perfect

if only you knew love
not about love
not of love
but love

if only you knew how much of it there is
how forgiving it is
how pure it is
how free it is

if only you knew how it looked
how compassionately
how blamelessly
how patiently

if only you knew these things.

then maybe you would know freedom
would know grace
would know faith
would know hope

but mostly, maybe you would know love

own me

Take all that I am,
And heal me
With the blood of the Lamb.
Mold me
With Your gracious hand;
Break me till I'm only Yours-
Own me

japanese anime just doesn't cut it

i turned down the chance to try some clam tenderloins tonight. the 7 year old who offered them to me tried to convince me of their greatness. "they're from under the clam's tongue." Nope, still not biting. 10 minutes later he picks up our conversation.

"yeah, some people just don't like some things and other people don't like other things. sometimes people just don't like things...i don't like broccoli."

i suppose some things in life are better left mysteries.

Jesus doesn't sell makeup

Her name was Sheila. I know this because she introduced herself almost as soon as I’d sat down. She was a mom, I was a babysitter, and we were both at the park. I watched her meander over to my park bench, carrying an oversized blue bag. We smiled and exchanged names; suddenly I had a new friend.

“You know,” she began, plopping down beside me “park benches can make or break a park. There aren’t very many parks around here that have good benches for the parents...or babysitters.” I laughed politely, surprised at this forthcoming yet sincere woman. The conversation had barely reached a pause, when Sheila pulled out a thin, glossy magazine with bright and vivid lettering across the front. Hesitating only for a quick breath, she launched into the real motive of our one-on-one.

“Well, I sell Avon and you just seem like the kind of woman who would like something like this. Have you heard of us before?” I nodded, speechless at the sudden turn in conversation. “Great! Here’s our latest magazine and you just take this and look it over. Would you be interested in purchasing any of our great products today? We have some terrific sales going on!” My negative response wasn’t enough of a deterrent. “That’s ok, maybe some other time. You just take this and show some of your friends and you know, if you’d ever like to host a party you just give me a call.” Her name and number had been conveniently labeled on the back. She hooked her bag onto her shoulder, beckoned to her daughter and gave my knee a little pat before disappearing into a sea of mothers. “You have a good day now!”

It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. It shouldn’t have bothered me that I’d been another victim of cosmopolitan manipulation. It shouldn’t have bothered me; she was doing her job. But it did, because it reminded me of an earlier encounter. Only the product wasn’t makeup and the person with the sales pitch was my grandmother.

She was driving, and I was nine, sitting in the passenger seat of my grandparent’s station wagon. With brown side paneling, plush royal blue interior, and a 10 seat capacity, it could have passed as something out of The Brady Bunch. We pulled up to the window outside Roy Rogers and she handed the 20-something-year old cashier ten dollars and a tract. “Now dear, have you ever heard about our Lord?” The girl’s nod was nearly imperceptible and I quickly found something to look at outside, praying Grandma would keep it short and sweet. She did, but not before making her futile delivery.

Being a Christian had become humiliating. I wanted to apologize for the gospel.

When did the Bible become not good enough for telling people about God’s love? When did we turn God’s love into a paper-producing industry? When did we become the money-makers in the temple and how long until the very thing we’re trying to sell turns over our tables? We’ve turned Romans into an 8 point play-by-play and conveniently demoted the good news into something that fits our fast paced lifestyles.

If love is the movement, why are we sitting still?

chase this light

hello, i'm in maine.
sometimes i repeat that to myself because i forget how far north i am. but i'm quickly reminded of that when i step outside. tonight though, i'm in a wide, white, wicker chair positioned amiably in front of a very active wood stove. tonight, there are so many possibilities; my world spins, heavy with the weight of potential. i want to tell you of hope, and of love.

love. i am wrapped in it.

but now is not the time to elaborate. in this moment i want only to ask you to rest, as i am. we are the image of the invisible, sculpted in the likeness of the I AM. we are born to be, and to be still.

Moses answered the people, "Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still."

the shade of poison trees

i spent this past weekend in New York City. and in the entirety of the weekend, experienced a variety of situations. sitting in times square traffic for 1 + hours because of a polish parade and nearly getting crushed between two rapidly closing subway doors may give you a hint. i even have the grease stains on my not so lucky skirt to prove it. but not once in any of those 4 days did i see a taxi cab drive backwards down the street. (something i've only ever seen my mother do.) i'm not talking about driving the opposite direction on a one way street. i mean using reverse to do exactly what you shouldn't, and using the rearview mirror as your windshield. i suppose despite all of this i wouldn't have been surprised had i seen this in the city. new york taxi drivers are capable of nearly anything. but boston?

our bus back to bangor stopped for a 40 minute layover in boston. beckah and i walked around for 30 minutes and she decided to go back to the bus. i stayed outside and walked around few more blocks. as i waited to cross by a street corner, i saw, unbelievably so, a taxi cab backing up a very major bostonian road. perhaps this wouldn't have been so bad had he just scooted back to a person he'd failed to pick up, but crossing over an intersection... i don't know if i was more amazed at his actual skill in succeeding, or his amount of insanity to even try it.

but i still love boston.

thinking, that's all

sometimes, just as i'm leaving awake and before i enter sleep, i have these thoughts. i don't know where they come from and i'm still not sure which side of consciousness they live in. i'm not dreaming, that's sure enough. yet i'm not awake enough to realize where this new stream of thought begins to flow, i'm only able to follow it once it emerges. occasionally i'm lucky enough to remember...

last night i had a thought.

i entered "school" in grade 4, but home was my first classroom. year after year i followed lessons, memorized facts, thrived on information. and after high school, i made the expected (and desired) choice and went to college. fast forward through four more years of heightened learning with a slightly larger, more eclectic group of peers. i could finally learn what i wanted, where i wanted. education was a choice and i greedily accepted it. love of learning + fear of the unknown = post-secondary education. a logical decision.

only, after graduation came the brevity of it all. less than a quarter of my life spent in an uncomfortable desk chair, inside white-walled rooms with bright projectors and an ensemble of ragamuffin professors. and then, the world.

and i realized underneath the facts and stats, the dates and theories, i'd really been taught to learn. imperceivable guidelines had been offered, even forced, and i accepted these limitations without hesitation. structure? yes, please. rules? even better. i entered into a tested, nearly fool-proof way of how to live life. in return, i was given safety, predictability, answers. like i said, i love learning.

but what do i do when the learning runs out?
what i should have been doing all along.
experiencing.

i was taught how to think at the expense of not thinking for myself.

so maybe it doesn't really make sense to you. i have trouble understanding it myself. who can expect thoughts after midnight to maintain any level of coherence? but just think about it for a moment.

does our learning shape our experiences, or do our experiences shape what we learn?