Natural Transformation

During my recent trip to Lexington, Kentucky, I participated in a day of non-media interrupted silence. Not a full 24 hours but enough time to slow down, open my eyes and see the natural and man-made brilliance around me.  To have the opportunity to observe this day of silence at the Lexington Theological Seminary campus made it even more wonderful.

Standing outside while the sun lightly kissed my exposed skin.

Running my sandaled, chipping citrus polished feet through the strong blades of Kentucky Bluegrass.

Sitting with my bags by my side, my pen in hand, my notebook in my lap; I begin to write.

Pondering days I once knew.

Days of summer sun, freshly cut green grass, that I watched my Dad mow and cater to.

Days of digging in the dirt of my Ma’s vegetable garden, learning how seeds grew and flowers blossomed.

So intrigued and curious to learn about the world in all its detail.

As I sit with bags by my side, my pen in hand and notebook in my lap, writing…

Noticing the ants crawl, hearing the birds chirp, feeling the chill of the morning breeze.

I see my Magnificent God. I hear God’s loving voice. I feel God’s tender touch.

I look at the world upon these gravel steps; I smile.

I watch, silently, as passersby speak warm regards from their cheerful voices. I speak quietly with only my bright smile & waving hands.

I sit with these bags beside me, with this pen in my hand and this notebook in my lap.

Realizing the “my’s” I’ve written aren’t necessary.

The city I see. The houses ahead of me. The Seminary next to me.          
The billowy white clouds and perfect blue sky above me.                              The gravel steps I sit upon.
The sun shining upon the soft pink colored flowers growing wildly amongst the black, steel hand rail are all God’s.

All our surroundings remind me we are together on this journey writing her story and His story.

Learning new lessons, walking new paths and sharing with new voices.

With our bags by our sides, our pens in hand, and our notebooks in our laps. We begin to write.

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“No Letting Go”

We broke each other’s hearts, unintentionally but that doesn’t mean the pain hurts any less. That doesn’t make anything better. As it seems, everything only worsened. Bits of our hearts wilted until they grew bitter from the unconscious abuse.

Memories from a time far away exist in our mental rolodex. Those memories are strong enough to release remnants of love to our senses but we dare not speak of them. We live in a different time, in a different place, each as a different person. In this time and place there’s no turning back but at the same no letting go.

I want to speak to you, to pour out the contents of my overflowing heart. But I won’t because I can’t. I don’t know how to reach the spot in your heart meant for only my memory to permeate. If I can’t reach that spot, I can’t know if my plea will reach you. I can’t take the chance of being too late so I’ll leave my thoughts unspoken.

For if I unleash my soul’s contents, I’m liable to be met with the same hesitation we’ve both met before. We spent so much time in wonder of each other; our amazement overcame everything. We could only watch from afar, never taking advantage of the moment. Just allowing those many moments to slip by until we had lost days and months and years.

And now I sit alone, in that same wonder. That same amazement. My love locked on you, hoping your heart still holds a place especially for me.

The Performance of our Lives

As women, even as humans, we never want to admit our problems, our mistakes or our vulnerabilities. For the sake of saving face or not looking weak. But at some point in time we must give up the cover story and let someone know about the dramatic depiction of the life we live.

Her life is a movie. The type you can’t help but to watch. Not like the ones that are romantic and heart-warming. But the type you watch because her heartbreak is comforting. Because you can relate to her dilemmas and frustration. And you understand why she feels so defeated, beaten down and you wish you could give her the answer. How badly you want to help the underdog, the innocent protagonist. But of course, you can’t.

The same way you can’t understand the answers to your own questions, you can’t answer hers either because her life is on a screen. She can’t hear you, no matter how loud you scream. The screen always interrupts your heroic attempts. And you are left helpless to watch knowingly. And I am left to act out my life’s role unknowning and vulnerable.

Wait, did I say I. My mistake. When I say I, of course I mean her. Because if I admit it’s me and my life, that makes it too real for me. Then I need to admit my unhappiness and my anger. Even more my sadness… And after admission, I’m expected to face my problems and deal with them. But this I, isn’t ready for that.

There’s just too much tied to the word I, so just read on without getting  connected to me. Just remember her. Remember her film. Her story. Her face, her tears, her nights feeling alone and broken. Without anyone real to talk to, only other actors. Giving her empty emotions while reciting lines from a script. It’s all an act.

But I can’t seem to escape it. I want happiness and love and security. But all those things seem to run in the opposite direction away from me. And I can’t understand why. I pray for it and wait but it just never seems to work…

As much as I want it to be all about her, it’s really about me. I guess it’s time to face fact and let go of the charade. I can deny it no longer. So, world, the girl on the screen is me. Unguarded – open – a little broken, but ready to work on my problems.

The first and most important one, being me.

Foundation Covers the Scars…

You want some human interaction and attention, a little affection that moves into a more than platonic direction. You know that love and affection don’t mix with working toward success and… The only time you felt like you were in love, deeply, fondly, even mentally, it wasn’t meant to be.

You were just getting used to the idea that it was truly all it seems and then you trip, slip and bump your head, chip your polish and realize it was all too good to be true.

As much as you try to fight it you become that friend drowning in a pool of misery, reflecting on what used to be. Hoping for what could of been; wishing you had never seen that man. Oh, if he had never spoken to you; you wouldn’t have been led so far in.

Just for that, you digress. You burrow deep inside yourself not letting anyone in, locking yourself behind closed doors in empty rooms. Occasionally when you re-enter the world of hurt you try to make up for lost time. Disguising yourself behind fake smiles and Voluminous mascara as if life is easy, breezy but you know it’s just a cover, girl.

Looking drop dead gorgeous even though you just want to drop the facade dead in its tracks. You want to take of the dress and step down from your 5 inch stiletto pedestal. But you can’t. You’ll settle with looking amazing, as long as the club can’t see past your smoky eyes and bronze blush.

If they did, they’d see the empty woman hiding behind the full masquerade. And that’s not who you want everyone to see.