Life as a Vapor.

It’s the falling of colorful leaves that bring it. When the air is crisp and clean. And the skies are gray. And the strangers walking are perfect displays of emotion– frightened. jubilant. merely existing.

The wind blows quickly past. Swoops you up. Surprises. Comforts or leaves you with nothing. And in that moment- your whole life is above you in the breeze. Dancing around up there as to remind you. Come what may, we are mists for a moment. Fleeting vapors.

And when our day is done and we dissolve, we’ll stand and account for our vapors.

So hold no love back. And bet all of it on the hope of eternity– where mist isn’t evaporable.

searching for significance.

i want you more than i want to live another day.

i can’t hear you. but something tells me you hear every word i pray. i don’t know what it is to feel like this. i’m every bit of human. and i don’t want to be human anymore.

i’m trying. so hard. to hear you. and either i’ve gone suddenly deaf. or i’m a fraud. and maybe that’s the lesson. i don’t even know what the lesson is. i don’t know anything. i want you so badly. i want to hear you. and i want you to hold me. and i only want you. and not a soul down here. because the souls down here hurt me. and i hurt them. and i can’t take it.

what is it that i’m living for? i have accumulated an immeasurable amount of blessings. and i’m worthy of none. i want to shed my shallow skin. i can’t tell if this is real or surreal or unreal.

sing to me. speak to me. i’m begging you to talk to me. maybe i can only do that if i lose me. i don’t know what it will take.

every word has been said before. and nothing is original. it’s been said. it’s been heard. so what makes any of it worthwhile? i’m searching all over. and i thought i had it, but maybe i am wrong.

my eyes were once full. and filled with sparkle. and now they’re just wet. and cloudy.

maybe my heart knows something i don’t.

where. are. you.

sing me to sleep. talk down the walls. and look through the windows. and be the theif i give the key to.
I’ll do anything. anything.

i want to be nothing but real and raw.

break into my heart, because i’ll let you.

.offbeat,beatbox.

there’s a time to rewind. and think. not because you miss those days. or want to go back. but because who you are is not who you’ve been. you have been– that. once. but you’re not a has been. twice. three times. a lady. praise him. for that.

a time to cry. a time to laugh. slowwwww down. children are at play. each day is a new day. embrace the world. bless it. protect it. redeem. and heal. these band-aided hearts.

i tell you, my friend. your beauty is fiercely felt. and your pain even more. when you hurt, i hurt. i feel it. in my bones. i’d do anything to bare it. for you. and so would he. love for humanity. my siblings. shared blood. his blood. the most amazing, blazing thing of amazing grace: the eternal chance to give it out.

live in the water, the living water, you little fish. you won’t go thirsty. if you’re a fish. trees of life. come to life. mother earth. father heaven. he’s up to something. be excited.

recycle.restore.reconcile.renew. YOU.

remind yourself….

GET NAKED.

Your guess is as good as mine. I have no blog direction. I’ll just write what the keys type.

It’s 1am. And I’m too awake to sleep– though every fiber in my body wants to do so. Isn’t it ironic.

I spent most of my childhood naked as a jaybird. No cares. No worries. Pure freedom. If you know me, this will come as no surprise. Having 50 acres of forests and fields to my sister and myself allowed such.  Insecurites didn’t exist. Nor did wedgies or tan lines. Those were the days, my friend. Those were the days.

I’m not sure where I went astray since the days when that freedom rang.

I. want. to. be. NAKED. again. I want to be naked now and for always. Unfortunately for myself, but fortunately for any viewer, literally speaking, civilized society is not a conducive environment for jaybirds. However, my heart and mind can and should be naked. Completely stripped. No more cover-ups. No longer clothed. Simply naked. I’m going back to the basics.

Naked never felt so good. Seriously.

*I’m Switzerland when it comes to Peta. Neutral. Neither for or against. I just liked the naked part.

GET NAKED.

A Fool– Far too Frequently.

I’ve heard it said that every saint has a past. And thankfully, every sinner– a future.

