Broken Birdsong

(written June 7th, 2014) Oh rambunctious mind When will you unwind? You toss & you turn Like this body of mine You pound in my head As if you're filled with dread From each dream that lurks Between blanket & bed We both cry in pain: 3 a.m.'s new refrain Until God soothes us & sings His song again {this is the first of several poems I will be posting here; poems written during some of the hardest parts of my battle with Lyme disease. If you're interested in this story  & my journey, I have created a corner of the blog just for writings that stemmed from it. Check out the label: Lyme Disease Journey.}

(written June 8th, 2014) Bitter tongued Weak handed Exhausted At the thought of waking up It came down to this Fragile heart Weighted mind Lonely soul Waiting for an ounce of hope Can't live in my strength So He came Lifted me Weak made strong Satisfied in His embrace Helpless no longer His power Made perfect In weakness This symphony of mercy Melody of grace

I told you once that it would take a miracle for these hands to play the guitar. These hands could never do such a thing on their own, because, in addition to being perpetually weak, they were also burdened with migratory joint pain, from my Lyme disease. I erected a stone in my mind's path. A stone marked with weakness & pain. A stone of memorial. And, reader, I'm so glad I did. I love that I wrote during my darkest of days, because now, they are not just a fleeting memory, but they are part of my story; my testimony. I stamped them with ink, like tattooing the internet, my heart, & a half dozen journals. It's marked down in my life as history. The kind that bears repeating. He met me in the midst of the worst pain week I have ever had. {If it had hurt less, you would have heard about it, but typing wasn't exactly easy.} He met me, through His people. I was surrounded with an army. Prayer warriors lifted me up. Friends comforted me & foug

I almost cry Such foolish tears I should not cry I know better Tears held inside Blur my vision Logical thought Is beyond me Changes I face Overwhelm me Mindful of grace I can still breathe Where He leads me I will follow Though the pain ebbs And the tears flow Thy will be done Yours and not mine I count the cost I choose You still For holiness Means more to You Than happiness And I'm convinced That You're faithful E'en though I fall You still hold me And comfort me I know joy comes With the morning Your mercies dawn And they blind me And then one day I will look back See Your grace, and Tell the story

Weighing options, I find myself again thinking about priorities. I need to think about them more often ... maybe then I would keep true to them. This space, for instance has been given little of my attention, though, by my priorities & convictions, it should be higher on the list. Thus, I am found here after the soul-searching, & not beforehand. My dilemma is that it takes much longer to write a post than to read one. My life grows busier daily, becoming full of new opportunities & commitments. No matter how important something is to me, I cannot always find the time to invest in it, simply because of being otherwise invested. And so I weigh the importance of things. Little ones make it high on the list; I love them so dearly ... I often choose them over most other concerns and activities. My friends. So precious to me. Mamas, sisters, teachers, listeners, talkers ... One glance, text, call, email, etc. from any of these will often take front burner. Family ties are st

It's been over a month. I haven't walked these halls in over a month. Time to sweep these floors, brush aside the cobwebs. A month, & it seems like years. Years since I last sat here with a divine desire to write. Not the kind of writing that defines days. Not the letters & poems I've managed to stay on top of ... but the writing where my soul somehow becomes paint on this canvas called the Internet. It seems so commonplace; too much so to capitalize ... & yet when I do, I feel I bestow some added worth & honor to it, the Internet, & what I do here. It isn't much, assuredly. Lines & curves on a once-blank space. It reminds me of music. That's why I'm here, really. That's what drew me back to this keyboard today. I wanted to make music. Isn't that a silly thing? I wanted to make music, on this ancient Dell Latitude D430. It doesn't even have a space for a CD. There are far nobler instruments in this house. A small gu