The Fear of Men

I was once the fearful fret

Who learned, not courage,

But regret

And so got caught,

Tangled, in the net

Of a thing considered wise:

The living fear of men.

 

So rampant was this revere,

Of this plague,

This crippling fear,

That many encouraged it

In females of any year

Proclaiming that purity

Was the fruit of the fear of men.

 

Rules and standards ruled the hearts

Of multitudes of women

Told to “be smart”.

As though intelligence

Was the equivalent part

Of a cowardice:

The ever-present fear of men.

 

There were no stories of self-defense

There were no heros

Who spoke of consent

There was no hope

For male friends;

Women were all equally helpless

And shared a fear of men.

 

I am happy to point out

This is written

To tell about

Something quite past tense,

Something I presently live without

Because Christ never said

To live in fear of men.

Home

Home was

Once the

Near and

Dear, but then I tasted mountain air.

Understanding my heart is unclear; I was never

Ready to leave.

And now, I’m never ready to return.

So, this is what a heartache is:

,

Farther distance than reality. I

Am no longer me.

Rather, not the me I was,

Ever-hopeful,

When I slept to the

Echoing thunder above. And only feared “will I

Learn to

Love and to

,

Leave?”

Of course, my hope chases

Vivid memories

Ever- wondering if home is not a space, but a heart-shaped collection of places.

Fearlessness

A strong and brave one,

The Fearless, went out hunting.

They held their breath

To hear that he was coming-

From barren wood to swampy hollow,

He now was returning.

They unblinking watched

As up the mountain climbing

He crested over with the sunrise,

Potentially with his bounty;

Though torn and bruised and broken,

He appeared to carry nothing.

But empty handed standing

He cupped his fearless

Palm across his chest,

“Love,” he panted,

“Love unending.”

UnEdited

I desperately wanted to write today. I mean, I write everyday, but then I edit, and add and subtract words and phrases, and re-arrange thoughts and verses, until I achieve a satisfying equation of expression.

When starting this blog as a self-motivator to take what I write with the utmost professional and serious manner, I determined to never sit down and spew one of those “this-is-on-my-mind-and-feelings-also-a-recipe” posts. I don’t desire that sort of a blog. There is a place for those, Pinterest mostly, but not in my life. Not in my writing.

This introduction is a sort of lengthy excuse, because this post is not considered for days and hours in advance, patiently waiting in a draft folder as other posts are. This is the naked heart of a tired mind, typing where I usually do. This is a thought, a tangle of them truly, unedited.

“I have been questioning the universe- what can you do for me?

I’ve been staring at the planets and walking in the sea,

What will you provide for me?

I have been laughing at the sunrise- when will you wake me?

I have been choosing myself, over you, over anybody, I.

I’ve been mistaking bitterness for self-confidence,

I’ve been confusing stubbornness for strength

and anxiety for energy.

I’ve been trading wealth for prosperity

and contentment for money.

I’ve been scared of giving, now that I’ve learned to take.

I have been taking the days- what will you give me?

I’ve been rolling with the waves,

they cannot yet pull me…

Until today.

Under I went as I watched Heavens gates, open and close shut

leaving me and taking…

taking

others away.

I haven’t been taking. I’ve been selfishly trying

but failing outright.

I have been greedy, but not taking lives in the night!

Out bobs my head, and the salty taste runs over thoughts.

Depths of the world, what may I give you?

Sun burning upon my dried heart- what have I to offer?

Author and giver…

and taker

of life- what donation could I supply?

I have nothing  but my messed up mind

and needy words…

I’ve been questioning the earth- may I try better next time?”

 

 

 

 

 

Humanity

A poem about struggling with depression, for any fellow believer with the melancholy tendency. From the Unlocked Heart of SayLore- with love, we will always make it!

 

The first steps pitter pattered the morning away

Up and down

The stairs and hallways,

The quick rush of morning hush

Productivity

In the breakfast of silence.

 

Those first steps are my nemesis

I conquer every day break,

Those first bites of cereal are an

Up and down

Of jaw and thought process.

 

Do not mock the hurting heart-

And worse still, yet the more common,

Do not mock the happy heart

For it so easily loses that unstable emotion.

Up and down.

 

“Depression” is such an overused word,

“Anxiety” it’s highly populated cousin,

Up and down.

