kiss my ears, & let them hear.

they compare beauty to
emerald lipstick and all those gaudy
ruby rings you find in the plastic,
vintage candy machines.

i'm looking for a 747 to be my carriage,
and swing me to some ethereal tree-houses
or boathouses made out of crystal
floating in the middle of the sea.

dear adventure,
i am waiting for you to return my letter
post-marked four hundred and thirty seven hours ago.
you promised to be quick in response,
but i'm still waiting here
with my neon yellow carrying case
and six hundred summer dresses.
my right leg is falling asleep from crossing them
for fourteen plus days.
and my hair smells like summertime,
and this glass jar of fireflies' sign no longer reads
vacancy.
when will our carousel arrive?
love, longing.

i'm shedding skin like a snake
on the inside.
and things are changing like those plastic toys
kids place on their eyes to watch mini slideshows.
dinosaurs change to butterflies change to firehouses change
to the big question mark painted with pastels.

click, click, click.

when you squint you can see what its asking,

"is this change where He wants me to be?"
"did i catch the right train?"
"what am i doing wrong?"

and i don't know really,
for the smell of chlorine makes me cry
and my dreams are filled with mountains and fairies
and romantic, ethereal, elegant & dainty sort of movie-esque,
momentary after-dinner conversations.

or something like that.

and if you peer through the crack in the golden wall,
you see him eating His dinner alone, with these spoons and forks
that seem too elaborate to be practical.
ya, he knows you are watching him, and he's inviting you in.

but i'm just sitting here at the side of the road,
with my journal and pen,
waiting for something that might never come.

but when i close my eyes, i see.

and i feel the sun licking my skin, it's spit the freckles that merge
together into a cluster of islands on the sea.

but when i close my eyes, i see.

he's drinking that red wine that smells sorta fragrant,
and i can taste it in the air.
he's on a mountain of buttons that will close up all that's
gaping wide and exposing my shame.
his table is turquoise.
his chair is on fire.
and i think he knows i'm watching.

and slowly he raises the cup, and starts to speaking.
but he's moving his mouth, and now he's weeping.
but i can't hear a sound.
i can't hear a sound.

my eyes suddenly open, like the draw back of the shade
rolling up all violently,
and i hear the cars go by. they're drowning out the sound.
cats are crying, and men are yelling, and the clouds seem to be
playing music that fills up my mind. it's the cake in the creases.

so much traffic. so much ebb and flow of this symphony.
martha put on mary's sweater and hear your master luring.

i just want to swim in his wine, and ask him why he's crying.

i scream something under my breath and kick my suitcase in
front of the coming cadillac. i lay down and breath into the sky
to push the clouds out of the way, and start eating the rays
of sun.

i take the key and lock my eyes into the chambers of darkness.

he's weeping. he's calling. he's beckoning. and he knows i'm watching.
and all the letters on the buttons on the remote have been rubbed out,
because time's been wearing them down,
and i can't find the unmute button.
and there he sits, like a king in his castle, and a peasant in his shack.
he's got the wine. he's got the wine. and he's roaring in silence.

something is wrong here.

and i want to pull out my eyes and make them cry.
i want to find the strings of my heart and play them into
feeling. feeling. feeling, whatever the silent man is weeping.
and i know his tears mixed with the red, red drink of choice
will heal my soul,
and sit me at that table
and make me whole.

but i can't interpret what he's saying.
and my spirit's not glowing.

your tears are flowing beneath my feet,
and the waters cold.
you are shivering.

the words weave up the cemented door that
invite me into peace of mind.
"this is who you are,
this is where you are going."
or something like that in poetic nature yet to
enter english language.
the words are dancing.
the words are breathing.
the words are wrapping around my limbs and pulling me near.

it's the vines of the lamb.
it's the vines of his name.
it's the vines that keep growing - paused in time.
i will be your grape, and i will be your vineyard.
make me into wine.

take me where it's you and i.
man of silence shrouded by my busy mind.
your my lover. i'm your chime.

when i hear you, my bells begin to sing.

you love me and i do not understand.
the cement in the doorway tastes like candy-cane.
the vines are growing in slow motion.

i want to be with you where you are.
you promised.
i'm a failure.

let's sit together and dine.

this is it.

"you've brought me to the wilderness
where i will learn to sing
you've let me know my barrenness
so i will learn to lean."

this is the life i've chosen.

and i'm never going back.

no matter how the beauty of this world may call me

this ship is bound for light.

and so i'll bare my face, in the secret place,
and dark night of the soul.

and Only You Can Satisfy My Soul.
[and Your coming, soon enough,
this too shall pass, and we'll see True Beauty]

so let me be found faithful to Your heart.
let me be found set on Zion.
let me be found mourning.
let me be found waiting.
let me be found Burning.

because I'm in love.

and I'm never going back.

it's the end of the world as we know it.

i heard this tale once, tall and towering,
yet somehow true...
and for its borrowing
i am here to let it out,
break the seams,
let rushing water overwhelm
this
infamous drought.

listen all ears
hungry for
emerald
and gold.
galatic fairytales
parables of old
hidden enigmas
never been told.

what
could
this be.

the great feeding
the mystery breeding
the beautiful shes
and the powerful hes
all in need.

for they are the broken.
they are the maimed.

and out of the heart shaped cavern of
hunger.
the calvary speaks,
"whisper Oh Man of the Desert
dusty feet
a wellspring of waters
tall oak Tree.

bury my bones in the
depths of your belly.

count back down from three.

let me grow
out of your skin
and speak to these roots,
say to these anchors like lead -
that hollow evenings are about to be fed
with cement
and there we shall sink deeep deeep
covered
in
the unbreakable.
unshakeable.

make us beautiful."

and there He stands.
mighty Man of war -
the jewel of the desert
sparkling against the Saharan sun

He vies for frail affection
like a hungry village for the burnt batch of rice.
dusty frames have no delight to offer
but still He withholds, only to entice.

this King, a jar filled with blood,
is Wisdom
rushing
roaring
soaking
the alluring Flood.

sparkle.
shine.
glitter.
sweet red wine.

"lets drink from your cup.
garnished veneer
golden studded handle
bubbles
and water
and red
and tears."

this is a pining for light.
liquid illumination.

He sets people on fire.

the people's come bounding.

it's the Burning Man in the desert.

His call is resounding.

and the great eagles of the sky
peer with their one seeing eye
down into the great bowl of sand
the seemingly barren barren barren land.

and the great God of the flame
is surrounded by rusty and weathered lampstands
the shattered and lame.

but they too
are burning.
burning.
burning.

"in His river of fire,
we are illuminated."

no one is being consumed.
like moses and His bush.
forever blazing
this is the hour.


watch.
squint into the Sun.


He breathes.

same old thing

I haven't written in awhile...
which usually means something is terribly wrong.
I don't think, in this case, something is terribly, terribly wrong -
but I do think my heart has been in a rather chaotic state...
and the journey of "pursuing the Lord" has hit a rather
testing and trying place.

I can't decide if this is a beautiful valley to be in -
a great plunge into the depths of love within the arena of my heart...
for the wilderness of the repetitive,
the mundane,
the monotonous,
the routine,
is the greatest wilderness of all.
for this child at least....

eck.
this
is
such an arduous harbor to try to anchor yourself within
especially with sails such as these...
so prone to catch the wind of anything named "spontaneous"
and whose scarlet letter is that of the inconsistent and unsteady.
give me 45 days and i can walk on the path of the victorious,
but watch day 46 hit, and I become unraveled.

if you know me.
you'd agree.

and here i am singing to the words,
"good morning, brokenness..."
for broken i am.
into many pieces, and these pieces haven't found their home
to function as a whole
normal
working
human being.

