Broken Birdsong

I reached towards heaven To cover Your eyes Ever since I was seen I've wanted to hide And ever since I hid I've wished they would see -- Beggars, saints and scholars -- And deem me worthy Camouflaged, I lay there Begging for notice In shame, doubt and fear To be seen like this To be caught in my sin Exposed as myself Naked broken poser No doll on a shelf Look away, look away Away from me, Lord Yet You don't shift Your gaze You don't say a word I realize it was You - That it was Your sight That I tried to remove Yet craved morn and night Put my roots in darkness Ran rather than fight As if this was progress I was made for the light Look away, look away Away from me, Lord Yet You don't shift Your gaze You don't say a word I dare look up again You're somehow nearer Your love won't look away It's ne'er been clearer Where are my accusers? Where are my idols? All of them were scattered And here I stand, w...

Your love, has met me where I am You see, where Your chosen bride has been You know, just how far I ran Yet You come, and You choose me once again You have not forsaken me Your love has not rejected me You are always here with me You pursue me when I flee No, You have not forsaken me Your blood, has washed my sin-stained hands Your grace, gave Your bride a thousandth chance You breathe, and a flame begins to dance Purify, my love in Your romance You have not forsaken me Your love has not rejected me You are always here with me You pursue me when I flee No, You have not forsaken me Oh, how I've longed For the fullness You provide Lord, I have searched You alone can satisfy Oh, how I've wandered Now I'm coming back to You Meet me here, Jesus Do what only You can do Oh, I'm coming back to You I'm coming back Oh, You never left me Though I left a thousand times Oh, You are steady You have never left my side You hav...

Jesus, Jesus. I am coming to You. Straight to You. I'm not waiting til I get my act together, I'm not lining up my ducks I'm just running. I'm running broken. With my idols, my ideals, my illusions. My addictions, my confusion, my obsessions. With my anger, my distraction, my repression. I'm coming towards You, knowing I cannot shake these off & bind them without You. I'm coming sick with grief I thought I should have overcome months ago. I come because I know now that no one else will do, no one else could save me. I was waiting for a savior on a white horse, & it's You. It has always been You. So here I am, here I've come, & this is what it's come to. My stomach is turning as I reflect on the mess I've made, & the ways I've tried to clean it up. I confess, & I leave my hands open. They're bloody & stained, full of lies. I thought I could bury this; cover it all up with the rig...

It was getting late ... My body was limbered, but weary. I could smell the oils I had rubbed on my aching feet with a prayer that I would get rest. I had stayed up far too late the night previous, & I'd let my thoughts reign free. Never a good life choice. Things seemed so out of control, & I felt isolated. There are nights where just going to bed is something I'm not sure I'm brave enough to do. It requires that I turn the lights out. That I lay next to my thoughts & I face them alone. These are lies, but a friend once told me that nighttime always exacerbates things, & it seems like it seldom exacerbates truth. Especially when you haven't been entertaining truthful thoughts all day. Let me speak this out: muffling the negative thoughts & the lies is not renouncing them, & it's not speaking truth. Non-thought still lets the wound fester. We cannot afford to merely stifle our pain. Now that I have gotten that out...

I don't know where to begin today, or where to go ... I only know that these fingers must click along a keyboard again, & in a way, I must sing my song. I think about those words now ... singing my own song. Once upon a time, that meant something different for me; it meant an actual song. I'm actually in a season right now where I am coming to grips with the fact that I'm maybe actually more of a poet than a songwriter, & maybe just maybe I should accept that, & live like that. I'm not talking about a song I wrote, or "my jam." The idea of my song is so much more than that. It's the idea that there are words that I need to remember always. Words that dear friends sing over me, & that my Lord has sung over me from the start. Today, I really need to hear my song. I need Truth sung over me. I need to remember what I always forget. I need to feel the closeness of someone holding my hand & knowing my hurt, & pouring hope ...

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....

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, ...

[maybe the labels cued you in, or maybe you're an old hat at this, & remembered when I told you  of my intent to post these poems. These are pre-healing poems, typed by a post-healing poet, & the perspective is profound & overwhelming to me. This poem, specifically, was so vital at that time. It was a battle. I wept over it. I sketched it. I breathed these words for weeks, & now here they are, & the hope is so much more real to me.] (written August 14th, 2014) Can't get to sleep Cannot wake up Confused, I weep With empty cup Endless cycles Lost trains of thought Shame recitals Battles un-fought Strength all but gone Can't move my lips Hold sketch I've drawn In fingertips I know the words to pray Can't bring myself to say them How can I feel this way, Knowing all I'm saved from? Do You feel rejected As I do? Confused and dejected, I doubt Truth Why do these things feel real When they're false? Were I dead, co...

I feel frozen at times.  Torn between revelation & lamentation.   The darkness of one becomes so much more painful in contrast to the brightness of the other. & yet, the light is revealed as all the more glorious through the perspective of the black that surrounds it.  Surrounded, but not overcome.