I have been a legalist.

I have been a legalist.

There, I said it.

Renewing is hard. Because letting go of what I think is true is hard. There are things I know to be true, and things I think to be true. And they are in constant conflict. One would believe that, obviously, the things I know to be true would win out, but no. It’s not so obvious. Because it doesn’t happen that way. I have lived so long believing that I have to try, and try, and try to do things the “right” way, the “proper” way, the “only” way, that I don’t actually know what the real right, proper, and only way is like. I cannot even begin to imagine it. I have an idea of what it should look like. So I try, and try, and try to make myself look like that. But no matter how I try, I can only look like the outside if I do that. It’s like taking a grape, coloring it with a blue marker, and saying that it is now a blueberry. It may kind of resemble a blueberry, sort of. But no matter how blue it looks, it is not a blueberry. No matter how hard I try to make myself look like what I think “right” looks like, it will not be right. Because “right” doesn’t start with what things look like. It starts inside and ends up on the outside. Not the other way around.

I have constant Fear, Stress, and Anxiety about what will happen to me if I do not do things “right.” And when I know I have failed, Failure rears its head and Shame reminds me how wrong I am, and how wrong I was to try and do it on my own. Shame reminds me that I am human and should be relying on God to do it for me, but I didn’t, and now boy didn’t I mess it all up. Now God has to deal with the mess I made. I guess I am a baby, after all. I always hoped I was past that, and that I was growing up. All I’ve ever wanted was to just grow up in one go and get it over with. So I try. And try, and try, and try. And fail, and fail, and fail. And yet I cannot seem to just trust in God. I know that I will fail before I try. I’ve been down that path before. It is as though I believe that He died and took care of that part, but the rest is just up to me. As though He didn’t really mean it when He said that HE would finish the work He started in me. I dislike having to capitalize the word He in the middle of a sentence. I know why it is, to show respect and divinity. And then I feel Guilt for being annoyed with it. Guilt turns to Shame, and suddenly, I am a bad person for being annoyed with something I should do. I do not know how to reconcile all these things together. And the not understanding is what nearly kills me, day after day. Not understanding means I have to trust…someone. And I do not trust. Trust means leaving it up to someone else. And people are unreliable. People will hurt you. People will leave and not finish what they started, they will reject you, and they will fail. Not understanding means trusting that someone else does, and letting them be in charge, be in control.

Revolutionary, that. Such a simple idea can become so complicated when you input that little word: control. Do I trust God to be able to control circumstances in my life that seem beyond control? Do I trust Him to not leave me, to not reject me, to not hurt me, and to not fail? Love never fails. God is love. The logical conclusion is therefore that God never fails. I took logic. I can recognize it when I see it. But I am not very logical, obviously. God never fails, but I do not trust Him to never fail. That doesn’t even make sense. I see Him doing things for other people, and not failing them, but I disregard it in my own mind. I make myself the exception. How incredibly self-centered. What if He decides that I’m not worth saving/helping/notfailing? All He wants me to do is sit, and rest. He will take care of me. Like at holidays, when the ladies go into the kitchen and spend the day preparing food, and setting the table, and the kids and the gents just relax, knowing that when they are hungry, food will be there. Those times are hard for me. I feel a pressing need to make sure that no one needs help. I know that no one expects me to do it all, but maybe, maybe someone needs something. Is my desire to be accepted so strong that I reject the opportunity for peace? I am already accepted. Now rest should come, while I allow the work to be done for/through/in me. And when I require it, it will be there.

Rest. Trust. Love. Peace.

Words I don’t understand.

Sleep, sleep I do understand. And that is where I will go, now.

There is a way which seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death. 

untitled no. 79

two hearts

with one desire

did fight through rain

and fight through fire

through pain and toil

wind and sea

love did travel

between you and me

with one decision

both yours anPublish Postd mine

our hearts did meet

by sweet design

once in love

twice together

your heart and mine

in any, whether

now or ever

now or then

my heart is yours

until i end

"see which way the wind blows" part two.

"see which way the wind blows" part one.