My weakness is my dependence.
And again my eyes drift to the hills,
for there is where my help comes from.

He promises when I call, swimming in the mess of my own
inability to function without continual Aide,
and my frequent attempts to operate in independence,
even in that...
He would come and deliver me.

Here I am again,
let this cry be heard.

sometimes i try to figure out why He made me the way I am...
and I come to 2 (maybe 3) conclusions.
Let me list them,
to appease my own soul's anguish...
ha.

1.) I was made to be someone similar to Emily Dickinson,
locking myself in a small room of solitude,
and writing until my death bed.
2.) I was made to be an absolute mess of a woman unless
I am given to continuous and extended period of time to
being a little Mary, at the feet of Jesus
(I was NEVER good at being a Martha...)
3.) I was made to jump upon a train, wearing multiple layers of skirts
and bells and trinkets and things, eating off the land,
taking pictures with the camera I don't yet have, and writing small
ambiguous lines of poetry at the bottom of polaroids tacking them on
random trees and doorposts hoping it would breed revival...
4.) I was made for communion, and when I settle for anything less,
I stop being a whole human being.

So,
I lied, that was 4 conclusions, and I coulda kept going if I wanted to.
But I didn't want to.
And I think I'd have to agree with 2 and 4.
They sound right.
How often I convince myself, without totally mentally agreeing
(for how silly would it be if I made those statements within my head,
and then rejected them)
instead...
I just convince myself that I am neither 2 nor 4, by refusing to
acknowledge them...
in the midst of my little ihop life.

i'm making no sense.

and anyways, i listened to a sermon that changed my life.
it was misty talking about patient endurance...
a timely word, if not a billion other wonderful things,
that made me feel
not so alone.

it's one thing to pick the lifestyle of matthew 5,6, and 7 with
aggression and deep conviction for a month,
or months,
or even a year....
it's another to give yourself over to this for the long haul.
5 years
10 years
15 years
and on.

To try to find the rhythm within the wilderness,
and dance upon the dusty ground of
barrenness
day after
day after
day.

for a friend once told me:
the wilderness (hour of preparation, hiddenness, the Great purging)
the crucible of His burning away all that hinders love...
is hard.
its unconventional.
it does not cast a glorious light.
it's messy.
and it is rather humiliating.

oh
but
i believe
(or i wouldn't be sitting at this ugly card table
in this white room,
signing up again for this GREAT death)
it is wisdom.

and again,
His wisdom will be justified.

and...

Standing in the middle of a circle of those named, "the furnace of affliction and voluntary weakness"
as they come from every which direction,
moment after moment,
day after day,
kicking out so violently the props that have formed themselves to
my heart...

ahhhhh!

the props!
the props!
always there.
looking at me with those tired eyes
the props I've grown to hate..
and as soon as i find myself free of them,
the opaque ones come into view....
layer upon layer upon layer of
a faulty foundation.

and the bridge I burned yesterday in the name of abandonment
and violent pursuit
suddenly becomes the prop I find today I lean upon.

Oh that I would exit this wilderness
leaning only upon My beloved.
in that day, that I would be one who fully embraced wisdom
and found herself established in the cement of Jesus Himself.

Oh that I would claim patient endurance as my own...

Oh that I would follow in the footsteps of the flock
foot by foot.
step by step.
still fasting
still praying
still giving myself over the Word
still waiting
still listening
foot by foot
step by step
day after day after day...

Oh that I would believe that in my darkness
He calls me lovely
and one day I will see the wisdom of my weakness
remaining as a heavy cloak bearing it's weight upon my shoulders
as I try to run...

for I know He says he whose forgiven much, shall love much...

and how deep this reservoir of love is being dug.
for His forgiveness and mercy, and even more - His craving of my heart -
is the motivation that gets me out of bed
every single grey skied morning.

He wants me...
more than I want Him.

and I don't see why.
but that doesn't change it's truth.

---

and to tie this rambling post together.
and to bring some summary or some conclusion.

i am stumbling in this journey.
i feel His jealous flames burning away the darkness hidden in my heart.
And
until the day breaks, and the shadows flee away,
I will go my way
up the mountain of myrrh,
and the hill of frankincense.

for i am my beloveds, and He is mine.
and His desire is for me.

replace the plastic chairs.

lola don't know what happened.
she really don't.
but you can peer through her gloriously, glorious bay window and find her
and her paper dolls
barely seen amidst a mountain of browned maps
rolled up over and over with all her plans.
lists and places and trinkets and things
her little life inside this mansion of a cabin - built with woooooooden beams,
ceilings low to the ground,
has
been
interrupted.

watch the terribly divine inter•jection.

it must be
the great pause/reversal on the ancient tape player.

hear it sssskip skip, change. the blood in the atrium beating to a new, ethereal rhythm.
the silver record, switches to something of divine nature.

and she tastes it all crashing down, as rubble and rust cover
her little life of dreaming -
and ceiling dusts rest upon her tongue.
listen
as she whispers to herself, in the squeaky voice behind her mother's
red lipstick, "He tends to do this to me..."

invisible movements.
missing bed frames.
the great reform.

FOR WE HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT.

ya, she's a dreamer. a seer. a fairy in a make-believe world.
ya, she's an architect. a lover. a terrified child in need of deconstruction.
lola's one of those with chipped white nail polish, and gaudy diamond rings, and dancing fingers upon the bottom of her
hair.
ya. she's a daughter. a dancer. a safe-havened sojourner looking for a home.

and there she was: mapping out all the bold-fonted tomorrows,
with colors and numbers
and connecting dot.dot.dots,
all perfectly in line,
lining up.
cake. and horses. and oceans. and fire from heaven.
babies. and 17 stringed harps. and foggy fruit gardens.

all perfectly one after the other
etched in her expectation well,
going deep within her soul.

columns and rows like pebbles in the walls of castles.
deep dark waters like the kiddy pool in the back yard.

(stones captured from a greater, rock mountain?
waters stolen from deeper seas - stretching beyond those blufffs like mighty knights on the backdrop of sand, sand, shell, and sand.
it must be only the outlines of her coloring books.
ever and only.)

but THEN.
click one, twenty, thirteen, ten.
He comes -
that stranger of a man,
light, and Life, and mystery, and power..
it's either this way
or that...
he arrives on a horse painted yellow
out of the abyss of her inner frame

can you see him
knock
the
house
down?

smell shreds of map and paper and color
all over the ground.
mounds of piles, and piles of mound.
and lola remembers, even through blurred vision within
the waterfall of wondering.

in a whisper she recites those classical words,
"I love it when He does this.
yes, I am sure."

for there is something delightfully fascinating about
swallowing the soup He serves.
she's been at the banquet before -
and what sings to her from the table of glass
sounds better to her stomach than all
the potions of concoctions of adventures she's
written out before.
being blanketed, anyway, by sinking, submerging sands of time.

his offering exceeds her faction-ing.

his diamonds are the fat beat that
make the song worthy of a dance.

she knows she's not a good artist.
her play-games bore
the atmosphere.

lola longs to live -
and so she's remembering.

his redefinition is her reality.
for the title of his book is still,
"i know your desires."

watch him reprogram the time machine.


this is glorious.
and lola breathes.


selah unto living.
and living unto
LIFE.

beautiful &&& glorious.

i have such an eagerness to express
but i have written much
and each time i look at its absolute insignificance
or trivial nature
- i erase it.

i will try again...
but i am sure i will end with the same feeling.
maybe i'll post it anyway.
why?
dunno.

thoughts from excellencies of christ class with allen hood.
i encourage all to get it.
you can buy the online class at ihop.org under FSM
i think it's 100 bucks.
it's like 30 sessions, full book of notes, and more...

i think every human who wants to know Him
should take it
because when you do
you realize how little you really know Him at all.

anyways.

