Faith Remains

So, I decided I would try to post every Saturday, but today I wrote something so brilliant that I felt like I had to share it RIGHT NOW. It is what I would label “prose poetry.” I am super excited about it! (now you get to read it and tell me it’s the worst junk you’ve ever read…)

If you want the full effect, you’ll have to listen to “Storm All Around You” with John Thurlow while reading. And for the last bit, although not as epic, “Deep Cries Out” by William Matthews will work.

Faith Remains

There was rain. It dripped down the glass. The rain was everywhere. It bled out of the sky. It flooded the streets. It made its way into every crack. It made its way into every crevice. It chased every animal out of its hole. There was rain. There was rain with no end in sight, but an end in mind.

There was wind. It blew open the door. The wind was enclosing. It pushed the sky to its limits. It rampaged our dreams. It made its way through every jacket. It made its way through every shelter. It blew our hair into our faces. There was wind. There was wind with no respite available, nothing could hide from it.

There was thundering. It shattered the storm’s silence. The thunder was present. It didn’t remain in the sky. It destroyed the thought of escape. It burst into our minds. It burst into our thoughts. It denied the existence of peace. There was thunder. There was thunder without anything holding it back, unleashed upon the hapless earth.

There was lightning. It sped over the clouds. The lightning was unending. It was the light of the sky. It scarred the back of our minds. It broke our eyes. It broke our life. It gloated over us until we dissipated into the rain. There was lighting. There was lighting stretching as far back as I could remember, and now nothing else could remain unlit by the darkness of it.

There was storm. It destroyed everything we thought was ours. The storm was death, but it didn’t die. It mauled the sky itself, ruthless. It overturned everything in its path. It shoved its way into every part of our being. It shoved its way into every darkness we’d ever had. It poured others into us until we couldn’t help but flee. There was storm. There was storm with no light but darkness, and no comfort but pain. Soon we couldn’t tell the difference.

But faith remained.

There was rain. There was wind. There was thundering. There was lightning. There was a storm all around us.

But faith remained.

So He arose. He destroyed everything we thought was ours. He was life, and he didn’t die. He discarded what the world believed. He conquered all in His path. He shoved His way into every part of our being. He shoved His way into every darkness we’d ever had. He poured Himself into us until we couldn’t help but die. He arose. He arose with no darkness, no pain. But with light and comfort.

He arose. He arose early to send His prophets to us. He was unending. He was the light of the world. He imprinted Himself onto the back of our minds. He broke our hearts. He broke our chains. He danced over us until we saw Him. He arose. He stretches back as far as I could remember, and now nothing can remain unlit by the love of Him.

He arose. He shattered the heart’s silence. He was present. He didn’t remain in the sky. He destroyed the thought of doubt. He burst into our minds. He burst into our thoughts. He denied the power of sin over us. He arose. He arose without anything holding Him back, unleashed upon the helpless earth.

He arose. He blew down the wall. He was encasing our hearts. He pushed us to our limit. He rampaged our dreams. He made His way through every guard. He made His way through every boundary. He blew our faults into our eyes. He arose. He arose with no respite available, nothing could hide from Him.

He arose. He knocked on our doors. He was everywhere. He bled out of the sky. He flooded the streets. He made His way into every crack. He made His way into every crevice. He chased every sin out of its home. He arose. He arose with no end in sight in either direction.

And faith remains.

Coffeeshophorrors

 

So Young, Free, and Blessed

About a week ago, my sister and I were having a midnight conversation. We were talking about the piano, and how I wished I were better, because, at heart, with my art, I feel like if I can’t utterly astound someone with the piano, then I shouldn’t perform. I said that the problem with that was that all the people who would actually appreciate the effort put into a single piece are better at piano than I am. “Y’know,” she said, “Sometimes I think you forget that you’re only 13.”

“Sometimes?” I responded. “I almost never remember.”

A year ago, all I could think about was my age. It was something I couldn’t really get over. The fact that I was twelve, in a group of freshman and sophomores, was embarrassing most of the time. This is because, besides having overall less social experience, I’m homeschooled and I was shy. I liked people, but I wasn’t sure how to make them like me. I’m probably not kidding when I say most of my thought was devoted to that kind of subject.

