So...for inexplicable reasons, my previously existing blog, your-words-my-voice, has vanished. I am, as the title details, playing catch up for those of you who did not have the opportunity to view my other blog. I am reposting my previous meanderings for your reading pleasure. Many times, I believe, the words on the screen are those laid upon my heart by my Lord Jesus Christ. Other times they may be a verbal testament to my wandering journey through this life onto the one I am promised through the gracious redemption of my sinful soul. Perhaps God can use my words to speak to you. Nevertheless, I hope you take the time to read through these postings and the others that I promise will come.
sometimes i feel like i am in a marathon
on a treadmill
i keep running and running
toward the light
away from the dark
but as soon as i take a breath
to look behind me
it is all still there.
note to self:
buy sunglasses
because i will only look ahead
directly into the light.
i love coffee. anyone who has spent any measurable amount of time with me has probably witnessed the consumption of coffee by non other than my self. just yesterday, Chad was making fun of my methods of consumption. when i first meet the mug of choice, i grab it, instinctively, with two hands. i then pull the mug close to my chest, just under my chin; savoring every pleasant aroma, warmth, and the prospect that this cup might bring life to my sluggish body. coffee is more than a beverage, it is momentary comfort. yes, perhaps, an addiction. My resolution for 2009: make God my addiction, more than my coffee. i want to have instinctive qualities in my relationship with Him. i want to reach for Him at all times, without even knowing. i want to pull Him close because in His arms i'm already as close as it gets. i want to savor Him, to find life in Him. really....i want to know Him more. complacency, idleness, being spiritually stagnant is not okay.
the air is thick,
heavy with your presence
thank you
i sing with all i have
from the bottom of my depths
in efforts
simply for you to hear me
but you've already heard
next to me
your arms are wrapped, tight
heart open,
i long for you to see it
to hold
but you already do
you've held me from the start
don't let go
you're so good, so great
don't let go
I just emerged from the bathtub. I take baths when I am emotionally burdened and need some time to organize my thoughts. I usually feel some level of refreshed upon exiting the tub. Oh, my reason for entrance on this occasion, you ask? I felt emotionally alone.
I have recently picked up a new book in which to dive into during my moments of solitude. My current book, The Shack, was recommended to me by my father. Under the pretenses that my father described the book to me, and some feedback from close friends who have heard the author speak, I was under the self formed idea that The Shack was a piece of nonfiction. In fact, the writing is crafted so precisely that I only had one minute question to the validity of the piece of nonfiction as far in as page 56.
What initially drew me so far into the book was the raw emotion. Without spoiling the book for you, the story details the incidences surrounding a father following the disappearance of his youngest daughter, Missy. Having lost a younger brother and seeing the pain and challenges a loss of that magnitude has on a family, I identified very closely with the father, Mack, as William Paul Young so vividly depicts each thought and emotion that he experiences directly following Missy’s disappearance. There is one scene on the morning of the disappearance where Mack burns two fingers while trying to prepare a lavish campground breakfast for his three youngest children. The morning that my brother died, before I became aware of the accident, I was working in a restaurant and while carrying a bowl of soup out to a table, I tripped and spilled the soup, burning my finger in the process. I couldn’t believe that I was learning of someone’s story who experienced the same emotions, dealt with the same loss, even suffered from the same odd nuances of the day that I did. I envisioned myself, following the completion of the book, writing this man and sitting down over coffee pouring out and finding comfort in the similarities of each other’s triumphs over past struggles.
It was at that moment, overwhelmed by the companionship I had already established via readership and unacquainted stranger, I paused in my rash journey through the first 56 pages. I laid the book to rest on my leg, page kept while the cover of the book faced up. I was glancing over the reviews incorporated on the back cover and was a bit amused that country singing sensation, Wynonna Judd left a review. Then I jumped to the top comment on the back cover which was written by Michael W. Smith. The comment read something I’m sure featured nothing but praise and adoration over Young’s amazing ability at his craft, but I do not remember exactly what it said. All my eyes allowed me to focus on was the word “fiction”. I was startled to imagine I was so naïve to simply believe, without actually knowing, that this was a piece of nonfiction. I frantically flipped to the front hoping to find something to falsify Smith’s statement. Then I saw the words plain and clear: “A Novel ...”
I couldn’t believe what I read. Was I so foolish enough to believe that someone else in this world actually experienced the loss that I felt? I felt entirely alone. Yes, I cried. Yes, I drew a bath and spent an inordinately unneeded amount of time lying there wondering how I could have actually believed someone, somewhere felt what I felt.