Thought #1:

First prophecy in the Bible is located in Genesis 3:15.
It says, "And I will put enmity between you (satan) and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed (coming Messiah); He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel."

Now imagine Eve, once walking in the cool of the garden in fellowship with God Transcendent HIMSELF... fully viewing His glory, bearing His glory to creation in all purity and submission... walking out the full meaning of life, gazing into the beauty of God.

Then, in an act of joining the rebellion against the Loving Father with the enemy himself, she becomes separated from God, bearing the weight of guilt and shame, walking in death rather than the perfection of life, and viewing, for the first time, injustice in the created order.

But! As God calls both satan and Eve to account in Genesis 3, He prophecies the hope of His plan from before the foundations of the world... Adam! Eve! satan! - THERE IS COMING A SEED... One from HUMANITY itself, the race of man that left perfect fellowship to join darkness, One from this race will come a SEED that will destroy the works of darkness, make all things new, and establish a kingdom that welcomes me BACK to my creation.

THIS WAS THE PLAN.

Now we know, because it's said and done, that the Seed was Jesus, from the Tribe of Judah, from the lineage of David... and He came generations AFTER Adam and Eve - but EVE did not know... imagine what it was like when Eve bore Cain and Abel, thinking ... HERE IS THE SEED. This must be the seed. This one will unite us back to where we were.

Imagine the desperation and longing, to be in the place before their falleness and separation.

But satan, he is watching the seed... because he heard the prophecy just as Adam and Eve did... the seed would bring him to ruin. And so we follow the story as the enemy attacks the seed. He brings Cain into sin, and cuts off Abel - in attempts to disqualify both the potential seeds...

Now think of Eve's misery - both her seeds are cut off from the potential of bringing forth the promised redemption. But, we see in Gen 4, she bears another seed, Seth, saying, “For God has appointed another SEED for me instead of Abel, whom Cain killed.”

She was looking for the Seed.

Thought #2

Now right after this it states in Genesis 4:25b "Then men began to call on the name of the LORD."

Can you imagine?!

The first prayer meetings, with Adam, and Eve, and Seth (and Seth's son Enosh)... two potential seeds (or so they would have thought), and Adam and Eve themselves CALLING ON THE NAME OF THE LORD - the One whose hands they had been formed by, who they KNEW in the glory of Eden and the clarity of eyes pre-sin... Groaning for Him to return to them.

CAN YOU IMAGINE?!

Thought #3

Now we get to David... still following the Seed. We have more revelation about it: The Seed will come from the tribe of Judah, He will be a King on the Throne of David, and then we enter into the season of the greatest prophetic Words yet recorded about the coming Seed (this HUMAN King who would actually be GOD).

David, in a great prophetic act, decides to set up the Tabernacle, and unlike anything ever done in Old Testament history, he REMOVED the veil and he set singers and musicians around the arc of the covenant (house of prayer...), and they would SING and WORSHIP the glory over the mercy seat that would manifest.

And David, modeling the destiny of mankind (to peer into the beauty and glory of God, through the protection of worship and intercession [lest the glory would break out and kill imperfect and unholy mankind]) he would PROPHECY things to come - which we find in the Psalms.

Little David, gazing into the glory of God, and proclaiming Psalms 2:

There is a coming a King, and all the nations will rage against him.
But there is a God who sits in heaven who will laugh at them...
because He has set His King, His Anointed on the HILL OF ZION...
and from there He will rule.

for I have given the earth My Son (the Seed of not only man but God Himself),
and He will ask of me
and I will give Him the nations of the earth as His inheritance...

So serve the Lord with fear,
and rejoice with trembling,
KISS the Son in intimacy and devotion...
lest He be angry and you perish under His judgment...

Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.

David, in the house of prayer, worship, speaking out the mysteries He sees,
prophesies the End of the Age, and the Millennial Kingdom.
He brings clarity to the Seed and to how the Seed will crush satan's head and the rulers and kings of the earth in agreement with wickedness, bring forth the full revelation of God and establish His kingdom, and redeem humanity unto Himself.

and then David prophesies Psalm 45:

about a King who will not only rule them with a rod iron, but love them and call them into fellowship and co-laboring.
David sees a King and a Bridegroom...
the picture of the Coming Seed becomes more clear...
and the people of God wait eagerly for Him.

and then Psalm 110 - David says, I've seen... I've seen...

"The Lord says to my Lord..."

I saw GOD SPEAK to GOD.
And I don't know how it works exactly...
but God SPOKE to GOD about coming HERE and ruling...
and He will crush kings on the day of His wrath...
He will judge the nations, heaping up the dead...
and He'll be a PRIEST FOR US, and a KING, just like Melchizedek.

David's thinking, "This thing is getting crazier and crazier..."

and all while He's in the house of prayer, gazing upon the beauty and knowledge and glory of God.


and then the prophets build this beautiful picture of the King, the Seed, the God-Man.

Isaiah says in Is. 4...
not only will He be a King who subdues the nations and establishes righteousness from His literal throne in Zion, but He will be a HUMAN King, who will draw the hearts of men unto Himself... being both beautiful and glorious and appealing.

Is. 6...
He actually peers into heaven and SEES this coming King, high and lifted up, which John 12:41 tells us is JESUS HIMSELF...
Isaiah SAW Jesus, before He ever was born of Mary, HIGH AND LIFTED UP.
And not only will He make all things new, and restore all the death that came with the fall but He will command the armies of heaven.
What king has all men in subjection, yet also the angels of heaven?
It's the Commander of the army of the Lord that Joshua caught a glimpse of in Joshua 5:13-15.

It keeps getting better and more glorious and the destiny of men who serve this coming King will be beautiful.

imagine!

Is. 7...
Now right after Isaiah sees this King, spoken about to Eve, longed for up through Abraham and Moses, through David's reign, high and lifted up, he finds out this Glorious Redeemer King will come as a BABY!!!
Not only will He be full of all power, wisdom, honor, and strength -
but He will make His first appearance on the scene in the most humble garb known... the flesh of a meek infant in the poverty of a manger.
THE GOD MAN... born to serve, and born to die.

ISAIAH IS THINKING, "WHAT IN THE WORLD?! THIS DRAMA OF GOD IS UNHEARD OF.... (oh the scandal of heaven!)"

Then in Is 9...
he find out the baby will grow up to be a King, and the government of the earth shall rest upon His shoulders, and He will be called:
• WONDERFUL COUNSELOR
• MIGHTY GOD (a baby who is GOD!)
• EVERLASTING FATHER (a King who is a Father!)
• PRINCE OF PEACE (who will dash to pieces the nations, all for the sake of peace)

and OF HIS GOVERNMENT and PEACE THERE WILL BE NO END. This human, God-Man, King will cause all things to come into newness and perfection INTO ETERNITY all for the sake of fellowship with MAN.

THEN in ISAIAH 11
Isaiah sees He'll be the Branch of Jesse - the human God from the lineage of David's father... yet in verse 10, He is ALSO the ROOT! A God-Man, high and lifted up, surrounded at the throne with angels, meek, lowly, full of zeal, coming to reign, coming to reverse death, coming to destroy satan, who is a BRANCH and a ROOT.

It gets crazier...

and the 7 spirit will rest upon Him...
the fulllllness of God resting upon the frame of a man.
and He will cause the earth to change...
He will change ecology...
the child shall lead the bear,
HE'S CHANGING EVERYTHING... wait... HE IS COMING.

