Others Words of Late.

How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.

Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.

Yet I cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. - The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

"Together we will take the road that leads into the West.
And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest. " -The Ent and Entwife, The Two Towers, Tolkien

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. -Psalm 73:26

Enough of Something.

Spiritual enough.
What does that mean anyway? I'm not really sure.
I just don't feel like I am.
And I desperately want to be.

I'm not fervent. Or holy. Or righteous. Rough around the edges. Struggling and failing all over the place.
But I'm seeking you Lord. I'm trying. I am failing and trying. Is that enough? The enough that I am looking for? I am not sure what this standard I've created looks like, the mark of which I am falling so short. Short of where I think I see other people reaching. This nebulous place where one is finally there. Humble. Teachable. Righteous. Loving. Wise. Faithful. Sacrificial. Life-giving.

And here I am, claiming the words, "My soul clings to you, your right hand holds me" [psalm 63:8]. I'm holding on for dear life, hoping my fingers don't slip. Speaking Psalm 51 as my own words.

Psalm 51

1 Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion
blot out my transgressions.
2 Wash away all my iniquity
and cleanse me from my sin.

3 For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.

4 Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are proved right when you speak
and justified when you judge.

5 Surely I was sinful at birth,
sinful from the time my mother conceived me.

6 Surely you desire truth in the inner parts;
you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.

7 Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

8 Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones you have crushed rejoice.

9 Hide your face from my sins
and blot out all my iniquity.

10 Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

11 Do not cast me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.

12 Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

13 Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will turn back to you.

14 Save me from bloodguilt, O God,
the God who saves me,
and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.

15 O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.

16 You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.

17 The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart,
O God, you will not despise.

18 In your good pleasure make Zion prosper;
build up the walls of Jerusalem.

19 Then there will be righteous sacrifices,
whole burnt offerings to delight you;
then bulls will be offered on your altar.

I need restoration, restoration of the joy of your salvation. I've got lots of questions and a clingy soul. It just doesn't feel like enough. But if you want a broke and contrite spirit, that I can manage. Because it's all I've got to give. So create in me a clean heart, O God. And renew a right spirit in me. While I will never be enough, you always will be.

Social Poetry.

It's nights like these I will miss. I will most definitely miss these things. Laughing- so hard my abs might actually turn into a six pack,-about inside jokes and really crummy ones. Feeling the tightness of my throat due to talking far too much, at an equally excessive volume. Sitting and standing. Standing, hovering, sitting and standing. The easy flow in and out of conversations. The chaotic but steady rhythm of shared words. Hops and foam. Winks and hugs. Social poetry at it's finest.

I will miss you Wednesday nights, and all that you entail.

My new roommates are also rolled into this whole missing business. My old ones too. Marie Catrib's and Kava House and Redux. Don't even get me started with Redux. I've been in there more than any healthy person should the last few weeks. I will also crave the night lights from atop the west side slope.

And El Matador chips. They're the bomb. You just can't deny local, salty, cheap and delicious paired with salsa.

There are so many things. So many little things that will add up to a whole lot of missing.
It's only six months though. I'm making this sound like I'm going to another planet, or to prison. But I'll be back. I'll always come back to this city. To Wednesday nights. Back to good friends and hearty laughs. Maybe not back to Yesterdog, unless ya'll join me again, then-sign me up for another link of fake meat, because spending time with you makes it worth it.

You friends, you know who you are. O, you who make me laugh and cry and love my life. Thanks for your jokes and your sincerity. For your kind words and attention to things that are good. Good like conversation and hot dogs. My hat is off to you, and my heart comes along with it.

Silent Morn

I'm listening to an acapella rendition of Silent Night on my Sufjan Stevens Holiday station [Pandora]. I'm drinking hot apple cider and eating grahams, not so surprisingly, sandwiching a layer of peanut butter. I plugged in my twinkle lights and pulled up my blinds.

It's snowing.