It’s not a lack of adequate medicine

But a lack of self-respect learned.

 

To the aching, their

Up and down

Seems the work of a weakling,

But those still rejoicing in

Humanity

Are the strongest people I have seen.

 

Biology, the neuro loving,

Psychology, are all too

Up and down;

This is not a question of Why? And Why Not?

But learning the cure for selfish focus,

And choosing to love, when others do not.  

 

An Invitation to be Beautiful

“Sin is a serious business. But so is grace. I cannot say which is greater, but my preference is grace.” – Calvin Miller

There was once a statue, in the great land of Stone, who was the soft marble carving of a beautiful young woman, draped in a solid toga of white, touched with streams of gray. She always posed in a happy way, not with the solemnity that graced others of Stone.

She seemed almost airy, ethereal though set in hard rock, and her neighboring statue could not comprehend this appearance. Sculpted to be beautiful and eye-catching as well, the neighboring marble mass was also posed in welcoming way. With long white arms stretching outward as though eternally inviting a hug, and smiling faintly. Confidently open to any passerbyer, with veiny toga overlaying her kneeling stance. Yet, unlike her counterpart, this young woman of stone seemed…. More hard. More stoney.

Though the same material coated them, the inside of the first was filled with love and forgiveness and it’s mixture, which we call grace.

The second was also filled with love, she was alive after all, but not as much forgiveness, in fact a lot of bitterness, and anger, and therefore, a misunderstood grace.

To the crowds walking past the land of Stone and it’s occupants, the two otherwise similar sculptures, seemed unequal. For the first radiated from the inside out, while the next’s beauty caved from the outside in.

“What is this grace that makes you so beautiful?” The saddened statute asked, in her hollow, echoing voice.

“Grace is the daily forgiveness of every grievance, it is the mercy ever poured out for us and from us,” The young maiden replied with a soft rounded and full voice.

“I know that!” Snapped the kneeling stone, “but I cannot seem to achieve it. I know what grace is, but I don’t know how it is. How can it be that I should gain and interest in our Artist’s glory? I know I don’t deserve it. I know I cannot earn it. The problem is that I don’t know how it makes one beautiful.”

“But that is grace, an invitation to be beautiful,” her sweet speech answered.

The second statue had to let that phrase fester inside her, I wish I could stay overnight, but that is rarely how epiphanies work; it worked it’s way through every ounce of marble, behind every streak of gray between the white, under every hardened angst, over every worrisome memory, and eventually, it broke down the record of wrongs she had kept- not of others- but of herself.

And one dull and cloudy afternoon, the kind suggesting spring’s arrival, the Artist made his rounds through his treasured collections.

“How full of grace you are looking today,” He smiled admiringly and leaned down to hug her ever open arms. “How beautiful you are becoming.”

“Thank you,” She sighed, still only barely smiling through her marble face. “I am learning about grace everyday, and it is making my heavy heart not quite so rocky,” she admitted, in a tone no longer echoing.  

“So you’ve accepted My ongoing invitation,” He concluded cheerfully.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, with a solid and full sound, “though I do not even understand why grace is beauty- inducing.”

The Artist chuckled as He walked on, “I am grace, and you are becoming more like me…”

And that thought procured another long, daily shaping change for her as well. For she had always admired the creativity and power, and ability to move and walk, and to see all and know all the Artist did.

And all those changes, the daily, sometimes hourly, hardly distinguished alterations, began because she decided to forgive herself and be beautiful as her Maker was grace-filled and beautiful.   

 

“Friend of sinners, I missed the turn I needed. I should have apologized, worked more diligently, enjoyed my time there more, mended that relationship, said something when I saw her crying, initiated that friendship, spent more time with them, walked down that gravel road and admired the sunset more often.

You do not have time to stop and agonize over regrets. You must accept My forgiveness and the grace I give you to continue on. My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

(excerpt from a personal favorite blog: https://irestmeinthethought.wordpress.com/)

Unlocked Hearts II

Here is the second installment of the courage I am attempting to have- the courage to be open, to be raw. To know that God has purpose in the sharing of feelings and thoughts and spiritual battles. I, optimistically, look forward to a day when the Church is full of unlocked hearts and humble souls. Therefore, part two:

“Dear God, I am not enough…

I cannot make it I think.”