Alice wandered about for quite some time. She knew not where she was going, and, after a time, began to forget who she was. This would never do. So she tried to ask others who she was. She tried to ask a fish, but he up and swam away. No help, those fishy ikhthus. Alice approached a flower, but before she could say anything to it, it wilted and the wind blew its seeds across the way. It would seem the flower didn't quite know who it was, either. The wind had told her to "see which way the wind blows" to find where she was going, but it would seem she couldn't find where she was going until she found who she was, besides. Perhaps the wind could direct her to herself. Alice followed a piece of paper around for a while, but it flew up into a tree, and Alice was quite sure that she wasn't in the tree, so she gave up. After all, she was right here on the ground, where she ought to be; where she was supposed to be. None of this flying about business for her. One can't fly about if they aren't sure of themselves, and Alice certainly wasn't. Oh no, she wasn't sure who she was at all.

And then one day, Alice went into a curiosities shop and found an old book. As it were, the book had been hers. As to how it came to be in a curiosities shop made Alice curiouser and curiouser, but no matter. The book was full of her handwriting and of thoughts she had once possessed. She didn't know what happened to the thoughts, however. Perhaps her thoughts did not stay firm on the ground where they ought to and flew into a tree. Perhaps it really was her in the tree, even though she, herself was firm on the ground.

So Alice went back to the tree, and sure enough, that piece of paper was still stuck on one of the high branches. Alice pulled up her skirt and climbed that tree, retrieving the paper. After getting back to the ground where she belonged, Alice read what was written on the page. In her own handwriting, curiously enough, she had written: "I am Alice. Not quite grown-up, but not quite not. I like the sunshine and the rain; I like happiness and sometimes pain (if pain is leading to more eventual happiness). In case of losing myself, simply read this to be found. Sincerely, Alice."

Having found herself again, Alice went back to the wind and simply asked it which way it was blowing. It gave an answer, but it wasn't quite intelligible. The wind has been known to shriek a bit, you know.

I never said I was perfect.

But sometimes I try really hard to be. This, of course, never works out. My disappointment in my imperfect self turns to apathy towards everything. And when I say everything, I mean everything. Suddenly, since nothing is ever done as well as I think it should be, it isn't worth doing at all. That's the crazy talking, but it happens. Then this girl does almost nothing since nothing is good enough.

Well maybe nothing is "good enough," but who cares? Life goes on, with or without perfection.

Yet for some reason, though I am able to see the flaws and imperfections in other people, I do not become apathetic towards them. I love them all the same. There are always those few who act appallingly and when they don't listen to reason get ostracized for a time or for forever, but in general, their flaws don't detract from their other personal merits. Why do I not take this view towards myself? If one thing is not absolutely right, everything is wrong and nothing counts. It's like flinging myself off a bridge because I had a bad hair day. That's the crazy, acting.

There's a lot of crazy in me. But then, anyone who was ever interesting was crazy, too. At least there's that.

It's hard to not try to be perfect all by myself. Or at all. I try to not try. Or rather, I try to just let God do it. That shouldn't be hard, but it is. Maybe it's because of the crazy.

Maybe it's all because of the crazy.

I have been redeemed.

The past is irrevocable.

I stand in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. I hold my own gaze until I am aware of every freckle in my eyes, every irregularity, every thing that makes my face different from someone else's. I stand in my bathroom peering at my own face and take in the vast account of what I have done. I am accountable to my own life.

I have committed sins against everyone who has ever been close to me. Some of those have been beyond my repair. Once I fully became aware of what I had done, so much time had past. Saying I was sorry would never be enough. Sometimes no words were spoken aloud; one moment of locked eyes said everything: I had been wrong. And someone else had to pay for it.

So I stood in the bathroom and accounted for all my deeds and offenses. My actions, which not only affected myself negatively, but those to whom they were committed. Some relationships may never be made whole again. Some may never be made part. And none may ever be the same as they were. What I have chosen has changed my history.

Despite my remorse over my past, I cannot change it. It shall always be what it is. I look into my own eyes and tell myself, “You have been redeemed.” Though I cannot alter the course of my actions up until today, I have been redeemed. I may not be capable of mending those whom I have broken, but I may be made unbroken, myself. I have not been repaired or refinished, but I have been made new. I may not change history, but I affect my future. Just as only I can look at myself and see my own face, only I can make my own choices.

I am responsible for every misdemeanor I perpetrate. Any good thing is not my own. I, myself am wholly spoiled, the bad apple in the barrel. But I have been redeemed. I have been made unbroken. I cannot repair what I have destroyed, but it too can be made as new. Those whom I have broken may too be made unbroken, though not by me. My actions affect more than just myself, more than just those whom I have transgressed against. The weight of my choices is held by all those around me, and by all of those around them. Atlas could not support the heaviness born of what I have chosen to do in my life.

But One can. And He does.

I have been redeemed.