There is a small part of me that cringes, at the fact, most of my posts have been redundantly religious. I’m not sure what that means. I do know, however, I’m obsessed. Consumed– with love. From my faceted fingers to the tips of my toes.

I’m a fool. For love. An absolute, utter fool. I’m not talking romance. I’m talking everything but. The love of people. And planet. And the plague of passion of the combined.

It will sound mad. It will sound crazy. It simply will:

Love is my struggle. The thing I wrestle with at night as I crash my head down on any pillow. When to stop. When to let go. When to try. When to keep on. When it’s too much. When it’s necessary. When it’s not.  I’ve been searching for the balance; some sort of love-scale equilibrium.  I’ve even been so desperate as to pray that God split my loving capacity in half. Even in quarters. Make it 100ths if need be. Just do something.

Prayers later: I’m still that fool. Practically a mad(wo)man. It’s fine. Whatever.

I’ve always been a slow learner. I’ve never even been able to master the steps to the electric slide.

It’s because of this turtle-pace of learning, I’m only now realizing, Christ, in no way, desires for me to love his people less– As long as I’m loving him more. And more. And more.

That being said, we must learn to love the fools within ourselves. The fool who, often, feels too much, says more than needed or is silent, takes too many chances or not enough, wins sometimes, but loses often, lacks discipline, hurts and gets hurt, promises and then breaks them, loves too little or maybe loves too much.

Love yourself. Love your fool.

It’s no longer a secret. It may shock you. It might even disgust you. But it is what it is. And so it was; And so it goes:

There was a time in my life when I believed I had to carve the love out. Let it bleed– bleeding love. I was fooled.

The beauty of it all: You came here for the rescue of us all. No one loves me like you. Or the way you do.

Love is fine. Just where it is. Within.

beautiful, bursting balloon.

balloon |bəˈloōn|
noun
1).  a brightly colored rubber sac inflated with air and then sealed at the neck.

suffice it to say, i will always be fascinated with balloons. the older i get, the more magical they become. i’ll never outgrow it. at least i hope not.

bubba gump can think of 100+ ways to cook shrimp. let me tell you something, pal. i can think of 200+ reasons why i love balloons. well, maybe 50 reasons. 200 might be a stretch. but still…

this pulsing heart that beats so steadily within me is a big, plump, red balloon. deflating and inflating on a a daily basis. if it were possible, i’d buy one of those balloon air pumps (if, of course, they were designed for human hearts and not rubber balloons). feeling a little down in the dumps? no worries, bebe. hook yourself up to your heart inflater.

one moment my balloon heart will be floating along peacefully, the next, POP. those flying dagger needles will up and explode my heart right out of nowhere. leaving my crumpled pieces of rubber heart splattered across the white, sterile ceiling. beautiful disaster.

only recently have i discovered my relationship with Christ is a balloon heart. i, and probably even you, can tell when my dance with Christ is thriving. there’s so much helium in my heart balloon it could burst with joy at any given moment. high on life. and helium. to the point of hallucinating. like a colorful, beautiful acid trip.

and on nights like this, when it’s nearly 3am and the world is sleeping and it’s dark and i’m alone. that’s when the rubber sac filled with breath and love gets stretched too thin. and the balloon gets tested. and wrestled with. and kicked and punched.

and i have to remind myself to look at all the other balloons out there. dancing around. floating. spinning. and then spinning and twirling.

the world won’t end when my heart balloon explodes and shatters or inflates until it bursts. and then deflates and shrivels. because the rubber will, eventually, get recycled and the cycle will, inevitably, repeat itself.

i have found my balance and my sanity’s equilibrium. i always forget about the string. my lifeline. and yours. that string is the connector. i won’t float away and disappear into the abyss. i’ll never be forgotten and left behind, though i feel that way at times. because that string is my insurance. and assurance. on one end of the string is my balloon heart. and thankfully, on the other end, is the hand of my god. and my redeemer. who’s grip is stronger than all the winds that will ever blow.

nothing about something.

it’s when i’m alone in a crowded room that i’m assured my God lives.  so many lives in one, single room, all webbed together in this thing called life. hustling and bustling around like millions of ants. all trying our best to breathe another breath.