“My child, whom I love,

Would I ever let you sink?”

“My Lord, I am not enough

I pile mistakes up daily.”

“My precious daughter

You need but call on Me.”

“My Savior, I am not enough

I am weak, selfish, flimsy…”

“My darling, that is what you keep saying-

That you are ‘not enough’,

But were you ever?

No- you needed saving!

Hence I am Your Savior,

First born from the dead,

Now live your life a blessing

To those still in dread.

For they dread that they too

Are ‘not enough’

For their inspiration

I gave the world you.”

 

“He answered, ‘Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be rooted up.”  Matthew 15:13

So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.

Philippians 2:1-4

Unlocked Hearts I

The shame and battle of loneliness is a not an original topic on blogs, but it is something I try to be open about. It has been said of the battles we share we then, also, share in each other’s’ victories. One of my favorite books has a profound author’s note at the end, which states, “It is, I think, that we are all so alone in what lies deepest in our souls, so unable to find the words and perhaps the courage to speak with unlocked hearts, that we do not know at all that it is the same with others…”. ( A Severe Mercy, by Sheldon Van Auken ) So, here is a thought I wrote over a year ago. Today I’d say I’m not lonely, or rather that loneliness isn’t a nightly battle anymore. But, as I was chatting with a close friend of mine the other day, I was reminded of the shame I’d feel for missing people. Missing who I was when I was around those friends. Time and distance and language and families standing between us; I learned that you can feel lonely missing just one person who for some season of life allowed your heart to forget that loneliness existed. And that the evil in the world can so easily exploit that feeling. But I also learned that God is glorified through our weakness. And that He truly does have the whole world- the whole universe- in His hands.

Loneliness the bitter friend

Came to bid me goodnight again

With cold reality tucking me in

And bowing in crowned charisma-

“Go away!” I shouted

he turned a mocking eye

“Christ is always with me!”

(No loneliness need I)

But in truth my voice did lack

The roar and strength I had

Being caught up in my throat

With sob in saddened note.

I looked, he had not left.

And then he continued in grueling death

With authority, as though my breath

Came from him instead of God,

He stirred my bitterness

“See the people you did leave?”

he snarled memories up ‘round me,

“Why did you let the chord

Of friendships become a bore?”

“It’s not a bore, it is a gift,” I raged

At him and shook my fist,

“Now go away and leave me be,

No need to heighten my misery!”

“But if I leave-“he taunted me,

“You will be alone you see,

All stuck here as you are

With pain searing your heart.

You are angry at times gone by

Even today they make you shy

Because you have tasted friendships

Pure and kind, and without them

You’re barely alive.”

“Alive in Christ!” I countered back,

But his words had made their stab.

Did I not believe in God’s plan,

Lovingly superior to any man’s?

he saw the sob escape from me,

and let me lay clutching my knees.

“There is beauty in sweet memories”

I began with vision blurred,

“And no matter what God brings

I am thankful for these things.”

“Are you sure?” he slyly asked

Taken a mocked-surprise step back,

“if they are beautiful, if they are fine,

Why have tears so silky fine?

Are you a joke of personality misplaced?

So easily stressed in so coveted a space?”

I glanced around my bedroom

And, in honest sadness doomed,

All the happy things it beheld

Into a evil; left to loom

On my sorrowed spirit it felled.

“I don’t need things,”

I muttered slowly,

“Simply Jesus, and He is lowly.

And He has suffered one hundred fold

The agony I now know.

For even God forsook Him,

When it was His will and plan,

Along with that, every man!

No one was firm

Or so strong a friend.”

“then why has He left you lonely-

Crying yourself the sleep… again?”

“For His glory!” I insisted,

“Now get behind me Satan!”

And with that his crown broke in two

And the pieces cut his very horns as they fell

And he knew

He had to flee, in fear screaming.

For though loneliness is a clever

Deception of him,

It cannot forever harm

The saved soul,

Held in the Father’s hand.

 

Who provides for the raven its prey,

when its young ones cry to God for help,

and wander about for lack of food? Job 38:41

 

He provides food for those who fear him;

he remembers his covenant forever. Psalm 111:5

 

As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy​. 1 Timothy 6:17
Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? Matthew 6:26