knife, let it be Yours and not mine, for life is dealing cruel blows and my hand is tempted to respond:

The sword, the sword has been sharpened and polished,
15 sharpened for slaughter, polished to flash like lightning . . .
16 He has had it polished to be wielded, this sword sharpened and polished to put in the slaughterer’s hand!
17 Shout and wail, son of man, for it will come on my people, on all the chief men of Israel doomed like my people to the sword! So beat your breast,
18 for this will be an ordeal . . . declares the Lord Yahweh.
19 So prophesy, son of man, and clap your hands! Let the sword pass three times, that sword for victims, that sword for a great victim, threatening them from every side!
20 To make hearts sink and make sure many fall, I have posted the slaughtering sword at every gate to flash like lightning, polished for slaughter.
21 Be sharp, on the right, be ready on the left, whichever way your blade is needed!
22 I too shall clap my hands and sate my fury! I, Yahweh, have spoken. (Ezekiel 21.14-22)

Yhwh my God, I feel it, it cuts, but not as I would have envisioned, clean and smooth, it stabs and twists, you tear me apart. Every fiber of my life has tried to cling to what used to be of You, but You move and change, it is that flow of life… You must tear apart and destroy in order to increase Your territory. So there I stood, at the base of a Hill, reluctant to climb for the unsurty of following life. A stranger, alone and isolated I rendered myself, not desiring or expecting to relate. But I put my life into Your hands and I followed a desire to that Hill. In it You were, and in it I lost myself, the endless motion of \dancer of fencers, back and forth, too and fro, ceaseless combat for fear of death. If I stopped moving, would I fall? Would You slay me?

And so onwards through Your gauntlet I ran, and I thought I saw the blade You had sharpened to cut away what I had known swing in an arc, continually spinning, whirling, like a carousel. This is an ordeal indeed, torment of my God in the tiring trap of the carousel:

Engine grinding away, it turns to sickening
Screech of music-screams of tormented soul
Played backwards, blended into carnival noise.
Motion sick, stumbling run, perpetual movement.
Cogs and wheels drive the carousel,
Spinning endlessly in dizzying loops
At breathtaking speed; I lose myself.
My insides are the motor and power for its turning,
Phantom horses pummel me
Trampling my organs, my mind with knotted strength of anxiety
Until I am reduced to nothing but ancestral dust.
I care too much, I decided long ago.
My life is the carousel—revelry selling herself
To any rider who will have her, she spins from one to the next
Stillness? I don’t know the meaning
A nauseating pace is all the peace I have
Caught and trapped in a web of catch 22s,
Downward cycles destroying faith, hope…
Love? I still don’t know the meaning.
The music of the carousel allures my being
Forcing from initial choice into addiction—
Dark, masochistic, sickening.
Nothing really matters if all falls back onto me.
Why settle for unstable hopes of waning dreams?
When the constancy of the carousel
Overwhelms my every need?
A prisoner in the jail of my own design,
I am destined for failure—running
Headlong I stumble upon a conjured fate,
Witchcraft of living to my own demise.
The carousel revolves around self, committing its own eventual suicide,
Consuming life force and will with each revolution.
I can go no further—neither can I stop.
Mechanical adrenaline is better than rest,
Artificial stimulation than the drunken state of love.
My doom seems certain, but at least constancy is sure.
Never slacking, I slave to turn the carousel,
Despising and rejecting, I have my very self
Who thought fun would be a turn or two—
In this deadly game of horse pursuit,
I ride and run, dizziness turning my head upwards;
A ray of hope, the light above my head?
Is that Jesus, is He spinning or me?
Who will rescue me from this carnival of death?

Lamenting becomes the evening, each point of disoriented confusion plunges deeper than the last, the sword cuts farther, the love runs deeper… and its roots seem poisonous as goodbyes and farewells are harder. Life is never more light and carefree… how does one negotiate? I question jesus further, I am trying now to love, do I even trust myself to do that?