Looking at myself and then looking at the “standard” 13-year-old, I am completely different.

The standard 13-year-old doesn’t have 7 older siblings, and doesn’t grow up in a sincerely Christian home, and doesn’t go to a Christian homeschool co-op where all those involved become part of the family. They don’t have a school where the students decide they want to use their hour for lunch time to have a bible study. They don’t have friends who get all excited for worship nights. They don’t struggle with using their arts to the glory of God. They don’t grow up loving long hikes, adventures, and camping (I mean REAL camping, not the kind in a cabin or an RV). They don’t look to the Bible for answers. They don’t try to attend three churches at a time. They don’t have an older brother who’s a youth pastor and 16 years older than them.

I haven’t been to public school. I haven’t spoken a swear word more than once in my entire life. I have no idea what a “normal” person is like. I’ve never gone to school every day. I’ve never eaten lunch in a cafeteria. I’ve never been in class larger than 20 people. I’ve never been comfortable inviting people over to my house, or been good at arranging dates and time to hang out with my friends. I’ve never had or wanted a boyfriend. I’ve never had my own room.

(If anyone reading this disagrees with the stereotype I’ve created, PRAISE GOD! I want someone to prove me wrong.)

My ambition exceeds my age. I want to become a composer. All I can play (and ever want to play) is piano. A month ago, I was looking at music classes in the JC. I won’t be able to take them for two years. I’m a sophomore in high school. I should be in Jr. High.

There’s a reason for that, and this is why I think that Jr. Highers may not be pushed hard enough or in the right direction. My older sister is 15 years old, and I wanted to be in her class because she was the only person I could rely on. Therefore, I joined the class two grades ahead of me in Jim Bridger, and I worked until I could stay.

I keep telling people, I’m not smart, I just think ahead of where I am. A year ago, I didn’t really care about God, but now I love Him so much, and I have a new reason for thinking ahead of where I am.

“Blessed is he who reads and those who hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written in it, for the time is near.” -Revelation 1:3

I just now realize how overstated this is, how deaf we’ve become to the words “the time is near.” We don’t really believe that, do we?

But I know Jesus is returning soon, and the time is near. Or maybe the time is near for me to return to Him. I don’t have time to think about what age I am anymore, since the stereotypes don’t apply if you choose to shake them off. It is an advantage being young, and when you stare into the fast-approaching light of Jesus’ glory, do you really care? I believe that 13 is old enough to understand and pursue God, and this belief isn’t a theory. It’s in practice.

It is so much better to give your life to Him as young as you can, because you have so much opportunity. SO much opportunity to astound everyone who sees you doing amazing things with your life. Everyone who sees you playing piano like you’re older than they believe you to be.

A year ago, as I’ve said before in another post, that was said about me and I hated it. Knowing that you have opportunity means you have to use it. I didn’t think it was fair. (Much in the same way that I don’t think having to do Geometry this year is fair, since I’m really only 13, and I’m ahead in math already) But God calls you from wherever you are to do His work for you, not what other people are doing.

I sincerely apologize if this turned out to be super elitist…I do have public school Jr High friends and I love them and they are ahead of me in so many ways. I don’t want to be offensive, but, then again, sometimes being offended really spurs you on to some interesting things…

Coffeeshophorrors

 

Beyond the Shadow

(Warning, this poem was written after watching Inception…there may or may not be a few references to that amazing movie. But please realize that this entire poem’s concept was in my mind long before I ever watched that movie. I am not completely unoriginal. Well, actually, I am, but that’s a whole other topic…)

Dreams cloud my mind at night,

And in the morning

I obsess

Over every last detail

Flesh has put in my mind,

Once so focused.

