I like making people laugh. If I was funny enough I'd be a comedian. But alas, I'm not.
I guess I could say that my need to make people laugh stems from my parents divorce, wanting to be accepted and all that crap. But I don't think that's what it is. And I don't like using my parents divorce as an excuse or reason for every little personality trait I have. I think that's lame. Yeah, I know nature versus nurture. But God gave us free will. He lets us decide who we want to be and where we want to go. Circumstances might lead me to a certain destination but I can choose to not follow. Right? I think so. And since this is my blog I can write what I think.
So basically this extremely random blog is saying, I can be who I want. The past may be a part of me but I don't need to let it dictate me.
And although being a comedian would be nice, I would hate having to come up with so much new material all the time. I'm inventive but not THAT inventive.
I was laying on the cold ground one night. My hands were clasped behind my head and my eyes were fastened on the sky. This night like so many other nights I was worried. I was worried that I might never reach my destination. I was worried that my life would be a deep hole. Dark, damp, deep hole. I was worried that I would die inside the hole I had created. I was worried that others would succumb to the hole as well. I thought I was the only one in the entire universe who had these thoughts. For a while I convinced myself that I was. What a fool. Do I think myself so unique that no one else struggles like I do? My Father brought me out of my dark reverie. He reminded me that He would mold me with His own hands. And I would be a light if I just let Him work.
I began to think about my Father's hands. Would they be calloused like the old man I saw on the road? Would they be smooth like the hands of a king should be? Would they be wrinkeled with age, showing the sadness He has seen and the wars He had fought? I entertained myself with these thoughts. I didn't come to a conclusion of what my Father's hands would look like.
But I longed to be home already. I longed to feel His hands on my face, welcoming me home.
It happened again. The sin which I struggle with. I caved in. There I was walking, ever walking, and I stumbled. I stumbled so hard I cut my knee and had a gash on my arm. I was bloodied. I was bruised. I was hurt. I was ashamed. I did it to myself. I made myself feel like death. I placed myself in the path to the otherside. It always happens. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but I'm not. Everytime I stumble; I want to scream, cry, and pity myself. As I was walking on this new path. This dark path. This path of evil, I was frightened. Terribly frightened. Terribly ashamed. I didn't think my Father would want such a dark creature in his Kingdom. I heard whispers that laced into my ear. They pounded and drove inside my head. They said I would never be good enough. They said I would always stumble. They said I wasn't wanted.
For days I traveled on this path. I was sick. I would retch and vomit along the road. It seemed my sickness was trying to purge my sin from my body. It didn't work. I was miserable. I shudder as I think of those days. I had built hell around me, and it was so convoluted a maze I thought I would die. Forever lost.
O how I missed my Father! I ached for Him. How I ached! One night, as I lay wounded and dirty on the cold ground a soft wind rustled my hair. I felt a moment of warmth. My bones crackled, my fingers tingled, and the briefest of smiles fell upon my lips. In the moment I remembered a story. I remembered that I didn't need to be here. I remembered that I was wanted, that I was loved, that I was needed by my Father. I lifted my dirt filled body from the ground and knelt. I prayed.
"Father forgive me for I have sinned. I am worthless. My heart is as black as coal. 'I am a zoo of lusts'. Embrace me. Amen."
It took me two days to find the path I had once traveled. A sense that I will be back on the road of selfishness fills me from time to time. But I just tell my Father to protect me. And He does. He whispers in my ear words of love, that make me weep and smile. My Father has never forsaken me. My Father will NEVER forsake me. My Father forgives me. My Father loves me.
I met a man on the road one day. It was a bright day but there was a breeze that my Father had blessed me with. The man I met was old. Very old. His shoulders were stooped. His steps were a bit shuffled. His clothes were more worn than mine. As the man came upon me he said hello. I in turn nodded and continued on my way not really looking at him but he called me back. He asked if I was hungry. I said, yes. He asked if I was thirsty, I said yes. He beckoned me to follow him to a little wooden cottage, if you could call it that. It was tiny. But it was clean. There was one chair. A small kitchen and a pallet on the floor. He bid me to sit on his one chair. I sat.
He gave me water, I drank thirstily. He gave me bread and honey, I feasted on it. All this time I had not really looked at the old man's face. I took a break from chewing and looked at the huddled mass of worn cloth and curved shoulders. He smiled and asked if it was good. And I nodded my head as if in a daze. The old man was beautiful. Not in the way you think. But in ways infinetely better.
The corners of his eyes were so crinkled the skin overlapped a bit. I could tell he spent a lot of time laughing because the lines around his mouth curved upward. His eyes, O his eyes! The way they sparkled. It was like a light from within was trying to escape. His eyes were bursting with light. I felt myself wanting to capture it and put it in a jar so I too could have that light. His hands seemed rough. They were calloused. Hands that were never idle. Hands that helped, hands that healed, hands that were often lifted high with rejoicing. Oh yes, this man although poor, although obviously alone, rejoiced. And often.