 

His Mansion Day 51: Further Experimentation in God’s Laboratory on the Hill

Misty runs over New Hampshire hills early Sunday morning; cool breezes and scattered rays of sunlight; sacred Gregorian chanting droning melodiously in low and gracious tones; freshly brewed raspberry tea—all elements conducive to moments of reflection. I feel as if I have barely been still for 5 moments over the last several weeks. Yesterday’s day trip and exploration of Boston made me realize just how much time has melded together for me… after weeks of mostly staying on my secluded New Hampshire sanctuary surrounded by the silent dance of tall trees engulfing rolling hills…where the loudest clamour is the thoughts within my own head barely rivaled by the music of tiny birds. After a six mile run this morning, my final weekend on the Hill for this season of life, I find time racing faster than the waterfall under the bridge I trotted over earlier today.

As sporadically as I reflect in more public journaling, every day has a myriad of thoughts of its own, worked out with Jesus in conversations and journaling. The Hill in all of it in the tranquility of a forested New Hampshire desert yesterday, has afforded even my senses a time of regrouping and recollection. I realized the drasticness of the Hill’s effect on my yesterday, when friends Kim and Michael explored Boston with me all day. All my senses were so overwhelmed after their seclusion on the Hill; I felt like I was caught in the middle of a sea of Mardi Gras dancers in the middle of Mexico, there were so many colors and people milling everywhere. The observational perspectives I have gained here will, I hope remain with me in my continued interactions. I feel as if coming up here, I was brought to a place where I could not hold onto anything too tightly… and time was one of the larger doves I released from my constraining grip… allowing it to soar back to Heaven and be sent where the Father wills. As the last days play themselves out here, I am finding so much more is out of my hands then I care to admit.

Since engaging with Jesus in the many different forms He has robed Himself in on this Hill, I have found myself challenged in every area of life. I might have lost hope in despair at some of the difficulties were there not those near and far in proximity who reminded me that closeness with Jesus brings continued and increasing struggles. The closer I step to Jesus, the more questions I find arising, and the more difficult faith becomes. Realities of life… the physical existence I hold and what perceivably impacts that existence seem to be so separated from the spiritual realities of faith… until I stop questioning why Jesus loves me and simply allow Him to, because there is some convinced part of my heart (I a lot it to faith gifted to me from God) that knows He does indeed love me. I have been experimenting again with what a life of faith looks like with an unseen, mysterious God and a life goal that only has purpose because it is given by this unseen God. It continually evokes questions in my soul… and either they seek and probe further questions or different meaning in the existence of faith.

These weeks on the Hill have just gone by so fast. I am excited about the upcoming event of Berkeley… though it will be hard to say goodbye here… its amazing how much God has shown me and continues to every day… and how close one can get to others in just weeks. Next Wednesday I will be on the road to Binghamton, journeying home with 2-3 friends from college a week from today… to explore what the changes have been and to further inquire as to what Jesus looks like outside the angles He has revealed Himself in. This life is an experiment, a learning event of love… and more and more I am realizing that Jesus shows Himself to me in different seasons through different people to teach me about Himself and then the Spirit of Him to which I am attached moves on, either because time runs out or that’s how things go… to allow me not to settle too deeply into that love and perception and to seek Him further.

For today and this moment, I go forward seeing His face,
Hannah

 

His Mansion Day 41: A Vessel of His Weakness to leak out Love

I haven’t written  in a while because time evaded me and because I was struggling through a daily challenge to be weak with Jesus, or rather being forced into it, because I have always determined to be a strong person, which I though was what Jesus desired me to push for… a perfection of the abilities He has given me in order to be most effective in filling whatever position I would best benefit His Kingdom in. Since Spring semester, Jesus and I have begun a discussion of purpose, self-sufficiency, and His presence. All these things were interwoven in the discussion He and I began July 4th, when a concern passed through my life: why does it always take pain and inability to grab our attention? I wrote about the ache for Jesus’ difference of presence… and as I verbalized that to Him, asking Him to come into my dimension tangibly or bring me into His, I wondered if this place I am in is just what I am asking for, if I am to be a bridge/vessel between seen and unseen.