we’re each so individual and alike that the contradiction itself is what makes me believe.

never before have i felt such peace, such shalom in my heart. and i must say, it’s a feeling i’d like to last a lifetime. at 22 years old, i’m fine with laying down all my plans and ideas for my future.

of course, if you know me, you know that this peace is not as stable as the above words read. i’m liable to freak out and assume the rapture is happening when a $175.00 speeding ticket rests bitterly in my hands. because i’ve done so. juvenile? most definitely. and one day, i hope to conquer being aggravated by life’s inconveniences. that wisdom might come at 23. and it might not. but i’m not planning.

when i was 13, i began making a line graph of my life with each passing year. this probably says a lot of my chaotically organized and regimented personality. there wasn’t a specific day in which i did this, but a year would nearly pass and i’d re-plan my life. according to my first line graph, i’m supposed to have a degree in architecture, married and have a newborn baby resting in my arms. do not be surprised when i tell you none of those things stand true for me today.

i’m not sure if i’ll ever become the news anchor i’ve wanted to be since age 17, marry a chivalrous man and bare three children. if i do, fantastic. if i don’t, fantastic. more and more, i’m realizing and learning that i’m called not to be or become successful, but to become faithful.

and at 22, i’ve decided not to make my annual line graph. and it’s been quite freeing. if i don’t expect it, i won’t miss it. and when it happens, it will be that much sweeter.

and to the one who reigns, i pray:

give me the eyes to see people as you see them. ears to hear what you’re whispering. a heart to love as you do. and hands to serve as you want to be served.

may you, reader, have limitless hope. lasting joy. and perfect peace. from God’s abiding love.

death of a memory.

you asked me if i would be your girlfriend. at the ymca. in december. i didn’t hesitate.

i was a sophomore. you were a senior. at the time, we both felt so old. but we were young.  each other’s first loves. something right out of a country music song. we both hated country music. i don’t mind it now. hope you aren’t disappointed.

movies. dates. rides in cars without destinations. rebellious pranks. letters. notes. small gifts. high school.

we got it to 64 on winding star road. each time was a race. both scared to dream of God. young. we thought we were immortal.

you were a hopeless romantic. notes. cliche roses. song dedications. dances. you loved to dance. and everyone loved to watch you. even me.

first prom. i was 15. after-party. you gave me the keys. i took off my heels. barefoot. drove your dad’s cadillac like i was legal. you were happy because i was. leo still doesn’t know i drove. let’s keep it that way.

we talked about how to love. you taught me.

so many memories. small and simple. the best kind.

we were a pair. x and y.

we were both victims of the same lesson. we got each other.

i went to college. you traveled and read. you loved books. you wanted to be a writer. i made fun of you for it. i would have been your number one fan.

it was mutual. but we both promised we’d get back together. and we did. we just wanted room to grow.

and then your mom. you were such a lover. you were crushed. i was crushed. i think part of you drifted away that day. you weren’t afraid to cry. i admired that.

we weren’t dating, but we were together. i was in lexington. you were staying with my parents. you loved my parents. you nerd. i wasn’t even there and you stayed with them. you were so comfortable. it was beautiful.

you were broken. i was lost. so. much. baggage. we were each others bag handlers. the broken pair.

college. my freshman year. we dated for a semester. from afar. it was hard. hard on our hearts. our hearts were too big. separated just to stay sane.

friends forever. you called me daily. we loved each other.

years and years of bonnie and clyde. romeo and juliet. whoever. we were them.

and then. out of the blue. i was watching children of men in the theatre. something was wrong. january 7, 2007. i felt absent. left 409. i went home somber. melancholy. so melancholy, i went to bed.

and then the ring. it was 2am. she never called me at 2am. she told me and i thought she was lying. sometimes she would embelish the truth. i needed sources. reliable sources. she wasn’t enough.

then it started. everyone was calling. asking me. i didn’t believe it. i didn’t even cry. because it wasn’t real. you were too alive to be.

i threw things. i carved things. i cried. countless tears. no one would understand. no one would get it. i’m not sure they still even understand. how could they. they don’t know.