---

and THEN Is 42...
This one will not raise His voice in the street... He is going to bring forth this promised justice through meekness... through death and suffering...

and Is 49...
Isaiah sees it will all look like it was done in vain..

but in Is 52 and 53 tell us why it looks like it will be in vain...
because He is going to come and DIE FOR THE SINS OF HUMANITY...
this GLORIOUS KING, whose beauty and majesty has been building through the visions of David and Isaiah, is going to be a
man of sorrows
familiar with suffering
stricken by God
bringing pleasure to the Father by being crushed
bearing the sins of many
and MAKING INTERCESSION for the transgressor...

yet God shows Isaiah ---
HE WILL RISE AGAIN

and we see HOW He will bring the plan prophesied back in Genesis 3 about the seed INTO fulfillment...

it's scandalous
it's unprecedented
it's glorious
it seems impossible that it will ALL fall into place

and then Is 63
we see Him ruling and judging in wrath the nations
as one would tread a winepress...
the unfulfilled words
we still wait for...


---

and the prophets are seeing and declaring the HOPE OF THE NATIONS, revealing the true nature of God until Luke 1...
where He brings forth the SEED... the prophesied One...
through the womb of mary, a little girl, HE CAME.

the God-man.


AND THIS IS WHERE OUR JOURNEY BEGINS...
we get to see the Glory of Heaven come to EARTH.


AMEN!!!!!!




that's all for today.

LOVE YOU all and happy spring!
and i am glad this is not trivial as presupposed at the beginning of post, mostly because it isn't my own material.
it's good for me to retype what i'm learning,
because it enters my heart deeper.

the grand reversal.

i feel like writing,
but then i suppose... (and i do suppose in the supposing)
one writes to be heard.
and i believe that is so.
also because someone once said it...
they really must know.
(though my knowing is knowing i don't really know)

so pause.
"art is talking.
and if it never reaches an ear
it is as though it was a still-born...
a cry one will never hear."
for silence is oh-so astounding.

true?
probably, maybe, not always so much.

but whatever.
all wish to be heard:
& known,
assured they are
more more more
to be watched and partaken of,
even if by one
(or One, you know.)

so.
my floor is rather blanketed by
an array of clothes
(old and uncool, and especially over-worn)
and so i have to tiptoe to my bed
which is a mattress on the floor

you can tell when my heart is in utter chaos.
by things such as...
shirts and skirts and a mountain of books
abandoning their hangers
and leaving their nooks
of shelves or
proper
placements.

a property predicament
nothin finding a home.

granola tastes good to my tongue.

&
i had a dream where i lived in a mansion
that smelled like olllld wood and had
secret passageways,
up and down, like
dr. suess or something .

this is
my heart.
but i
feel
locked up
in the study, perhaps...
the
doorknob ain't turninnnnnnng
and where is the brass skeleton key
to
set
me
freee.

come on.

but it's okay.

seasons are seasons
and may always comes with spring.
so i'm waiting in this winter, winter wilderness
to feel something again.
His "thump thump" heart beat.

oh
but He is chief among ten thousand.

and i wrote today
this is what i wrote
in my ugly black journal

[well, i really can't find it]

but it was about dying.
suffocating out the "me".
becoming one with the God-man
bleeding on
that treeeeee.

something something about dying
and finding life.

so here i am dying in a town that
looks brown day in and day out.

with no piano.
no piano.

(oh Jesus redeem me.)

and...

i got myself a grave.
here i sit.
the dirt is my pile of chaos of clothes
and my tomb is this mattress and sheeets.
and i feel breath leavvvvvvvving my lungs
never to return
finding it's last

hopin' my ressurection is soooon to come.

by the way.
i'm never too beautiful.
black under the eyes...
and no clothes fittin' right
with brown wavy locks.
for the mirror isn't my friend.
at all.
at all.

and you won't take notice.

but i remember.

He's my only friend.

and it's okay -
because this is going somewhere
and it's worth it
and it's real.
real.
real.
like lightening and winter's fall of
ice upon the window pane,
every morning
reminding me

what is REALLY going on.

and it's okay to be in secret
shrouded, oh so hidden, by time.
and
speakin' of whichhhh

that which is carried within the womb
(the womb of time is what i'm saying)
isn't always ours to hold in our arms
and nurse from infancy to more and more
reality
known as maturity

for sometimes it's at the altar we lay it
and leavvve it there.

so these dreams.
these prayers.

these over and over tears and yearnings
for the words of God
to come forth, bear fruit, walked out in the flesh
may be
some things
only to see from afar.

but what is, who is, the voice in the wilderness
never to walk NEXT to the messiah much at all
this time around...
but wisdom will be justified
when the children come a BOUND-ING
and screaming the truth of the father.
the truth of their roooots.

and so.
some are bob jones'
standing at the side watchin at a distance.
longing to be marchin in the parade of the
apostolic, signs and wonders, new revelation
straight from heaven.
but he's crippled.
lookin down at his
mangled feet.

oh well.
this must be humility.

moving on.
moving on.
moving in.
moving in.

letting selfishness be torn from this skin
so only what is of Transcendence can remain
will keep on, keepin' on.
only this that is of God
will stay.

for i'm a selfish brat
wanting spoil for my own on this side
when
again i say, i was
born
to
die.

i'm just a friend of the bridegroom.
i'm just a friend of the bridegroom.
i'm just a friend of the bridegroom.

please look away from me.
i'm nothing much to see.
i promise you, He who is coming,
is much
much
much
more beautiful.

he is jealous for me.

Verse 1:
He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,
Bending beneath his wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realise just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

Pre-Chorus:
And oh, how He loves us all,
Oh how He loves us,
How He loves us all

Chorus 1:
Yeah, He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves.
Yeah, He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves.

Verse 2:
We are His portion and He is our prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,
If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.
So Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss,
And the heart turns violently inside of my chest,
I don’t have time to maintain this regrets,
When I think about, the way…

Chorus 2:
He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves.
Yeah, He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves.

we shall be a kingdom of priests.

I think often about the occupation I desire to have in the Millennial Kingdom - or even beyond. These thoughts, and ponderings, actually rule most of that which transpires behind my eyes. This, in itself, is a new discovery on my part, but this, in itself, is quite fulfilling and satisfying. For every longing that this life offers no means for me to reach its end, has much potential in the age to come to be fully met (and so much more). The limits this side of eternity offers me, such as decay, age, income, time, place, and enemies of the soul, will forever be removed in that which I look to. On that side, the dreams of my heart can truly be fulfilled, and not only for personal satisfaction (which in itself, I believe, is not as bad as we so confidently claim) but for the satisfaction and pleasure of the King who will reign (which is the personal satisfaction all along). I can do my little work, literally, unto the Lord. Not as if that isn't true today, in space and time, but the fulfillment of this action isn't known, and if so, only by the eyes of faith. But then, I can paint and create and write and dance and sing and laugh and then, in the midst of my doing, and being, and longing to be seen, longing to be loved, I can glance, or even more, STARE, into the eyes of the One I am doing it, ultimately, for. My being me and doing what I do will provoke such pleasure upon He who created me in my own creating - and I will gaze upon the pleased eyes that blaze on like fire. These eyes which will burn with response of gratification and enjoyment of ME (and all that entails).

I will help him. Yes, He will let me. Just as the little girl asks to partake in the elaborate affairs and works of her father. I will be seen by Him. Yes, He will see me. Just as the little girl dresses up in her mother's fancy clothes and prances up to her Father wishing for a reaction of delight at her childish attempt to be noticed and to be beautiful, He in that day will put down the newspaper and look upon me, the child which he has named as royalty, and ENJOY me. He will love me because I am me. And what I offer up to him, be it paper mache' pottery or heart-felt poetry or musical composition, will be taken, and taken as His heart is moved.