Then I felt even more foolish as my mind went to my creator. I was lying in the bath tub, sobbing over a novel, sulking over the fact that I felt no one had ever felt the loss I felt, and my mind went to Jesus and my salvation. My heavenly father did not lose a bother in a tragic accident, He did not have a daughter unknowingly abducted, He knowingly sent his ONLY, PERFECT son to die for MY sins, my glaring, blatant imperfections. His selfless loss is by far greater than any I will ever know. I am not alone.
there is beauty in morning peace
the kind where the sun has recently conquered the horizon
coffee has its usual appeal
a toasted bagel adorned
with just a smidgen of cream cheese
invites you to a lone table
sure there are the handful of retired gentlemen
partaking in their own cup of joe
and ink ridden newspaper
that seems to hold such importance today
but will become alarmingly irrelevant with
the arrival of tomorrow
but i am here
at this table
there is nothing in front of me
but time
as i gaze out the window
and sit in awe
of the beauty in this morning peace
Thank you, Lord, for today.
eyes closed
so it was only me and God
hands raised
out of reverence
thankfulness
desperation to draw myself closer
to Him
i sang
slightly off key
loudly
from my heart
the words
" . . . a child in awe . . . "
resonated
the voices of those
more on key than myself
built exponentially in volume
as the song played on
for a moment
as i looked up to my hands
stretched as close
to my God
as i could let them be
i envisioned the angels
singing with me
i smiled.
sometimes i . . .
am easily disappointed
forgetful
a slacker without coffee
frustrated
too loving
not loving enough
. . . at a loss for words
dear heart,
don't lose focus.
love and don't stop.
be humble.
be thankful.
forgive.
i am falling
like the swatches
on a tree
that just heard news
it is autumn
in admittance of fears
comes vulnerability
certainty,
your validation
of my open heart,
is scarce
will you see my fears
as items to be:
' ' fragile, handle with care ' '
it is all a web
of misdirection
my hope for happiness
does not rest with you
nor does yours with me
nor either of ours in anything of this world,
which will wilt like autumn swatches
my hope for happiness
rests in God.
a person that i consider wise
once told me,
in the moments when you
are not sure if you'd make it
you're overwhelmed
or discouraged
say to yourself
:: in this moment, God is enough ::
i need nothing more.
do you ever feel entirely
disconnected
from the world around you?
then you feel guilty for
the glimpse of self pity you
allowed yourself?
when is it okay?
when is it okay to say:
over here!
look at me!
see me!
notice me!
care for me!
love me!
i'm cold
it reminds me of home
i miss it
but not so much
i left home
and left part of me
the part that held me down
kept me from love,
from life eternal
i don't want to be reminded of
who i left in new york
i am now
the 'kimberly'
i was meant to be
i was looking for her for a long time
blinded by the dark
it was there when His arms
reached around me
held me tight
and i heard His whisper
. . . "I love you" . . .
i am not cold anymore.
I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately. The friendships I have, the friendships I wish I had, if I am a 'good' enough friend. Then I got caught up in thinking, "what exactly is a 'good' friend?" Oddly enough I went to dictionary.com to define the term 'friendship' for me. No, I do not resort to an internet word search engine for life guidance. Anyway, there were several things that popped up for 'friendship'. What caught my eye was a synonym at the bottom: harmony.
So, of course, I looked up the term 'harmony'. One of the offered definitions stated the following:
A consistent, orderly, or pleasing arrangement of parts; congruity
There is a verse in James that I love, James 5:13. The verse says, "Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing psalms." There is a footnote in the MacArthur study Bible for this verse that states, "The natural response of a joyful heart is to sing praise to God."
I'm always captivated by the concept of love. I'm always shocked to see the torment of this world, and I sit back and wonder: why can't all people experience and display love? Perhaps I am so taken aback by God's amazing love for me, in spite of all my sin, that I am so shocked when others find love so absent in their lives. I'm often times consumed with the wonder of whether or not I love enough, in every situation.
Looking back at friendships, I wonder if I approach them in a way where I am showing them love in every possible aspect that love is, as God showed it to be? Could friendships that truly model love, that strive to make each other better ambassadors for the kingdom of God, that rejoice in the forgiveness and grace of God create a harmonious melody to the ears of our Lord? By the definitions provided, and God's Holy Word, is it possible that friendships can be another way to bring praise to our God?
Just a thought . . .
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