Jesus and I discussed His presence and movement in my existence… how He gives me meaning and purpose every moment of the day, and how He has called me to live, not by typical human standards, but by God’s own standard… and every day He offers me the opportunities to act beyond my own capacities and love more than I have within me. A day in the gardens yesterday challenged me a lot on what I think about love and how I go about loving people every day. I came to the conclusion, being immersed in a community of people whose hearts desires are to help me become all that God has made me to be in order to best serve Him wherever He has best fitted me, that life is about relationships. The self-sufficiency I try to believe I have… that I can work through my own struggles with self alone with Jesus are daily crushed by a depressing realization that Jesus may speak through my spirit to me, but I can only hear and be so strong after losing myself in some messes.

Today, as most every Thursday morning, my mind was working on a thousand various thoughts, those complexities of life that maybe I need to live out more than mentally sort out, evoked to thought by discussing the book Inside Out by Larry Crabb. While Crabb and I struggle over the fatedness of Jesus’ beloved people to sinning, I realized the stain of sin today in my own life through his words. We were talking about desires, and how Christians often feel it sinful to allow themselves to desire anything… to taste any goodness, without an amount of guilt because as young people, we are so firmly shaken with the realization that existence here will never be perfect Heaven. I contend with Crabb every time sin and heaven is discussed, because I want to live as close to the gates of heaven as I can in open and honest relationship with all people, especially God’s. Life being relational is a new revelation to me… and I tend to think Heaven, while being focused on that great relationship through all of us with Jesus, will carry over from the quality of the relationships we cultivate here on earth. Crabb continued that most refuse to allow themselves to desire through a few coping mechanisms, denying the existence of desires, or focusing their whole beings on fulfilling others through “machine-like approaches to relationships.” That is easily done for me.

Somehow realizing what Jesus thinks of me and honestly knowing His love will enable me to have a purely others-centered mentality… preferring others over myself for their sake, not my own need for fulfillment. I am not sure if that is the case with me, but I know the life I live can easily become mechanical and I have difficulty recognizing or confessing any desires. I focus on a desire to obey Jesus, knowing Jesus for who He is, which brings about a love for others in itself. Sometimes I wonder, still, how one can maintain obedience without knowing that love, because it’s a lot of hard work, a lot of self-denial. Being here, I have a job of almost contradictory opposites…  focusing strongly on others and searching out what God has made me best for at the same time. It is confusing and deep to try and explore… to understand how I myself operate in order to best hear Jesus and best love others… to let Jesus move as Jesus will move.

Sitting in prayer and share with all these things and all the things I have struggled with from the past, which have seeped into the present and can be daily demons to torment the soul, I had literally overwhelming headaches from the thoughts. I find the closer I try and push to Jesus, the closer I get to myself too… the more I think and offer my words up to Jesus, the easier it is to run away from Him in my words too. To avoid discussing the issues which really need discussing because I have gotten to a place with Jesus where I should be able to be totally open and unashamed… and yet I am more ashamed in some ways. Sitting in group, I was encouraged by the sharing heart of my sister Aaron, and knew I needed help in my struggles too. Sometimes thoughts are too overwhelming to clearly talk to Jesus… and I remained too quiet. In prayer and share, sitting in a torment of my own creation, my sister Sue came and offered me her arms as she helped me lift up my heart to Jesus, when I haven’t still told her how much she blessed me. Jesus gives mercy when things are almost too much, even from our own creations at times…. Like a double mercy. I am so grateful He didn’t leave me to myself.

So while everyday is a battle, I love it… it is the only life I have to live, so I am exploring love and what it means to do that as Jesus would, in community. Maybe He will use the weakness He keeps exposing in me to be great.