And yes, this is today, this is the now, but then... then... the limits will be forever removed and I will see the Father and His delight. And I will know the Son and I will be known and there will be no question of my significance or ability to offer up something of value. Something of worth. For I will fully offer myself, day after day after day - reaching into eternity, and He will take me - and I will be what He wants, day after day after day - going on forever.

I think upon this, as there is much I long to do. Much I think I could do rather well. Much I would enjoy to do. Though the doing it for me is not very fulfilling, and even so, doing it for a man (be it husband or child or friend) lacks some satisfaction that I am called to. There is a little seed of greatness within, I feel it moving and budding, and it's future bloom is not for anything mortal, but for the immortal - and even more, Immortality Himself. I will and do, often please man with who I am (though not often enough to subdue the ache within to be Loved and Heard and Seen and Known and Enjoyed), but there is more I am going after... Bigger than now. Bigger than here and today. I am made to please the King of Kings, the Faithful Witness, the Firstborn of the Dead, the Judge of the Earth. Of this I am confident. And not only am I MADE to please Him, but I CAN. It's in me. I am fascinating to Him, as absurd as the reality is, it is, in fact, a reality.

And so I think, so often, upon things beyond being a good wife, or an intriguing spouse, or a delightful mother, or a beautiful woman, or an intriguing artist, or a mysterious creator... for that is all quite pale in comparison. I dream about one day ruling with the great Ruler. I consider the possibilities of decorating the inside of some office within the mountain from where He will rule. Really. I do. I dream of participating in making music that will draw all men into His presence and usher Him into great gatherings of the multitudes. I meditate on sketching on writing books about His beauty and knowledge as I sit and peer on it directly - books that will be forever read and studied and searched out. I long to be a part of His kingdom. To offer that which I have to offer. And it being what He wants. It being the song He wished to be played in that very moment over His heart. And it pleasing Him. It aiding Him in someway. It bringing Him pleasure.

And so, yes, I start now. I start now. And His invitation in this moment is to deny much... to die. But in my death I will find the life I've always longed to live and the community I've always peered into through the eyes of faith. Those will be the days. Yes, yes, and we will all be ONE. Hallelujah.

john seventeen.

There is something about sitting in a circle man to my left
woman to my right,
chairs, couches, flooooor, legs crossed
leaned back & eyes closed.
feel the leather bible upon your exposed knee as
you tuck the skirt underneath
and pull out the INK pin to write
the feelings, words, longing that dances across the
back of your eyelids
as
someone, one of some, pulls out the wooden and the strings
to strike the chords of
want want want within each little one, little child,
unborn kings and queens - still resting in the wombs of
the prophecies yet fulfilled
and some sing, harmony, good bad...
whispers... tongues of angels weave in and
out of this little body, church, family, little baby trinity
being one, as they are one...
or so we step into
even for a mere moment, a whisper of the unheard but still quite there
shout of Where This is Going
as the acoustics resound
a wild tempest rages on within and behind and inside
each muscle and skin
for
these are the moments when the tongues of fire
reach the doorrrrrr
but say, "my time has not yet come."
and we love, and long for love, and are love.
as LOVE steps into the room Himself, unmasked,
untamed, and very good
good
good
good to us.
but onlllllly to remind us of the Desire
as the music trails off like the light of a firefly
on a June evening,
and it's time for bed, or reality, or normalcy, or
8am... when really
we, the you's and i's just wishes
to keep it
stay
reach further
cry harder
touch IT and stay THERE perhaps
to continue in this great game of corporate, yet
quite alone hide and Seek.
letting our hands reach further into the Great Jar
of Mystery and
pull back
HE
WHO
HAS
PROMISED
TO
RETURN.

times of some. sometimes.

sometimes we start to pity our circumstances.
sometimes we desire things to be easy.
sometimes we want what we want now now now
sometimes we think we deserve this or that.
sometimes.

sometimes we feel so deeply we aren't sure how to step.
sometimes crying tears taste good upon the tongue.
sometimes anger arises and we wish to raise our fists.
sometimes all we seem to step on is thorns, thorns, thorns.
sometimes.

sometimes the winter seems so long, and the spring seems so unreal.
sometimes we wonder what the Lord is really saying.
sometimes pain is very, very real. very real.
sometimes prison cells are quite confining.
sometimes.

sometimes the nights are dark and black and dark.
sometimes there are wounds from our Beloved.
sometimes we wonder how much more we can take.
sometimes we think how much further can we go.
sometimes.

sometimes we see shame, and discipline, and shame.
sometimes hope and longing and hope flood our hearts to overflowing.
sometimes things never seem to change.
sometimes failure is an inescapable cloud.
sometimes.

however.

sometimes there is more than meets the eye.
sometimes we must suffer to gain glory.
sometimes the delay is the mercy of God.
sometimes we remember we are Chosen.
sometimes.

sometimes we believe what He has spoken.
sometimes we receive what He has become for us.
sometimes we love deeper in the ache of misunderstanding.
sometimes we agree His grace is sufficient.
sometimes.

sometimes Love is all there is.
sometimes Love is all we have.
sometimes Love carries us on.
sometimes Love is what IS.
sometimes.

sometimes Love.
sometimes.
sometimes.

i am.

i am...
a little child awakening from slumber. eight hours, three hours, ten. all curled up in cotton - lying upon the mattress which is lying upon the floor. soaked in sun rays kissing upon skin. knowing not what today holds. a blank letter in a viBRANT envelope. imagining and playing along. this is that. this is there.

i am...
a dancer who dances, mostly alone, through carpeted hallways and kitchen tiles. silent rooms like a silent film, scratch it back, back, back in time. or ribbons and bows of harmony to melodies that tied themselves around my heart, around my feet, to stir up love. sway to the right to the rhythm and bend to the left to the beat.

i am...
a lover. loving. longing to be loved. to taste love or feel it rustle the leaves of my heart. to eat love up like one would swallow the sweetest of candies down into the belly. than breathe out the scent of sugary goodness upon it's partaker. fragrant eating fragrance being its own delight, being your delight, delighting in you delighting in me.

i am...
a writer who houses words within a carcass. a tent of a being that's made of skin and bones where words and sentence and description dwell. the a's and b's are indians chanting in their teepees, burning a fire. but this smoke that arises is pale, pathetic narration's of the hurricane within. rushin' round and round.

i am...
a musician, if only in dreams, for melodies are heard and tinkering of keys within a record player that is playing my vinyl. but there is no megaphone to let the tunes free - singing, singing, singing chained down. the rhapsodies of heaven. the lyrics of prophecies. the braided do, ray, me's of another world.

i am...
an artist of sorts. making that which is like a pressed flower between the pages of the book. hidden from anyone, folded between story and word. it is poor & starving. starving & poor. it is letting this little string of the tapestry hide for another day when it has the hands and dollars and dimes to weave it back together.

i am...
a dreamer. a seer. a participant and viewer of a great, and even grander, theater. watch the heavy, velvet curtain be pulled back upon angel's wings. in the day. in the night. seeing things from other places. other worlds. other times. waiting. wanting. waiting to let them fly free from the cage of the rough pages of the diaries of unknown into the blistered hands of the hungry and upon the parched tongue.

i am...
21 in a world that is but 1-80, yet bought by a God who extends past the numeric line of time. an Infinite where beginning resides and ending finds its home. that which beats within is made up of the same blood type titled eternity - where the zeros never stop nor does the ticking and circling of the hands of the clock.

i am...
a woman. a woman. a woman. a responder. a creator. a connecter. a mother. wanting to feel the contrast. wanting to hold the tomorrow's in the womb of her today and breathe life and beauty onto the coming fields of darkness, little puffs of air from lungs that create lilies hidden in thorns. adorned with buttons of an inner-sanctuary and lace of gentle waves crashhhing upon the rocky shore.

