Red stains on wooden doors
leading to love
to friendship
to acceptance
from broken prophets and poets
from the God of my childhood.

Blood
shattered hands.
Testament of my life
reverse gospel
my soul poured out
like the Savior’s blood

But wood and stone
do not rip as a curtain
No salvation
does my blood bring
only damns me to the hell
of my own making.

Lines

A couple of lines from something I'm working on...

But my blood does not bring salvation
only damns me to the hell of my own making.

Secrets

I love the blog PostSecret. I read it religiously every Sunday. It is a blog where people send it postcards expressing their deepest secrets. Some are simple and some are works of art. The secrets told on these postcards are sometimes funny, sad and awkward. Some are knife-like reminders of the tragedy of the world we live in. There are some that could have been written by me.

Check out this video. Some of the secrets reflect those on the blog; Funny, awkward, sad and one that punched me in the gut. And check out the blog: http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Currently obsessed with...

These songs...





This book...



This man and his radio show...



These television shows...





These countries...

Remember

*I wrote this awhile back and recently discovered it when I was reading back through my journal. I think I scribbled this out in a couple of minutes.

Don't forget first loves
The God who made you
His Son who saved you
The Spirit living in you.
Though we may despise
the Father for our weakness
and spurn the hand
that continually
pulls us up
from the abyss
and smother the voice
of the living Spirit
because it's too inconvenient
We forget so easily
like fish in a bowl
the lessons taught
until we see the healed scars
and remember once again.

Fear (Confession)

I have a confession.

I do not love well.

I was listening to a sermon by Rob Bell on the Beatitude of blessed are the peacemakers. There were some wonderful truths and insights in that sermon, but one sentiment in particular pierced through the fog and heaviness that has wrapped around my mind like a blanket (or Snuggie) over the past few months. In talking about love he said, "The opposite of love is not hate, it's fear." The man who consistently spews vitriolic and spiteful words towards homosexuals may very well do so from the fear of his own sexuality and the desires he may keep buried deep in the recesses of his heart. We may denounce heretics to quiet the doubts within our own souls. What we fear we want to kill or bury or dismiss.

1 John 4:18 says, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment The one who fear is not made perfect in love." I love the way the Message version puts this verse; "there is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life - fear of death, fear of judgment - is one not fully formed in love."

"Fear leaves no room for love." I have always been under the impression that I am a loving person; that I love my friends and others well. It is only been recently that I have come to the realization that my motives in much of my interactions with my friends have been ultimately based on fear. Fear of rejection, fear of judgment, fear of abandonment. So I hold back parts of myself. I cling tightly to others for fear they may leave and never return. I make sure I am always around for fear I will be forgotten and dismissed without a second thought. Yet, it is these very actions which places wedges between myself and others. When the false fronts crumble as they inevitably do, there is hurt and anger over misrepresentations. The clinging drives others away. And in the end, the fear turns inward and manifests itself into self-hatred, drowning out the still, small voice of God telling me there is nothing to fear for His love is making me perfect.

So I say this to you my friends; I have not loved you well and I am sorry. I am sorry that I have held back, that I have masked so many parts of myself from you. I am sorry for the fear that if I let go, don't show up or miss out, that I will lose you. Forgive me for not loving you as I should. For fear and love cannot live together. One will drive the other out. I have let fear drive out love for far too long. I am working on letting love drive out the fear, which ironically enough, is a scary endeavor in and of itself. So forgive me and be patient with me because being made perfect in love is a long process.

I think it pretty much takes a lifetime.

Lament of a Vagabond Soul

The pictures in my head
dreams of a vagabond soul
chained to comfort
Visions of gray, metal trees
of smiles and words
wrapped in funny speech.
Drums and children singing
haunt my sleep
but in the waking
songs drown
in drip coffee
drums silenced
by alarm clock banging

I see the dream
in snatches of the day
Glare of computer screens
gives way to crimson
interlaced gold skies.
Echoes of soul song
in headphones
in laughter
to soak in
and hide
for souls scratch easily
and the song becomes
a broken record
of lost chances
regret, decay, decline.

Moving pictures of dreams
of song and dance
and love
play out in sleep
Film reel of dream life
spliced with waking life
by untrained hands
intentions true
that may lead to hell
but purgatory comforts
are only a step above.