Looking at my reflection
The water wavers and ripples
Bubbles break the surface
But my reflection stays
–
But it’s not me
Who am I
I don’t look like that
Do I
Have a changed beyond recognizing myself
–
It’s in my eyes
Yes, there’s a difference there
Something from deep within
Something has changed
No, something is changing
–
Changing for the better?
I hope
But right now
I don’t recognize myself
My reflection shows back disguised
I don’t know who I am
She paced back in forth, back in forth…the iron bars standing between her and freedom. They were cold, solid, and invincible. Back and forth, the little dog patted. She paused, glanced out at the world with eyes of longing, and then went back to her pacing. She’d been served breakfast…there it sat in her bowl, untouched. She’d been given a blanket, soft and fluffy. It lay crumpled in the corner of her cage…unused. She was small, small enough that she could have been content with her cage…it was plenty big enough. But the little dog was pacing…in fact she’d been pacing for days. She wanted out. Needed out. She wanted to be free.
I try to be brave
When I hear them tell college dreams
When their enthusiasm spills over and they say
“Ain’t life perfect?”
–
I try to be brave
When I hear them tell of God’s goodness
When they think they understand it all and they say
“Ain’t you gonna trust God?”
–
I try to be brave
When I hear one more “no”
When the rejection crashes up against the wall I’ve built and they say
“Sorry, we can’t use you.”
–
I try to be brave
But in the rain,
In my bed,
In the car,
When I’m alone
The tears fall,
The floodgates break,
The stormclouds surface
“Man, this hurts!”
To fly high and free…to climb to the highest heights and watch the world go by, that was her goal. Truly it was. She didn’t care that there was no one with her. She didn’t care that the mountain goats and little rock creatures laughed at her. She didn’t even care that the rocks and scraggly mountain trees scorned her. Contentment in pursuing her goal…to reach the top of that mountain, was all she cared about.
–
Then one morning partway up the mountain, her contentment was shaken. Clouds had closed in and the air had been so moist, she was damp minutes after. And with the clouds all about her and the dreadful dampness and haunting obscurity surrounding her, she began to wonder. Was there a mountain peak after all? What if all this work had been for nothing? What if when she completed this hard uphill climb, there was no mountaintop to stand tall on?
–
She paused, sinking down on one of the scornful rocks. She cupped her chin in her palms, trying to think and reason, but the thick fog around her seemed to have clouded her mind. She couldn’t make sense of it all.
–
Then out of the fog, like a ghost emerging from the graveyard, a figure approached. Any other time she would have recognized him, but now in this darkness, he looked like a stranger. She began to tremble as he came nearer.
–
“Who are you.”
–
“I’m the one who brought this fog.”
–
“This fog that has caused me so much trouble?”
–
“Yes.”
–
“Why?”
–
The man just shook his head, gently took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Together, they both started to pick their way through the fog together back up the mountain.
Sitting behind the steering wheel
I turn the music up
The country sound fills the car
Pounds out loud
–
Rolling the windows down
I feel the wind rush by
The roar of tires on pavement
Grinds out loud
–
Crying in the car
I feel the freedom
Alone at last to let the tears come
Sobbing out loud
–
Praying from my heart
I know God reaches down
Guiding me as I search
Loving out loud
To fly, once and for all free
To soar higher and higher
To embrace the clouds, and the heights beyond
–
To fly, with nothing holding me back
To breath in the clearest of skies
To laugh as my voice echoes
–
To fly, on the wings of an eagle
To hope in the steadfastness of the Lord
To soar on the power of His absolute love
–
This is my quest
Sometimes life seemed to just stand still, like that moment when the waves rolled in and stopped before rushing back out to sea, like that hush just before the sun disappeared in its silent farewell each evening. Yes, life stood still. Karina felt like she was holding her breath. But the strange thing was, it was just her life that stood still. She could see everyone else around her thriving or stressing, whichever they chose, in their busyness. But not so with Karina. Her life wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t going anywhere, seemed to have fallen asleep.
At one time Karina would have been happy with this. Ah, yes, she would have enjoyed the quietness and the peace. But now she was ready for action, anxious with anticipation, and desperate when the sense of hopelessness seemed to overwhelm her.
All this she didn’t understand. She knew she was unhappy. She knew she was anxious. But that was about all.
Spring had come early that year, or winter had said goodbye sooner than expected. In any case, the crocuses, lilacs, and all the fruit trees had long since donned their flowers eventually letting them flutter to the ground. Spring rains had been steady. Green was leafing out the trees and carpeting the lawn. All the tiny spring creatures had been bustling around since the first hint of Spring. Ah, yes, Spring had come early.
Karina tried to take pleasure in it all, but deep within her heart was that haunting loneliness that curled within her very being. One day, she had vowed to herself, one day she would be free from it. But, she could not shake it now.
(Dear reader, you wonder, who this Karina is…well…I’m not sure. See, I’ve only just met her myself. Perhaps we will just see this glimpse into her life, or perhaps she will stop by again. But for now, content yourself with the knowledge that she spared you the time and gave you the vision of a little bit of her struggles.)
—-
The Gift of Spring
Spring flutters in
Flowers bloom in spendor
Creatures chatter with glee
–
There’s a new baby in the pasture
And a new flower on the lawn.
–
Tiny pictures of hope
Sent here for you and me
Handed by the Creator
A gift for those who see.
–
(Yes, yes, I know my poetry’s aweful…if you can even call it poetry. But I’m not writing here to stun others with my brilliance. No, this is practice putting my fingers to the keypad and putting on this blog the stirrings of my heart, however ragged they may come across.)
