Broken Birdsong

Today, we wear our most ridiculous socks, in honor of the most ridiculously wonderful humans. It's World Down Syndrome Day. I feel weepy as I think this through. I love that I get to do this one small, wild thing to bring awareness to something that has such a huge hold on my heart. If I'm honest, I do this in support of one boy in particular. His name is Michael, & he has more love in his teeny body than anyone I've ever met. He's done more for me than I could ever do for him. He reflects Jesus a lot that way. He gave me my dream. I looked at him, & I knew what I wanted to do with my life. He & I, we both know the sound of voices telling us what we can't do; what we probably will never be able to do. My voices are mostly in my own head, though. I never saw myself overcoming the hurdles set before me. I never saw myself being healed from Lyme disease. He gave me hope, even while I still battled it. His story was one of my first glimpses of...

I have been silent for far too long, & this is mostly due to my distaste for blogging from my phone. I'll explain. Old Bessie, my laptop, is on her last leg. She's overheating every time I turn her on (an action that now takes 15+ minutes). Her webpages aren't loading. She's whirring & whining, & it makes my heart hurt just to look at her. So, yes, technically, I could blog from my phone, but I really prefer writing on computers, because I am a perfectionist, & I like to know that the format I write this in is the format it stays in. OCD, I know. So here I am, putting off the inevitable laptop purchase, & typing on a borrowed computer in my fringe hours. Forgive me, friend. Last time we talked , I was doing some big-time processing, & -- I'm sure you could tell -- sorely in need of balance. I've come a long way. Nothing is wasted in the Kingdom of God. I love that. He took that burdened girl who was mourning the loss of he...

It's easy to feel incredibly mundane. Do you ever have those days where it just feels like your life is just one painful black streak on the massive canvas of humanity? [I admit, my analogies are odd.] I can't sleep tonight. My head hurts, my tummy hurts, & the thought of my alarm clock hurts, but my eyes are wide & bright, as if my mental exhaustion from the day means Nothing to them. I move my laptop & myself to my bed, in futile hopes that I'll wake up to find I was lulled to sleep by words. Fun Fact: this has Never happened. Mundane restlessness. Mundane solutions. I remember when I used to be the girl that turned her bed into a canvas when she couldn't rest. I would artfully spread notebooks, sketchbooks, brushes, pencils, pens, tea mugs, & odd bits of information across my bed, taking a picture of the beautiful mess after diving in. I listened to a song tonight about a girl losing a version of herself. "She used to be mine....

{a first-person narrative from the perspective of the woman with the discharge of blood} They call me "the woman". They know my name. I held their babies. I rejoiced at their weddings. My wedding, even. My babies. They know my name. They know me. But now? They demean me by simply calling me "the woman." Disconnecting themselves from any former tie to me. Distancing themselves from my fate. As if it were my fault. As though I am no longer worth it. Twelve years. An eternity. And the blood still doesn't stop. I am forever unclean. Hopelessly marred. There is no hiding this. You can even smell me coming. I have no money for perfumes or oils, so the stench of my hemorrhaging clings to me. To say they avoid me like the plague is no overstatement. Twelve years . My babies have grown. I hear tell of grandbabies that will never be allowed to know me. I wonder, will they tell them I have died, to spare them the shame of knowing? I repulse them. Forced...

So for once, I was involuntarily quiet on here. It took an unbelievably long time to get wifi at our new house. And even longer for me to get a place to plug in my laptop. Old Bessie (the laptop) had trouble waking up after such a long sleep. I can relate. She's back to her quirky self, though. And I'm back to mine (did I ever stop?). I just got a glimpse of the kind of adult I'm most likely going to end up being: the kind that goes to bed after dinner and lovvvvves it. I kid you not, I was in bed before 7pm. And awake before 5am. I feel so rested & so ready. A perfect day to write, am I right? (half-hearted pun intended. I get worse, the more awake I am. My apologies to those who could hardly handle exhausted me.) So, yes. I've moved. To my Haven in the middle of a bustling city. My room is bright, & my corner windows are surrounded by very green leaves from the trees that feed my soul. I live close to people that are dear to me. Close enough for true spo...

(written August 19th, 2014) Speak to me I cannot breathe Without Your Truth Or Your mercy I am undone Unworthy Unspun I'm breathless Stammering In the face Of my King God, increase Make less of me Spend this frail life For Your glory It's worth it Worth all the pain Worth every tear And each heartbreak Grace mingled With faith and love Pours over me And into me By Your blood Your sacrifice You spent Your life To save my soul Mind is blown Heart rent in two My every breath Sheer gift from You Undeserved I pull away Cannot accept Yet You pursue Your kindness And Your great Love They bring me back And fill my cup No longer Am I empty My self traded For Your glory

I confess I still hold within me the spirit of a girl who had secretly not supposed she would live very long.  Nor supposed herself as one deserving of much happiness.  Ah, if you could see it ...  A healed body, with a soul that dares not rise from the sickbed, but for a brief stroll in the gardens.  I had known this would be the hardest part, but not how hard the hardest truly could be.  This love goes against my very nature.  I struggle to wake up.  I will spend days in full-on battle for the Kingdom, then find myself weeping in bed the following night.  How can this ever be changed?  It seems to be my endless battle, this fight for my state of mind.  I live half in unabashed hope, half in uncontrollable anxiety.  I am an unending series of inconsistencies. & I startle those who know depths of me to confusion.  Someone reading my journals might easily think me bipolar.  There are days where a switch just flips, ...