i am...
a nomad, whose unemployed, yet fully alive. letting life live, living life. a wanderer in an unknown land, riding in the carriage of refusal - denying this is home, resisting the roots wanting to go down, down deep into the crumblin' earth, commanding a heart to look towards the time when that Desirous One takes the scroll and makes all things new.

i am...
what i am that i am.

controversial thoughts on music.

first thought:

There is this strange, and seemingly foreign, desire within me lately to listen to secular music. Music about love and fun and dancing and wonders and mystery. I can recall a dozen of moments where I heard a clip ringing from a speaker in some public place, and longing, literally, erupted out of my heart. Even now as I sit in the chair at Barnes and Noble right next to the speaker, Keith Urban, or some soothe-sayer, country-star, music man serenades the readers, I am longing to stick him into my computer, play him from my headphones straight into my ears, and awaken something in my heart that is very much asleep. Or, perhaps, to address a longing within my heart that the Lord is currently refraining from meeting. His divine delay, certainly governed by His good fathering and graciousness towards me, has lead me to desire feeding my cravings with smoke and mirrors... or even a sparkling and dazzling pill, which will be swallowed down and rot away my insides. How is it that we can so easily, as humans, revert to old patterns and old means that we know kill us and never lead to the desired end?

I think I want to feel. I think I want to be taken away in emotion. I think I want to remember. I think something. And yet I think that music full of lies and half-truths is the best train track to carry this locomotive to fascination and love and wonder. Am I blind to the pathway of voluntary weakness that leads to everlasting life? Have I forgotten the trails that have been successful in ushering me into that which my heart longs for? Am I one who is crying out, 'I will remember Your love," and proclaiming through the dark night of testing, "My lover is a the chief among ten thousand'?

How weak is my love. Help me Jesus.

-----


second thought:

I am not sure if I have recorded these thought processes, but regardless, this is what I think. These were derived from a couple of circumstances and observations gathered in the past week. The first I think upon is my current situation as I sit at Barnes and Noble, beneath the speaker, as Keith Urban serenades me about love while I am subconsciously told I am missing out on something great and fun and glorious. It's the voice of the serpent in the garden of Eden towards Eve, "He is leaving you out... He is taking away something good... Taste and you will no longer miss out."

My second observation is of the power of media and music to indoctrinate and curse the listener, watcher, unaware soul. After watching the "Truth about Hip-Hop" video - I am so grieved and sobered about the POWER music and picture carry towards the human heart and the soul.

Thirdly, I have observed through my reading that huge book about the Holocaust, the absolute atrocity of a media in the hands of a perverse and corrupt leader. Hitler's wickedness, which is only a fraction of what is soon about to hit planet earth, hypnotized the Nazis, or should I say, helped surface wickedness already residing in their hearts, through the means of media, propaganda, and well-presented speeches and information. He pumped it through intercoms and radios, painted it all over the country, rewrote the children's books, the educational systems, and the records of history. Hitler overtook that which his country-men took in.

And finally, I think upon the reality of the approaching days. Lawlessness will abound. A man endowed with the full power and authority of Satan is about to arise. And tribulation, like the world has never seen, is coming straight at us like a train barreling forward towards humanity that is standing upon the tracks blinded to the season we live in.

Now combine these four thoughts. We begin with the seemingly innocent country music blaring through the speakers and it's effects on a blood-washed heart. We see the greater degrees of this as the power of wickedness is unleashed through music and media, it's display, though only a fraction, in Hitler's rule and reign in Germany during the Holocaust, an obvious forerunner for the son of perdition himself. Then, we ponder the coming days and the coming escalations and the line hidden in the New Testament declaring, "the hearts of many will grow cold" and "even the elect will fall away."

With this understanding, how can one, so fully aware, train himself to live among a satanic-filled, media-permeated culture with an upright heart? How can we be an Enoch amidst a generation that caused God Himself to strive with man and lead to it's judgment and cleansing? How can we begin to play the game of picking and choosing that which is horrible and only slightly horrible? How can we trust our own ability to sift through lyrics, and images, and spiritual principalities clinging to all forms of media that are anti-God? How can we dabble in this playground now, and believe that we will be able to back away in the day it turns OVERT and OUTRIGHT in it's display of evil and desire to corrupt and deceive the human heart? How can we believe that as media advances to such a level of desirability and fascination, as it will be fully drenched with the power of witchcraft and Satan's full trickery of deceit and lure, that we will be able to pull away if we have not previously trained ourself to walk against (fully against) the current now?

Oh that we would be zealous in our holiness before You and in the preservation of our heart in an anti-God, unrighteous world!!!

do i stll have fears? yes, yes i'm afraid i do.

DISCLAIMER: ANYONE WANTING TO MOVE TO KANSAS CITY/IHOP FOR 1.5 MONTHS OR MORE, PLEASE MOVE IN WITH JENNY AND I INTO OUR HOME. RENT WOULD BE ABOUT $300.
--------------------



ellen kooi.


life feels weird lately.
like wearing a coat that is too small to button,
but the sleeves are too long to be
practical.
seriously.
something isn't fitting right.
but i suppose it could just be the mirror
i am glancing into.

or my fears.
my shame.
my lack of trust.
[yes yes. i need an inner-reform. i need Him to wash my feet.
i need Him to whisper to my heart
so prone to wander. so prone to forget.]

my faith seems to be smaller than the smallest mustard seed lately.
circumstances flooding up the walls,
to the left and to the right,
and the water marks of yesterday
are screaming at me.

"LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK!"

i think one reason could be,
and is because i fell into this silly, little rhythm.
here to there
feel this and then that
this time, this place, this person.

and suddenly everything was
sh-sh-shaken uppppppppppppp.

it's good.
shaking is good.
it's beautiful.
shaking is good & beautiful.

shaking lead to the promise land.
i want the promise land.

but knowing is comfortable
and not knowing is uncomfortable

such is life.

but He is chief among ten thousand.
and His face is beautiful.
and His leadership extends beyond perfection.
oh, I love this Man.

i moved out and into a little house with ms. jenny hull.
it's pretty old, and has a funky smell (which we are addressing, i assure you).
but i feel like i'm living the single girl's dream.

house
a best friend
cheap furniture
painting with words on them hung on the wall
books flooding the rooms
music filling the halls
Jesus amidst the independent life that is rushing to an end.
[sometime. someday.]

you know?

we moved in yesterday. and besides the conference, yesterday was my busiest day
since i moved here.
prayed at life stand in the morning (life tape + intercession + abortion clinic)
and transferred ALL of jenny's stuff, and ALL of my stuff to the new house
in approximately 3.7 hours.
after that we watched a beautiful set of twins for a couple hours.
and i came home and fell right to sleep
on my ghetto-shift mattress on the floor.

life is glorious.
life is odd.

while dozing off I knew the Holy Spirit was telling me to pray over my room,
so I did so, quite pathetically, in my little bed, dozing off. should have known that wasn't really effective.
later that night i had some STRAIGHT UP DEMONIC dreams.
first nightmare, in that degree, I've had since a child.
A voice in my dream resounded, TIFFANY!
And I woke straight up with my heart beating a million beats per second.

dreaming is usually my biggest entryway into the spirit realm
and so i knew
some sick stuff was thinking it had found its habitation in this little house.

i would have NONE of that.

so i woke up jenny and we plead the blood of Jesus, the precious blood
that speaks a better word, over every door post, wall, floor, ceiling, and
prophesied light and life and the Presence of God into
our new little home.

[we are learning to warfare. we are learning confidence.
we are refusing to be subject to fear. we are seated with Christ
above every spirit or principality. we are His beloved.]

after this we played music to fill the house
and fell sound asleep.