I woke up in the stillness of the morning to peer out at a sugar dusted street. The tree branches are precariously stacked with piles of snow. It is steadily falling around the orange street lamp, thick and fluffy, making it's way to join the multitudes making up the white veil. Everything is clean. Quiet peace.

Upon this snow's arrival last night, I had planned to take a stroll before work. I am now questioning the logistics of this outing. I have no boots. And we're not talking about a light dusting. Tennis shoes will have to do. Tennis shoes and smart wools. Also, it is currently five fifty-one and quite dark and will likely continue to be so for quite some time. What am I even doing up at this hour? I actually woke up at about five and after peeping out through the slats at this winter wonderland resolved to awake in order that I may savor the arrival of my winter friend.

The first reason for my waking was due to my right arm which has been falling asleep every night and was quite painful this morning. After some research on webMD I'm thinking I need to be tested for carpal tunnel. Yes, carpal tunnel. At age 22. It's all downhill from here. But that is neither here nor there and decidedly not the subject I wish to write about this morning. I do however thank my tingling appendage for waking me up.

I tip-toed down stairs, my brown slippered foot letting out the familiar creaks on the old wooden stairs. I scurried across the kitchen to the back window and leaned over the bench to see the hundreds of rumples in the ground blanket. I giggled and smiled like a little girl. It felt like Christmas morning. The full, welcomed silence of a new day. The flakes cutting their path in the darkness. Simply magical.

Things seen and heard while running.

The sun sinking down behind the city. Leaving it's last traces in the clouds scattered above.

A single pink mitten. Covered in grippy white snowflakes. Two year old size. Is she sad she is missing her mitten? Is her little hand cold on this very mild December first?

The moon hanging over the water near the hospital on Wealthy. It's reflection being cut by the trees growing up out of the shallow cove. Pale gold-ish silver set against a dark canvas.

Christmas lights wound around bushes and threaded into tree branches. The man creating this labor of lights is putting the last finishing touches on his pine boughs in the huge vases at the end of the driveway. It looks beautiful, and I tell him so in winded words. He smiles with a thank you. Does anyone else tell him this? His neighbors? His wife?

One of my favorite houses, on the corner of the one way street behind the hospital isn't decorated with lights. No christmas bows or twinkling strands along the roof. The single outdoor light shining upon the rounded door does not fall upon a festive wreath. It would look beautiful all gussied up for the holidays. But perhaps they are saving money. Maybe despite their gorgeous house, they are frugal and don't want to run up the energy bill. I imagine them giving their money away. Calculating the cost of decor and electricity and giving it to someone who hasn't the money for food, let alone little white lights.

We are past the Welcome to East Grand Rapids sign, and I bump into a man walking his dog. He's in a full suit. I notice as our distance shortens that he has a phone on hand. He's checking his messages. He is still at work. Tragically, just behind him around the hedge of bushes is his little girl. Happily skipping along on the sidewalk, tucking her hair behind her ear clumsily as children do. He is at work, and she is delighting in an evening walk with her father and pup.

I run past the mitten again, still lost. The moon is now hanging high over Fulton street, illuminating the landscape. And it's not even six pm yet.

All the while I've been listening to Ed Dobson talk about mercy and loving your neighbor. When Jesus is asked who our neighbor is, as usual, he doesn't give a list or an easy answer, he tells a story. In this story our neighbor is an almost dead, stripped, beaten and penniless man laying alongside the road. The religious walk past him. He will just mess up their lives, make them unable to perform their duties, get in the way of them checking off their lists. But someone stops to help. One from Samaria doesn't let anything get in the way of loving their just robbed, bloodied neighbor. And so, translated by Ed, our neighbor is our enemy. Someone who gets in our way. Who makes our life messy. We're supposed to love them too. I have a hard enough time really loving the people that I enjoy. Those who are easy to love, even that is hard for me. So if I'm going to do this, I'm going to need help. I can't love my enemies well of my own accord. Luckily, I have some help. I have an example in Jesus. I have encouragement from being united with Christ, I have comfort from his love, I have fellowship with the Spirit, and I have tenderness and compassion. I need to claim those. And love as I have been loved.