–

I taste the fiction,

See it crawling up the walls

Of my infected mind

Like a disease it confuses, and

I am no longer certain

How it felt to be alive

–

As I spin the top,

My fingers touch the rough leather binding,

My heart hears and remembers,

And believes

Because there is nothing else to do

And I want to Know something

–

If humanity,

That whisper breathing air

That could be a rendering

Of our collective imagination,

Can perceive truth,

That wisdom, that knowledge,

Shouting in the streets,

Begging us to listen,

If that top can fall,

On a ground that could

Potentially collapse into itself at any given

Moment of Time,

And proclaim words of depth,

And depth is deep

Not shallow, not an illusion,

Not a projection of ideals,

If Nothing doesn’t exist,

If this is possible,

Then You are my reality

–

And Your light shines

Beyond the shadow

Of my doubt

—

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Here I Am to Worship

Here I am

All of my corruptions, confusions, and fallacies

All my misconstrued, foggy, neglected theologies

All of my doubt and my consistent mockeries

–

Here I am

Insecure in knowledge, yet I know one thing

Distrusting of facts and words, yet a phrase runs through my mind

Not ready to see Your glory or to hear Your voice, yet

–

Here I am

Not because of my pride, but because of humility lacking

Not because of my ability, but because of Your Promise

Not because I believe myself worthy–far from it!–but because, by Your grace, You want me here

–

Here I am

Knowing that it’s Your desire–I praise You

Believing that You are strong to save, I lift my hands up

Falling on Your everlasting grace, I close my eyes

Desiring more of Your glory, I crane my neck towards Heaven

Overwhelmed by what I have witnessed, I sit down

Broken by Yourlove, I begin to cry

Filled with the joy of Your Spirit in me, I dance

And, no, it will never end

Amen and Hallelujah

—

Coffeehophorrors

 

Someday in Eternity

So, I wrote this poem based off a very interesting idea and it is a poor attempt at mimicking the poet John Milton (I read his poem “When I Consider how my Light is Spent” and a few pages from Paradise Lost). I haven’t even tried to figure out whether or not it’s theologically correct, although I’m pretty sure I mix my analogies.

I feel so ashamed to admit that I try to write like classic English authors (John Milton would be one of them, but also Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Shakespeare. And while I wrote a few of these lines, I had something from Don Quixote wallowing around in my mind. Not a good idea when writing poetry, just saying.), using as big of words as possible, and trying to confuse my readers like they confused me, but it’s the truth. I like the way they say things backwards, so I try to mimic them, but with the uneducated mind of a 21st century Jr. Higher. Yeah…it doesn’t usually turn out that well.

But, here you go, anyway:

Someday in Eternity

I hear Your promise as it repeats my name

As it speaks, in an urgent shout, as it screams.

My human voice is hoarse and bereft

Of the smooth, watery lies it desires to swallow.

It smacks its dry lips and whispers, it does,

Hopelessly into my ear, in hopes of winning one more sip of my blood.

Yet as promises scream of hope, I turn my ear

Away from that savage, with sharp teeth and mind,

Towards the song of everlasting, the lyric of Eternity,

As I am sucked dry by this worldly earth, and my body

Each day dies, and dies again.

The seed of life is handed to me–not as yet full grown,

But one day the fruit will ripen, and Time will set it,

Red with blood and white as snow,

Tenderly into my hand.

I close my mouth on the apple, and its poison sets

Deep into my corrupted veins, filling them with death.

My heart will stop, my eyes will fail, my tongue will cease

But Eternity takes my hand and leads me down the aisle

“Dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God” through Majesty Himself

Someday in Eternity, I’ll see the starvation

Of those hoarse whispers, persistently chipping me away,

For, someday in Eternity, though now I’m bruised and broken,

Though I turn so often, and though my eyes are blind,

Someday in Eternity, I’ll gaze upon God’s face,

Beyond the touch of Time.

—

Coffeeshophorrors

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speak or Listen

I don’t want to speak

Why do you press me?

I am quiet,

Nothing but thought

There are no words

Anyway

Why does it matter?

You seem content

Listening to your own voice

Why ask me to speak?