The various valleys and hills on his face showed me he was old. It showed me he had spent many days out in the sun. It showed me he was beautiful, in ways I couldn't even descibed. It showed that he had traveled a long time with a man I knew. He had traveled with my Father. I thanked him for my sustenance and was on my way.
Today as I was walking I saw a girl crying. Her shirt was wet with the tears of her face. And although I wanted to keep walking I stopped and asked her what was wrong. Her eyes were pools of sadness. I saw my own reflection in them. I knelt down beside her and tried to comfort. I asked God for help and He gave it. She told me how she was worthless, how she did sinful things over and over. I laid my hand on her knee. And I looked at my hand and noticed the wrinkles. I saw how intricate my hand was. And before I looked at her I shared a secret smile with my Father. Because He had shown me how full of worth we are. I told her she was a princess. I told her she was the daughter of the King of the Universe. And I told her that over and over we sin. Sin. Sin. Sin. Sin. Ugly. Stupid. Nonsensical. Repetitive. We all do it. I told her a quote I remembered, "We carry the nails in our pockets." Her tears were still falling when I left, but softer now. I hope I helped.
It was night. The stars were beautiful, looking at them distracted me from the hard ground I was sleeping on. I was lonely tonight. I was happy. But I was lonely. Happy. But lonely. I remembered a story my grandfather would tell me when I was little. I remembered how Adam was lonely in the most beautiful place on earth but God gave him Eve. I shifted to my side and moved a stone that was botherng me. I remembered how God had taken the very rib of Adam to make Eve. And all at once my eyes teared. I was happy. But I was lonely. I told God how I have waited for Adam for a while now and he hasn't come. Silence. I told Him how I didn't want to travel by myself anymore. More silence. As tears streamed silently down my face I had the urge to march up to Heaven and take God by the shoulders. I wanted to shake Him. And make the Great I Am answer my question. I didn't. And He didn't tell me when my Adam was coming. I didn't think He would. But I remember feeling a tug on my heart. And then a push. And then my mind caught on to what was happening in my heart. Wait. That's what God told me. And I turned to my other side. Removed another rock from my back and slept. Peacefully.
I'm a stranger in a scary land. I've lived here my whole life but have never been comfortable. I feel so insignificant. Like nothing will ever really matter. A voice whispers in my ear that what I do doesn't affect anything. I've stumbled so many times while traveling from town to town. My sandals are broken and my legs are aching and my arms are bruised from falling. I'm always lost. Not once have I known what I was doing or where I was going. My life consists of questions. Questions that hurt my brain when I ponder them. Questions that are never answered. Questions that in essence don't even need to be asked. But still I am tormented. Ever tormented, ever lost, ever wandering. I've searched for home, for years and years. But I never found it.
I started my journey with friends. I leaned on them, depended on them but now I am alone. They were drawn to the bright lights of some of the towns we passed. So many times I wanted to go into the town and see what they were all about. The music was so seductive, the aroma of the food so enticing, and the people seemed so happy. But my legs refused to walk where my wayward heart was tempted to go. And instead of the sadness I would expect to feel, in it's place was relief and joy.
Sometimes along the way I would see traverlers such as I. Some were hungry and naked and I am ashamed to say I did not clothe or feed them. On my journey I would stay and tell them I was too busy to help them today, I had to get home. As I write this I hang my head in shame. So much I could've done. But for my selfishness I didn't.
My eyes are closing and my body is longing to be covered by the sheets of my bed. But my fingers are itching to write what my mind is contemplating. Why is loving people so hard? In the Bible it says to love your neighbor as you love yourself. Does this mean I don't love myself? I'm pretty sure I love myself. I'm not always proud of the things I do but I love myself. I love my family, my friends, I even love my dog. So why is it so hard for me to love other people. How could Jesus love strangers? It boggles my mind. I want to search the depths of my heart until I can come up with love for the woman sitting on the bench, or the man walking by. But all I can find is indifference. How can I love a stranger? God show me how. Your love is perfect I know that, mine is far from it. Teach me how to love. I don't know how. I have a sign in my room that I wrote with a green marker- Love people. Make them know they matter. Love people. Love people. I need to be reminded. Is that sad? I think so. But I console myself that I'm trying. That I am seeking advice from the greatest couselor in the whole universe. The One who is couseling me has written every book worth reading about love.
My God, show me how to love. I forget. I've forgotten. Remind me.
My God, show me how to love. I forget. I've forgotten. Remind me.
Fall. I love it. Have you ever smelled fall? Have you ever just inhaled and knew that today is the day fall began for you? It wraps around you and warms you despite the cold. It's wonderful. Everything is orange and red, there are leaves strewn everywhere. Everytime you walk there's a crunchy sound beneath your feet. There's a chill in the air but it invigorates. Everyone pulls out their jackets out of the closets, hot chocolate is now found at every corner. You find more excuses to go to coffee shops. Colorful scarves cover the necks of every person. If you notice more people are happier in fall. That is scientific fact. ;]
God blessed us with fall.