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.