He has declared:
this is the "House of Promise."
i am starting a new journal soon.
things are shifting.
things are changing.

and i hope i'm ready for it.
i want to reach
depths
i have yet to touch.

i want to love well.
i want to acquire meekness.
i want the fruits of the spirit to be my meal.
and i want to be the
FRAGRANCE OF CHRIST.




& so stepping up
stepping in
stepping away and walking up these
mountains of Yours
is such a frightening feat
but upon You i lean my little frame
trusting
trusting
trusting we are going somewhere
yes, yes we are heading towards Home.

be with Me. be near. Bear upon Your shoulders
the weight of this heart. I am Yours.

5 am escapade.

i think i shall write on here as often as i choose.
there are many reasons i have chosen this.
1.) no one reads this, and so i am quite liberated in what i say
2.) i still feel like i am saying something, and i still feel like someone is listening
3.) my occupation is to pursue the knowledge of God, and therefore, i sit next to my computer 10+ hours a day, and random thoughts fly through my head, why shouldn't i record them?
4.) yes, i hear you, i could just write them in a journal or type them into my own little word document... BUT. i think faster than my hand writes, AND i feel once i press "publish post" these thoughts are no longer with me, but a distant reality in the hands of someone else.

that is enough disclaimer.
i shouldn't have to explain why i may post multiple times a day.
no one really cares.
and
i'm a writer
this is what writers do

and by the way, i use to never call myself a writer
writers were people like emily dickenson and donald miller
and i was tiffany untch. no where close to either or.
And also, i had never dreamed to be a writer at all. i don't think you can dream to be what you are.
that would be like saying, "oh, hello, i dream to be a reader."
how silly.
I AM A READER.
readers are named readers simply because they read.
writers are named writers simply because they write.
i read, i write. i also eat, and i don't find that fascinating whatsoever.
because you eat. you read. and i'm quite sure you write too.

and also. i always became overly perturbed when people would say,
"i am not an artist!"
here tiffany, draw this for me, or do that,
i am not an artist.
i am not an artist.

oh DEAR.
are you a human?
do you have a hand?
can you grab a pencil?

wala! you are an artist.
anything is art. art is you coming outside of yourself and onto paper.
or all its other means.
art is your life recorded.
writing is even art.

we are all artists.
and writers.
and readers.
and eaters of food.

this is the human race.
made in God's image.

anyways, that was not the point of my opening my laptop to type.
the point was this story i am about to tell.

i awoke this morning around 5 am from a rather startling dream.
this is usually a daily occurence, and i always have to fight the urge to be lazy -
and fall back asleep, failing to record the dream (which the Lord is not too pleased about)
or blind myself with my laptop and type it up.

i made a good decision this morning.

and afterwards, i thought it would be a lovely idea to get ready
and drive to barnes and noble.
there i would buy a coffee of some sort and sit and read
"knowledge of the holy" by tozer
and illuminate my spirit.

my heart has been in an odd place the past couple of days...
which is common, at times, and never too suprising.
i thought going and doing would be a lovely idea. lovely indeed.

so i get ready to go, and i realize my keys are missing!

this was a terrible occurence, being i never lose my keys anymore
and i don't even know what a loser of keys begins to do or where one would begin to look?
they are always in either two spots:
or three:
my dresser
my purse
my coat pocket.

and all 3 of these places were void of keys - leaving me quite confused.
i then scurried around the living room, kitchen, dining room and looked in
usual places i had visited with no luck.

now. i must tell you in the midst of all this i had 1 billion and 3 items of clothing upon my floor
and 14 books within my purse.
attached to my personality type is my perfectionist/controller side that will at times have a spotless room,
and at others my right brain/holistic thinking side that at times does not care.
when i slide into the latter i always awake telling myself,
"tiffany, if this doesn't change, you will make a horrible wife."
i know that is a wretched thing to think over yourself, but i think it none the less.
i then make vows to hang up every shirt and skirt and dress before i drift away into slumber -
leaving me a breaker of vows every night.

none the less... with the missing keys and the chaotic room -
a miracle was about to take place.
i began to, in my rush rush way - adopted from my mother -
clean my room one by one with great fervency and expediency.
all i wanted was a coffee and barnes and noble and my keys.

after this event i realized that this was probably some hilarious scheme of the Lords
to get me to clean my room.
He is a good Father... and he knows me too well.

having my room clean, and my keys still m.i.a.,
i decided i ought to do some laundry, being that could be another event
needing to precede the appearing of my keys.
after this was through, hoping the keys were in some pocket or another,
i was still without them and without a hint as to where they could be.

my next thought was to re-organize my entire purse...
then
all my papers and files,
my books,
my closet
and i gathered up reject items for goodwill.

when i then ran out of domestic things to do
i flung myself upon my nicely made bed and began to get frustrated.
my keys had died and disintegrated, no longer in existence and i refused to
live my entire life in my room.

i then began frantically ran around the house looking in the most obscure places...
places i hadn't even visited the prior evening.
i flung open the shower curtain, peering into the bathtub,
i looked in random places in the garage,
i opened the fridge and peered into the vegetable drawer,
i pulled apart every couch,
i checked the silverware drawer,
the inside of my shoes,


and
there
was
nothing.

with failure and defeat singing in my ear, i began to wonder how i was
going to get to service tonight and what i would do all day inside my room...
i then pulled out my computer from it's computer case within my
massively large purse
and

LO AND BEHOLD

beneath it was my keys!!!!!!



this is what it takes for me to do menial tasks.
God have mercy on my future home.

these are the times.

sometimes i get this ache in my stomach.
or an ache in my heart.
aches all around, that lift up my arms
to reach out
to touch something
other than
porcelain cases of
yesterday's shame.

i heard a man once,
wanted to travel the world
see its mystery and charm
feel its rushing rivers flow
under his hands
but then he tasted the
Transcendent
and
traded
all
that
in.

for a simple life of
voluntary lack.

for the Transcendent One is chief among ten thousand.

and so the ache is the blood
rushing through these veins
pumping life and hope and truth
that

this will all be worth it.

because sometimes i question.
and i wonder.
and i question.

and i think to myself,
"aye, why not throw this to the wind?
and embrace my little arms around the fanciful,
sparkling,
twinkling rib cage of the man called
'a vapor'
and dance with him til he is taken away..."

but it's a silly game.
to pour your love into a piece of grass.
here today
gone tomorrow.

i'd rather dance with the Invisible
who
takes
away
my
Shame.


[and again i say Rejoice.]

looking back. looking forward.

i've always been a reader.
mother use to tell me i would sit in the hallway
for hours, with a pile of books next to me,
as high as my little blonde head,
devouring them one by one -
as if it was normal for a child
to be so fancied with paper and words.

in kindergarten my teacher allowed me to
read the large english text books of the upperclassman
during nap time.
i remember looking forward to this glorious event after lunch
every single day.
my classmates would scurry to their cubbies for their blankets
while i scurried to the bookshelf to find my new adventure.
i would station myself next to the window
and read by the afternoon sunlight
streaming through the windows, while dust floated through the air,
and the teacher shut
off the lights while all the other children dozed into dreaming.

i've always chosen reading over sleeping.
i'd lay in bed at nights, for hours, turning page after page:
there would be novels about mysterious lands,
and adventurous children,
and days long, long ago.
mother would peek her head in every 30 minutes or so to tell me
it was time for bed, being it that school was the next morning
but she rarely had the heart to tear me away.
finally she began to allow me to read until i pleased,
and i'd finish books in a night...
filling my little brain
and feeding my hungry heart - as i longed for adventure,
and i thirsted for greatness.

i believe i was (as most are) born with that little voice within that cries out for...
something bigger than myself.
escapades further than i'd known.
life outside my little room and my little body and my little boundaries
which normalcy so often forms for us.