i was supposed to go to that csf retreat in the gorge. you loved the gorge. but i didn’t go. i was numb.

i went to the spot. and laid down in the road. just to be near you. put my fingers on the florescent orange that marked it.

i wasn’t afraid to see you. i needed to. you were beautiful. this was life. just not living it.

i was so mad. he did the ceremony. you wouldn’t be mad though, you were too wise to be mad. you taught me that. he was irony at it’s finest.

january is so cold. you were so cold. we had said so much, but i had so much more i wanted to say at that moment.

why does it rain in january. you know how my hair gets when it rains. and we had to hike up that mountain. to that spot. in the rain. it was a train of people. a train of rain. and people. everyone was wearing black. i hate black. there is no color in black. and you were so colorful. and i loved rainbows. still do.

i was 6 feet from the edge. you were 6 feet under.

my sister cried so much. i’ve never seen her cry like that. she loved you because i loved you. she wouldn’t look at me. i’d be afraid of me too.

they handed me a single rose. stupid. so stupid. single is so singletary. and lonely. i wanted two. we were two, but we were one.

how did your brother and sister do it. so little. 6 and 9. i went home with them. watched all those goofy videos we made with your camera. they loved it. i loved it. lying there on dylan’s bed. keturah. dylan. me. not you. i wanted the videos. but i left them there.

i went to your car and your house. i sat in your car. took your unpaid phone bill. i didn’t pay it. that shirt i bought you was in your backseat. the one i got because you said you wanted to look preppy. please, you’re ridiculous. my bunny wears it now. i also took your paints. and that random black and mild. guess i’m a thief.

i wanted your journals. i wanted them so badly. i don’t know where they are now. i looked.

i went back to your sleeping place so many times. i even climbed that mountain in the dark. alone. i was desperate. you would laugh. i put my ear to that dirt. i almost heard you breathing. i wasn’t even afraid.

in september, i told you it would be the last time.  i think i heard you tell me to let go. it’s been nearly 2 years. i feel guilty. so guilty.

my friends think i’m nuts. probably dramatic. probably a lot of things. i wish you met them. why didn’t i make you meet them. they’re very, very unique. i don’t know what i would do without them. i don’t deserve them. i wish they had met you. i want to tell them about you. i want them to ask about you. i want to talk about you. but i’m worried i make them uncomfortable.  i don’t want to forget you, but i am letting go. i have to.

sometimes i cry. other times i smile. tonight i cried. so much. i drove home to irvine tonight. from lexington. we leave for maryland in the morning. 45 minutes can be a lot to think on. my friend hanna made me this really great cd. it’s really slow. and i like it. i like it because almost every song was written for you. or so it seems. and i cried so much tonight.

mom thinks i’ve kissed dating goodbye. i haven’t. i’m just growing and training. you know that. she thinks i’m fruity. i know, you know what i mean. please tell her i’m not.

i miss you.

thank you for teaching me how to love. i’m trying to pay it forward for you. i’m trying to compensate for all the love you gave me. it’s only fair. tell me it’s okay to love hardly and fully. i don’t know how you did it. you made it look so easy.

i believe he’s out there for me. he won’t be you. but i will love him. the way we loved each other.

give thanks.

it’s thanksgiving 2008.

no matter how many times i tell myself i won’t stuff my tum, it never fails. i always, always do.

i love thanksgiving. i love the idea of it. i mean, of course, i don’t like the fate of the indians. obviously, i’d pinch a pilgrim and tell them how rude they were if i met one. but, i do like the loving dinner they shared. the unity. the love. the fellowship. everyone getting along. the harmony. the sun was probably shining on that first thanksgiving. warming everyone’s fuzzy hearts.

scratch the fact that thanksgiving has become a day in which gluttony reigns.  but whatever.

america should count their blessings every day. not just today. that goes for me too.

when i’m  90 years of age (god willing, i live to see the year), i vow to be doing this:

love her heart. i want to freaking tackle that little woman with my love. absolutely beautiful.

my first born will be named soleil moon frye.

i miss punky brewster. i’m pretty positive she’s the reason i turned out so strange. i’m fine with that.