Dating Analogies from Andrea

Conversing with my oh so wise roommate andrea-

Me- I don't know what I want so maybe I want to try everything.

Andrea- Haha. It's kinda like wanting to use all the testers at the Macy's perfume counter.

Me- Yes! But I can't just pick one.... Hmmm. What does this mean?

Andrea- Well if you try all the samples it always smells like disaster.

Me- Oh... I don't like that lesson. 

Andrea- Haha. Figures. Perfume can't buy dinner anyways!


Just another reason why Andrea is a fantastic roommate.

Held

Maybe that is what I want.

To be held.

My mind is a jumble.

My heart is lost.

I don't know what I want from anything or anyone.

But when I am being held I am not as confused.

Maybe all I want right now is the security of arms.

Whose they are is not important.

Just that they are.

Addictions

Everybody has them. Those little things in your life that somehow consume you. They seem harmless at first, and many times they in themselves are harmless, but as they work their way into your life you find it impossible to remove them. I have a few. Recently my roommates had an intervention for me. It involved the rendering of my facebook password. That is right. I am locked out. I know this is ridiculous, but it is driving me nuts. It is strange to open my computer and not open it. I know it's what is best for me, but that doesn't make it easy. Unfortunately facebook is not my only addiction. What I failed to mention is that it was a double intervention. Facebook is not the only addiction venomous to my system. My heart has others. I know what is best for me, but achieving it is easier said then done. There is a simple cure to matters of the book, but, when it comes to matters of the heart, addiction is a far more difficult opponent. 

Facebookers have passwords.

Chainsmokers have patches.

Alcoholics have rehab.

Hurt Hearts have....

Take Me Out To The Ball Game.

I love it.
Baseball, that is.
It is WONDERFUL.
I also love Mark Reynolds.
He is ADORABLE.
He plays third base for the Diamondbacks.
I caught a foul ball at the mlb game today.
My cousin was jealous.
I love baseball.

The Hardening

It seems to me that as we move through our relational lives we go from having soft light hearts to hard heavy hearts.
We start out loving and trusting and handing out our hearts left and right to anything and everything fantastic.
Over time these fantastic things, or fantastic people fail us and hand our heart back to us slightly bruised, or badly cut.
We invest in this world, and this world is broken.
In return we our left broken.
And so our hearts heal and strengthen.
Strengthen.
Harden.
Life is easier with a hard heart.
These fantastic things and fantastic people that our hearts were once drawn to and inevitably hurt by don't get through quite as easily.

A hard heart is a safe heart.
But what is there to lose?

In hardening our heart we abandon relationship.
The only true joy in life comes from relationship.
We as humans were made by our creator to be lovers.
Lovers of both him and others.
Which means allowing our hearts to invest in others, and allowing others to break our hearts.
But in the break it is not a matter of repair, it is a matter of continuation.
Despite personal hurt and pain, allowing our hearts to continue on.
To love those who hurt us.
To break again and again.
And not to harden.
To keep our focus on the father above who has asked but one thing of us.

To love.
To live broken lives for his glory.

Over the course of this summer I have come to the realization that I have allowed my heart to harden. This is not the easiest thing to fix. I am attempting to relearn trust and hope. Being hard has its advantages but as a close friend pointed out to me it lacks the beauty of a soft heart.

"We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home." To Write Love On her Arms

No, you don't always have to run

To someone dear to my heart,
Things are scary right now.
Dread and hurt may want to drag you down.
This is the calm before the storm.
It's dark.
It's scary.
You may feel you are going it alone.
The urge to run may load up like a bullet in a gun, ready for the trigger to be pulled.
Ready to leave it all behind.
To hide, and escape the valley.
The drop.
It's ok.
Slow down.
This may hurt.
Rough waters may be ahead.
Fear is a natural reaction.
But don't run.
Slow down.
Let God hold your hand through it.
All storms eventually pass.
And every storm survived provides strength.
It is going to be ok.
You aren't alone.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Psalms 23:4

One brief conversation and two hours later.

So I haven't the slightest idea when I initially set this up, but I was reminded of its existence a few hours ago and felt compelled to make sense of the chaos that is blogspot. Two hours later. I am done. This is the only thing I have actually written tonight. Everything else is composed of echoes from the past. I make no promises with this. It took me who knows how long to finally set it up, keeping up may be a whole other issue. I write my heart. My heart wants sleep.
So for now- Peace Out Cub Scout

Butterfly

Sleek beautiful wings gently flutter through the air,
Flower to flower she flies.
Home is where her feet are,
And her feet are never there for long.
Permanence is a gift bestowed on others.
She is flighty and inconsistent.
Her head finds no pillow to rest on.
She is a butterfly,
The breeze is her bed.
Strong winds blow,
Icy rain falls on her tiny body.
Her wings torn and tired,
Her heart desperate for rest,
For a pillow of petals to lay her head on.
She longs to escape the breeze.
Yet she is a wanderer,
It is what she was made for.
Permanence, consistency,
These are gifts for others.
She knows them not.

Matthew 11:28 Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

Porcelein Doll

Her hair in spiral curls,
Face painted into a perpetual smile,
Eyes wide soaking in the world.
She is small, malleable, yet stiff.
Her skin is smooth, hard, and evenly colored.

Flawless porcelain.

A toy to be played with.
Her beauty seen, but not understood.
Rough hands lift the doll, intrigued for a time, yet unsatisfied.
Tossed to the side her smooth porcelain shell cracks.

Her hair remains in spiral curls,
Face painted into a perpetual smile,
Eyes wide soaking.
She is small, malleable, yet stiff.
Her skin is cracked, broken, and evenly colored.

Flawed Porcelain.

Shadows

Cast by the light of day

Organized, planned, expected.

Tidy circles drawn as shadows grow and shrink.

Cast by the gleam of night

Disorganized, frightening, haunting.

Falling here and there as long creepy figures storm through the night.

It is easy to live through the shadows of the day.

It is the night shadows that frighten me,

The ones that attack in shifty patterns at the most vulnerable of moments.

Running Fingers Through God's Hair: A Gentle Reminder

Kaladi Conversations:
In preperation for tomorrow night's small group bible study Jen and I conversed on who God is. While listening to her description I was reminded of the night God showed me his face.

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Dark field, cool breeze, tired heart... People inside, me outside, God watching...

"Take off your shoes," his voice whispers...

My thin sandals slip off causing grass and skin to collide...

"You say I am not tangible. You say I am to far away, and that you must seek out comfort from a closer source."

A breeze blows rustling the grass of the field...

"Feel me. I am the grass beneath your feet. I made that and I am in it."

Flowers hang from a nearby tree...

"Hold me. I am the petals of a flower. I made that and I am in it."

Flower clutched tightly, to my knees I fall...

"I am tangible although my touch is not always recognized. I am close, call on me and I will answer. You are my child, and you need only come to me for comfort."

A tear falls, I run my hand through the grass... God's Hair
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Jen talks to me further about who God is and where he is. He is the grass on the ground, the flower on a tree, the breeze through a field, the snow covered mountain peak, the sun setting in an array of colors. Jen talks of how often God is overlooked; how he shows himself to us so often, and so often we do not see him. I have seen him. How blessed I was to hear his voice that clear April night.