.deluded.

Most days if I could excommunicate this girl I would.
so deeply entangled in the lie that is her reality.
some part of her can give contentment to others, she decieves herself.
some part of her has something to offer, her existence is tragic.
but part of me is fearful that I wouldn’t do it,

i wouldn’t shut her out if given the opportunity

she sucks up all the air in the room.
any emotion felt is expanded upon and ballooned into some distorted veracity.
so much a part of myself-
 to kill her would either snuff out my boldness or drop the bottom out of my insecurity.
my lack of bravery is an odd way to represent us both. 

im terrified that without her delusion-

i'd be potent.

.you fell out.

people call her ophilia,
because that's her name.
they like to say her hair is golden
or honey colored
but she knows just as well
.it's the equivalent of rust.
she steps into rooms
quietly acknowledging the loudness inside of her.
there is no hesitation when it comes to her spirit.
she refuses to be afraid of the roar she inheretly posses,
she gave up apologizing for it years ago.
Alone- she revels in solitude. devouring blank pages, canvases, sound waves.
Together- she adores soaking up those around her.
Not allowing them to sink in- but soak.

.it swells.

 

.sometimes you almost feel like the beautiful woman of God you always hoped you were. it's like you see a glimpse of who you always dreamt you could be. and for a moment you believe it's possible. it's that fraction of a second where the relief (of finally seeing the beauty inside you being represented) swells. then it's gone. but you're glad it isn't always this way, or you tell yourself that. because if you always saw or could feel this tiny bit of beauty it wouldn't mean as much to you. so you read and re-read 1 peter 3:3-5 

"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. For this is the way the holy women of the past who put their hope in God used to adorn themselves."

.and then you pray. you pray that He will change you. or give people eyes to see your spirit instead of your body. you knock on the door, having realized the person that you are, knowing that the only beautiful thing in you is your God. you knock on the door and ask for anything more beautiful than yourself, anything quiet and gentle. and the only thing that you want is Christ.

.and the only thing you want. .is Christ.

.and all that comes with Him.

.capturing damage.

"i want you to be a writer", she said... "you are so good at capturing damage."


You We promised You'd We'd never be like them.
remembering the pain of years spent
picking up and sorting through their mess.
we promised we'd never be like them.
but it's late.
and it's more complicated than we could've imagined.
disregaurding our parents fumbles by
not viewing them as warning signs.
allowing the bruises to be covered with burns.
the tension is high; comforting.
this household, charachterized by the harsh words, hateful tones,
hurts we inflicted, and pain we've aquired.
and somedays, if not everyday
we try and muster up the strength to pray,
Pray that the love that once was.
is still enough.
that we are different.
but i don't know anymore.

are you learning to forget?

i am many things.

i am a liar. i scream "know me!" and "hide me!" in the same breath. 

i am a fool. i excuse acts of debauchery for youth. and i run my mouth as if words have no consequence, just like my actions. 

i am lazy. i'll sleep all day. and when you call me sloth, i'll imagine slapping you instead of getting up to do it.

i am of little faith. one day i'm all in. next hour i've got one foot out the door.

the mystery, 

the mystery that i am often faced with is

when people know me and love me.

when they get me and still love me.

when someone understands me. 

and loves me in spite of myself.

that is my God. that is my Christ.

i am the unlovely. the untouchable.

the ruiner. the least likely. the last place. 

knowing this about myself. 

knowing that i am all of these things.

knowing that i am broken.

i will try so hard, so hard, i promise.

and i will let everyone down. 

my fatal flaw is my nature.

and for that, i apologize.

lately i've been thinking i should warn people when they meet me.
maybe they should sign some sort of waiver- 

it might be easier for you if you avoid me,

it might be easier for you if you shut me out. 

but if you let me in, 

i'll try.

i don't want to be your Savior.

but ill try to love like Him.

ill try to listen with His ears 

and see with His eyes.

just a thought.

my spirit will one day sit on the steps of eternity
and i will have forgotten all that i once was.

.the earth trembles.

Sometimes things are okay.
Okay when nothing feels okay.
Okay when nothing and everything is.

When you stand on a foreign street corner and stare up at the giant Cathedral as the sun bounces off of the golden top and somehow makes the atmosphere feel golden as well. And you ask what cathedral it is and they begin to tell you that the story goes that the Apostle Andrew stood on the hill that the cathedral is now ontop of and prophesied that this city will be a great Christian city, so it's Saint Andrew's Cathedral. And you smile and close your eyes with the golden light warming your face and your soul.
You live out the rest of your day like usual.

and as the night rolls in and you think about it... that feeling seems a figment of your imagination. because now you sit here alone knowing only the pain and strange sadness that you must create for yourself. You pray and say "I know that You are good and that should be enough." and you not so secretly take a breath wishing that the rapture would come and would wait at the exact same second.

.as I travel the land.

I'm sitting on a windowsill in Kiev, "the" Ukraine. It's like 1 am here. I guess our bodies aren't acclimated yet...acclimated, I like that word.

Here I sit- remembering what it was like to be on fire and remembering what it was like to be desperate. I suppose because I deal in such polars as those, this place is different- I'm not cold or Luke warm or numb or any of that- I'm just waiting, actively waiting.

And GOOD LORD it's harder than I would imagine, but I always underestimate everything.

"I know things turn strange, sometimes nobody knows your name"

I know that life can't always be green hills and laughter with friends but that sounds perfect right now. Give me a sunny day with the windows down and good music as well as company and that is my dream right now. we'll stop at a cemetery and eat fruit and smoke cloves. This is what I look forward to when I get back.

I'm going to try and sleep while ignoring the loud cries of beyond tired little children.

"and as I travel the land I don't care where I am if the sun is shining down on me. And I step out my door and give thanks to the Lord for the life that He gave me

I miss friendship. But I love traveling.
i know that this 6 weeks is gonna be crazy good for God to teach me things.
Things of which I have yet to stumble upon or catch wind of.



I'm excited. And Josh Garrels helps, oh how he helps.