My words aren’t funny

They aren’t clever

And besides,

I like to talk sometimes

But you aren’t inviting

I’m comfortable as I am

And you seem

The same

If you really want me to talk

Wait, ask, listen

Don’t fill up my mouth

With your words

I’d love to speak

But not when you

Cut the line

And cover my mouth

I’m not aggressive

I’m tired, I won’t steal your space

Just let me alone

If you won’t let me speak

Don’t marvel over my few words

Please, please,

Just listen

Or leave me be.

Coffeeshophorrors

 

That Voice

You’re telling me

Just go with the flow

No limitations

And you’re telling me

To live up to all

Of your expectations

–

I know sometime I might

Figure out this life

But for now I don’t know what I’m doing

Yeah, I really don’t know what I’m doing

–

But that voice

That quiet voice

Screaming out for me to hear

And that noise

That vicious noise,

It’s growing louder and louder

–

I can’t know

I don’t know

What I should fear

Cause that noise

That constant noise

Is too loud for me to hear

–

You’re telling me

Stop listening

To that silent whisper

And you’re telling me

It’s so much sweeter

To close my eyes and shut it out

–

And I know

Sometime I might

Figure out these words

But for now I don’t know what I’m doing

Yeah, I really don’t know what I’m doing

–

And that voice

That quiet voice

Confusing me with words and tears

But the noise

That vicious noise

Welcomes me with open arms

–

I can’t know

I don’t know

What I can do

Cause that voice

That constant voice

Makes me question what is true

–

All the hours I spent

Thinking through the calls

All the days I spent

Chasing after shadows

All the years I spent

Waiting for the best

Glancing back I see that

They’re all gone

–

But that voice

That quiet voice

Reminds me of hope

And that noise

That vicious noise

Teaches me its death

And my heart

My foolish heart

Pumps acid through my veins

—

Coffeeshophorrors

 

101 Dalmations

I wrote this poem, called Simple Pleasures, on a site called Written? Kitten! where every hundred words you write earns you the adorable picture of a kitten (ikr? who thought of that!) This poem, though I struggled for 60 whole seconds to make it exactly one hundred words, leaked into one hundred and one, hence the title of this post. Here’s the poem, and the picture I earned:

My hair is wet on my sunburned back
Simple pleasures are strong and stable
The shadows lengthen as the sun sets
The long slow sound of a rocking cradle
A tune plays sadly across the water
Simple pleasures are tough and hardy
A smile spreads across my own, tired face
Those people, relentless, keep calling me shorty!
The wind whips my hair away from my eyes
Simple pleasures are supple and smooth
My fingers slide effortlessly over the piano
My feet push angrily out of my shoes
Simple pleasures
Thanks too,
For
That moment, when a friend says “I love you”

Kitten in basket

Altogether now: AWWWWWWWWWW!!!!

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Super Glue Doesn’t Work

Things aren’t as simple as they seem,

Are they?

Human nature is slippery,

And your face, when I see it,

Slides away,

Pushes free of the confines of memory

Runs rampant,

Confusing

Surreptitiously it flees

And I seek new understanding

Because your humanity is too much

To stay on the tip of my tongue

–

Even those you know best

Are a mystery

—

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Prayer

Sorry, this poem isn’t that great. I tried to rhyme, and I suppose the real reason I dislike writing rhyming poetry is because I’m bad at it. Anyways:

God, I put it in Your hands

The strongest grip I’ve ever seen

Death crumbles in Your grasp

And with Your hands, our hearts you glean

–

Now I’m laying all of it down

I can’t hold it any longer

And, my God, I will trust You

Above all, You are stronger

–

This is the most precious thing

So fragile, perfect, lovely, give it rest

Take care of it, I know You will

Keep it safe, near Your chest

–

God, I pray, show it Your love

More than I could ever give

And, God, stroke it with Your loving hands

Let it have proof to know that You live

–

Thank You, for the chances You gave

For the trials and friendship and fun

For the growth and lessons

But most of all for the tears, every one

–

I’ll let go, but I’ll never say goodbye

I love it, and that’s why I give it to You

You are so much greater, You can give it peace

And through Your Word, I believe it is true

–

Your hands are strong and firm

I will trust You with my treasure

God, I love more than even that

You are my hope, my pain, my pleasure

–

Amen

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