i clearly remember the first time i read through the bible.
i can remember the book so clearly,
with it's thick white cover - and the cartoon drawn characters
so brightly colored and wide eyed.
it was a children's bible - highlighting the main stories of scripture.
adam & eve
abraham & isaac
jacob & esau
joseph & his brothers
moses & the israelites
jesus in the manger
paul shipwrecked
and finally revelation.

being intrigued by last weeks sunday school
i picked it up off my short little bookshelf
and crawled to the end of the bed
lying on my belly with my feet kicking up in the air
i even remember the lighting of the room,
with it's seemingly high ceilings,
glowing white walls,
and fan spinning and twirling above me.
i read it from front to back, and even had some
feelings of "holiness" which were probably my
first encounters with sickening self-righteousness
i'm not sure how old I was.
1st grade?
2nd grade?

the book of revelation was my all-time favorite
i reread it's large text many times over -
with all it's colors and numbers and trumpets and seals...
i was fascinated and wondered why it had never been
spoken about in church, being it was more
intriguing to me than offering teachings,
the hymns we sung, or any other science fiction/fantasy novel
i had come across.

there was something about it that drew me into it's mystery.

i also can recall my second encounter with it,
in the same room, around the same time of night, upon the same little bed
with it's floral sheets and white and golden bed posts...
this time, however, it was a new little bible.
my mother had passed it down to me a couple months before
as a very ceremonious mother/daughter event.
my family wasn't big on tradition -
we weren't organized enough for that,
but i distinctly remember this being a rather precious event.
the bible was old. my mother had received it when she was 12,
her mother's dedication was beautifully scripted behind the front cover
which was encased with red leather, full of creases
and loosing it's binding as time wore on.

it was the living translation
written like a little book - yet sticking pretty true to interpretation.
it had ancient looking maps in the back, creased page corners,
and photos taken in the 60's of Jerusalem and the red sea.

i found myself stumbling upon that final chapter again
as i sat upon my bed reading through it's words
i read it and reread it, many times over.
i wasn't sure how to take it. symbolism? reality?
and all i could think of was the terrifying words:
THE MARK OF THE BEAST
it caused me to tremble within...
for who was this terrifying beast?
and how would he try to mark us?
branding with hot irons?
tattoos to our foreheads?
i even began to recall a conversation I had overheard about new inventions coming out of implanting microchips into the arms of all citizens
this, they said with such scandal, would be for anyone who wished to by or sell...
a precursor, they said, of
THE MARK OF THE BEAST

I thought about this beast, and this terrifying antichrist
who i imagined would have fangs and eyeballs that glowed
i read about the dragon and the horns
and i grew frustrated with my lack of understanding.
when i didn't understand,
i got frustrated
in all things really.
my puffed up, prideful little heart liked to grasp everything
immediately, and hated to submit to questioning on my part
or teaching on another's.

i had become a school contained.
my own education system.
that is why i read during science
and drew pictures during history.
i would wait until the evening to teach myself.

i don't think i ever learned how to learn.

anyways - back to little girl upon the bed reading apocalyptic literature.
i left revelation that night, and decided not to return to it for awhile.
it seemed a tad too frightening
and so very irrelevant to my little life
of american eagle graphic tees
and trips to the teen center
and craft making with alex.
plus, no one talked about it anyway,
so obviously they were terrified of it too.

it's funny... now i find myself in a place
that spends almost every saturday night focused
upon that book and its' enigmas
they dive into that which is entitled, truly, the REVELATION of Jesus
and in it's terrifying beatuy, I've found an entryway
into the heart of the Father
and the passion of His Son.

perfect love has driven out fear.

and there were other books that I was drawn to:
one such were novels written about martyrs - the young, the old,
the men, the women.
i found martyrdom and persecution fascinating.
it probably all comes back to what C.S. Lewis means when
he talks about our longing for eternity.
for adventure authored by the Lord
our deep yearning for that which will come with the Millennial Kingdom
our desire for greatness
and fascination
and beauty

and so these things, hidden within the heart of a small little girl
with big blue eyes that so often found themselves hidden within books
day after day,
plagued me and left me wanting.

old victorian martyrs
and those found in the days of the great roman empire
moved my heart the most
i just pictured myself in a corseted dress
with my brownish blonde locks tied up in a fancy way
facing the rugged, wicked roman soldiers
with such grace and elegance
dignity shining upon my face
as i proclaimed my love for Jesus
which brought the sword to my throat.

i always longed to be a martyr,
for reasons i could never quite identify,
besides the aforementioned which doesn't seem to be enough
to cause a child to pine for her own murder.

by the time i reached high school,
i firmly decided upon two things.
1.) the Lord told me I was going to be a martyr
2.) that must mean I am called to be a missionary to the middle-east.
I came upon that revelation while sitting in a small house in
a village in Thailand.
I was smooshed up against a wall with my other 15 teammates,
while my friend joshua played away on the guitar
and the zealous teenagers cried out for the power of God.

I can see it so clearly, my little blue journal upon my knees
as I closed my eyes and decided this is what had to be done.
if i was to be a martyr, what other path was there?
the life of a missionary seemed to be the only way.

american christianity was too passive
and therefore i was driven into believing i was called to the dangerous
parts of the world...
the dark corners persecution was found.

not because i longed to die for Jesus (though I did)
but because i believed that that was what the Lord told me to do
and i was willing to do anything...
to graduate high school and "change the world"
to live a full life for God...
you know the typical feelings every young, enthusiastic Christian gets after reading "through gates of splendor" or going to a commissioning service at Teen Mania

now i look upon that time with a smile and a little laughter
at my young zeal and extreme naivety.
i see things so different now.
the book of revelation.
martyrdom.
love in the One coming upon the white horse,
who will soon
split the clouds.

i am sitting here at barnes in noble,
in a usual green striped chair with folk music blaring above my head
and an old man with loafers to my right.
earlier i had picked up a book by "Voice of the Martyrs"
and read about a handful of the thousands of brave souls, who are be tortured, imprisoned, or killed for their faith
heroes scattered all throughout history.
i read about perpetua - the beautiful wife and mother - who
raised her hands and sang to her Beloved as the sword pierced her throat
and Siao-Mei, a 5 year old from China, who willingly took on imprisonment with her mother in the name of Jesus
and Walter Milne, a 52 year old man, who joyfully burned at the stake and brought thousands into the kingdom by his bravery and love

I sit here, trying to cry quietly, as not to disturb those browsing through books
and reading newsweek.
I cry because Jesus is real, and eternity is real, and
the coming Judge, He who is going to make
ALL THE WRONG THINGS RIGHT,
is absolutely, undoubtedly, REAL.
and it is no loss, it is no sacrifice, it is no cost, to take upon affliction
and suffering and death for His name
out of love.
all for love.
because He loves.

I sit here and cry because this will no longer be a reality for
missionaries in un-reached tribes and middle-east nations
but the Church at large
as evil increases and the lust of the Harlot of Bablyon arises
to drink the spilled blood of thousands whom
didn't shrink back nor let their love grow cold.

soon, very soon, my friends, our proclamation shall be,
"We overcame the enemy,
by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of our testimony;
not loving our lives so much as to
SHRINK BACK FROM DEATH."

Soon, very soon, my beloved, we shall complete
the book of martyrs, and write it's final chapter.

Soon, very soon, the book of revelation will come alive
before our very eyes...
and we shall be tortured and killed because we will not take the mark
and

He shall come to vindicate His bride
and usher in the Year of the Lord we have
so longed for within our hearts.

Very soon.
Very soon.

[yes, the whisperings within the heart of my childhood will be answered, and we will be caught up within a drama so much greater than ourselves.]

Amen
(so be it.)