It was early dawn. She stared out the open doorway, past its wooden frame to the dusty street outside. The sun came down between the close buildings, illuminating the few children who crawled in the dust. One child was crying, rubbing dusty hands across her face. Mary watched, sadness in her eyes. He had loved them. He had reached out to them. He had held their little forms in his strong arms, and shared His love with them. She stepped out the door and quietly knelt and picked up the crying girl. She hugged her close, whispering that everything would be all right.
Mary tried to believe those words herself. But, as she stepped back inside to gather a few tidbits of food for the children, the seen from the hill that day flashed through her mind, causing her to catch her breath sharply. He had been in her arms so many years ago, but it still seemed like just yesterday. He had come running, crying about being pushed down in the dirt by his cousin. She’d soothed his hurts, and pushed Him to go out and play again.
She’d watched Him grow. She’d seen Him become all that a mother could ever wish for her son. And in one afternoon, all that had changed. Mary felt the gasp coming, and she set the child down. The pain was so deep, like a sword that pierced her very soul. Only a mother that has lost a child would understand, could understand. Silently she wept. She remembered vividly the crowds, their voices as they mocked. She remembered the haunting voices of the soldiers who cared little, hardened and callused beyond feeling.
And, she remembered her son. She remembered that same hurt look on his face. Before she’d been able to sooth away his pain, but this time she couldn’t. As he hung on that cruel cross, she felt a part of herself was there with him. It was the pain of a mother. She’d been praying for him, then. Even in her pain, in all the confusion, in her own heartbrokeness, she’d been praying. Praying that his courage would not fail, and He would fulfill His Heavenly Father’s plan. Yes, she had been the mother of Jesus.
As the child hungrily sipped the milk Mary offered, tiny rivulets of white dribbled down her chin. Mary lifted her head, and forced herself to focus on the present. That’s when she heard the running steps. She felt her entire being tense. The last time she’d heard running steps…she shook her head. No, she wouldn’t think about it.
The doorway was blackened by the shaking form of a young girl. The girl struggled to catch her breath…”Mary! Mary! You’ll never believe. I don’t believe! But I saw it, He wasn’t there.”
“What…slow down, who wasn’t there?”
“Jesus, Jesus wasn’t there.”
Mary hated the shock that went through her. She couldn’t stand. At the mention of His name, the floodgates opened and she no longer held it inside. Tears were streaming down her face.
“Mary, did you hear me? Jesus wasn’t in the tomb. He’s alive.”
As the sobs wracked her body, Mary tried to process what the girl was saying, but it didn’t make sense. She’d seen Him die. But, then she remembered. Slowly her weeping quieted. She didn’t know whether to let the hope that began to rise have a foothold in her broken heart. Could it be? Was that what her Son had meant? Had He…was He really…YES! Jesus was the Son of God. Mary believed, she knew she believed.
It was one of those nights…quite and very lonely. But the loneliness wasn’t horrible. Yes, she was lonely, but sitting there staring at the fire, she didn’t mind so much. The solitude was actually kind of nice, hauntingly empty, but nice. The fire flared and reached its heated fingers up towards the chimney, then fell dejectedly back down. Ever rising, ever falling in it’s noisy little dance. She let thoughts run effortlessly through her mind, so tired that her thoughts held no pattern, just a randomness that would be only understood by those who can understand dreams. Her life roared to life and flickered sporadically in her mind keeping in tune with the fire casting its crazy shadows around the room. She could feel the heat in her mind, feel it overwhelm and then numb. She had the faint idea that at one time something important had mattered, but for now it didn’t. She scolded herself for allowing this weariness to overwhelm her, but she was to tired to fight. And, so she continued staring at the fire and thinking, her mind a true reflection of the dancing flames.
Will joy rise again
Is there hope after the storm
What do storm clouds leave behind
What does the wind allow
Are the fields recovered
Can you see in the coming dawn
Is there anything left
Or has it all been blown away
What does the fog obscure
Is all crushed
Not a single stem to lift its beaten head
Are there flowers that will rise again
Has death descended
Forever to haunt
What has withstood
Was the field not ready
Were the crops to frail
Was the farmer’s hand not strong enough
But wait, there is a flower
Single, small, but standing
In the far corner
Just a little flower
Hope must come again
Because of that little flower
The flower flickers and sways
Is it a mirage
A taunting of the soul
Time will only tell
If there’s hope after the storm
I cannot tell
I can only wonder
Yes, I can only wonder
In a little country town, there is a crossroads. That’s all there is there in the center of that town, just the crossroads. Buildings line the sides of the streets that meet, share their brief hello in crisscross formation, and then exit the town. This is a country town with two main roads, both lead out. The roads do not lead in, because there is nothing there. Well, there is a sidewalk, and it runs parallel to the street, always runs parallel, and never faster than the street. On that sidewalk there are cracks, cracks that streak in wild patterns without much purpose. But the cracks, the sidewalk, the street, the crossroads, and even the little country town have a purpose.
The only problem is, it hasn’t found it yet.
(Hmmm…what an odd paragraph. Looking at it, I can’t quite figure where it came from, and don’t worry, you’re not the only one reading it who thinks it doesn’t make any sense. 
I don’t think it makes any sense either. But I had to write this evening, and that’s what appeared, and this is my writing practice blog, so that’s what you get. Someday I’ll stop trying to convince myself that this stuff that I write doesn’t need an excuse to find it’s way onto this blog, but until then, I will continue to make excuses. It’s the way of the writer.)