In the Merciful hands of Jesus,
Hannah

 

His Mansion Day 21: Cultivating hope from the inside out

Today marks exactly three weeks since Beth and I arrived at His Mansion. Running is getting slightly easier… today I ran a course to a reservoir a little over 3 miles away and back, able to manage the hills, even after last night’s Tai Kwon Do lesson. As much as my body has adjusted to 10.30p-11.30p bed time and 4 am runs, this is the first week that I can actually say I feel a sense of belonging up here, like I am more than an observant part of the family, but an active, contributing member. Individual connections are forming and relationships are being built through shared interests and time spent together (this week a lot of my quality conversations have been when assigned to work crew). This weekend will be my second weekend off, the first to really spend time with other staff members because my first weekend off was the one just before HCC.

Classes continued yesterday… the Thursday class is a reading and discussion of Larry Crabb’s Inside Out, reminding me of the time when Mum and I tried to go through that book. I didn’t verbalize a whole lot in yesterday’s reading (we go around taking turns reading and stopping at breaks in the book to discuss if there is anything to discuss), but I scribbled notes and thoughts evoked by the book in a similar conversational writing tone (as I am perpetually found doing in my notebook when my hands are not otherwise engaged). Crabb discussed some things in the introduction and section of the first chapter we got through that are rather near and dear to my heart, so I thought it worthwhile to share what stuck out to me, especially in relation to the dialog I have been sharing between my brothers and sisters on the hill and my currently invisible Jesus.

Reading about Crabb’s perspective of the “aching soul,” one that is filled with an unexplainable and unquenchable longing, I was encouraged about the drive within myself. I am still mulling this over and discussing it with Jesus, but I think its very true that there is yet an unfilled space within all of us, Christian and non-Christian, though for the lover of Jesus, there is a definitive sense of hope that Jesus is the fulfillment of the space in our souls. We have Him already… I dare say I can even feel His presence now and again… at least I know it when I don’t feel it. Reminds me of a quote someone shared the other day, that trust is moving from what I see to what I know… because my eyes are usually pretty dim here, and I can’t yet see Jesus. I have been told that the lifestyle I choose to live is intense and high-maintenance, and yet that has caused some to question in my perpetually running state, what I am running from. I have been asking the question of myself… looking back at my heals over the course of the day at least currently, after three weeks of being here and facing some fears, I think I can say I am not running from anything, I am running towards something. C.S. Lewis wrote a lot about the same longing… I say it is to touch, to see Jesus… and realizing that this longing cannot be filled here.

Over the past semester, I have been learning about the way Jesus does things… less is more, first shall be last, leader shall serve… all sorts of pictures like those have been played out before me. And in each one of them, I see a theme of hope that moves through death and into life. It sometimes sadly amuses me to see that it takes drastic valleys in life to awake within myself the realization that Jesus is still not quite perceivable, and yet I love Him, I talk to Him… I look for Him. Crabb talked about the tendencies of American churches to exchange our nail-scarred Jesus for one who passively responds with immediate healing. As far as the ache in the soul goes, Crabb resolutely, almost too firmly said it will never be satisfied here…. And that could diminish a person’s hope. I look down at my own scars and think of Jesus’… how He was always pushing the edge as a man to expand our imaginings of love. That definitely hurts… and as a person in a tangible reality, I long for something strong and permanent to base myself in… an unfulfilled hope is an open door for growth, but also a place of unsteadiness, as Jesus has had to pry things out of my little girl hands that were once good for me, but lost their goodness when I desired them more than Him.

Here on this hill, I am learning that permanence is found in that unfulfilled hope, because it won’ remain that way, and the joy of learning to love more and more as the self in me is destroyed as often as it rears its ugly head from the casket. My sisters and brothers in sharing life through a very close community here remind me of that in everything I do in life… from journaling and conversation to tai kwon do. The runs I leave up to my spirit’s imagination and Jesus. Throughout this weekend, I am hoping to explore the goodness of earth and how even here we can have glimpses and moments of heaven… and how that factors into the hope driving me. I guess yesterday really did drive home that as much I have the one I have been longing for all my life, I am still desperately running after Him too.

Seeking the Face of my Jesus,
Hannah