On the Brink of returning

I am 15 hours away from boarding a flight back to the country I have grown to enjoy. Having spend the past week spending one on one time with my family, I sit with anticipation. It is different the second time around in many ways. Packing for instance, I know I can leave the scarf, but take the coffee. I know what to expect about communication ability, and how i will get from place A to place B. I look forward to seeing familiar faces and meeting new ones, and I am relaxing into the thought that living life over there is simple. Sure things take more time, and a bit more energy in hot weather but it is simple. I am glad to feel healthy and have my strength back, and I have treasured each day with family and friends that when I am not here I don't see, yet I am eager to return.  The unknown is out there and I am excited.

Grey is made up of black and white Dots

I once drew a picture of a frog. It was a Pen and Ink drawing. The paper was white and the ink was black, but from among the strokes a frog emerged. Its black eyes were made to glisten with a streak of white left behind imitating the effect of light on moisture. Its skin was made up of tiny dots that gave the appearance of grey. Now if I had used black paper and black ink, though each dot were in the same place the effect would be total darkness, or if I was to use white ink on White paper It would seem as nothing was there. But the effect of grey caused by the closeness of white and black created a grey tone that would make anyone just giving a passing glance consider the colour one—gray.

Sometimes right seems to be so close to wrong that in passing glance its grey. But proximity does not make them any more the same or any less than what they are—Black and white.

I am not sure how far I want to unfold this analogy here, maybe I will let whoever wants to ponder it separate the dots themselves. Letting other thoughts connect or fill in the gaps between the dots...
I just ask myself do I have eyes that Truly see.

I Sit...

I sit distracted
          Upon my bed on the floor.
                     My spirit is exposed, naked, bare.

I sit raw
          Curled up feeling cast down.
                     My soul is longing for more than what i see.

I sit waiting
          wishing more than expecting change.
                     My depths are disappointed, what i want is hard.

I sit reading
          Daring to hope, daring to believe.
                     My heart strings are plucked in a song...dare I sing?

I sit conflicted
          a war raging on 'til all hours of the night,
                     My cowardice is fighting against my belief...  

More random poetic writing...

I hide so much dirt

under an exterior of beauty

It is only a fool

who would think you don't see.

Surrounding myself with lies

I have almost convinced myself

that I have no share in the blame

that I have done what you have asked.

My whole life is Yours

those words were said

Then why do i look like me

and not more like your Holiness

I have honored you with my lips

but my heart has been far from you

Yet I still sleep at night

thinking you will still give good

Holy and right are Your Ways

You cannot be mocked

Yet I have been arrogant

Half pleasing is not pleasing at all.

My vessel is stained

on the inside

I cannot hide

You see it all.

Sifting wheat in the wine press,

hiding among the luggage,

In the trees as you pass by,

In the wilderness tending sheep

You see,

past, present, Future.

You know,

the full story.

Your Way is written

The Word in completed tense

You know the Name written

In the Lamb's book of Life.

I thought I knew all this

I was taught since my youth

Yet i still was ignorant

Though no one would have known.

You know I think myself little

So i act in a Big way

Yet I am afraid and impatient

and do not obey on my own

I've needed the bridle and the whip

to keep me in line

Even donkeys and milking cows

listen better than I.

What  a fool I have been

Taking years to understand

Chewing on grass,

I am so much less than Thee.

Like a prodigal son I come

Like a king who chewed his cud

I ask not so much as to be restored

Just let me be a servant.

If You had a Pinky

Sometimes i am overwhelmed by God being The God that is , and my own knowledge of how often i make mistakes and i spit out A bit of random poetic like words......maybe this time it was because i was having one of those moments while trying to study the names of body parts in Burmese...

If you had a pinky

you would have more consistency there

Than i would in my entire being

But why would You need a pinky

When You open your mouth

Your Word goes out

And it is done, finished

Complete.

You wouldn't need a green thumb

Not even that pinky of yours

Just your Breath causes life.

No matter How much I tend and care for these plants

I cannot cause one leaf to unfurl

I do not tell the old leaves it is time to wither away.

To care for and cause are very different,

You understand The Truth of that more in Your pinky

Than I, in all my stubborn body.

You could fit the world ten times over

In that pinky of yours;

Yet I strut about this earth

With a puffed up heart that claims to be all that

Some would say, You see and laugh

But what's so funny about that,

Not knowing my place

going about in ignorance,

...not knowing my own doom....

or knowing you have kept some room,

On that pinky of yours

Yet rejecting that Name written there

Claiming a name that matters on my own.

What a load of dung and a man name Paul once called it

How arrogant can i be?

From my foolishness and ignorance

I repent all the same.

Maybe still, If its not too late;

there may be a portion or crumb left for me

maybe a cell in the pinky of The Body--

a spot yet meant for me.

Floating

A reflection i wrote on May 18, 2015 on the plight of the Rohingya who were in boats on the sea not being admitted into any country at the time, and on the state of the world:

The sinking world is drifting in this floating boat.

Compassion is lost at sea

hope is submerged under the raging waves.

Justice is dashed upon the depths

a thousand grains of sand attack 

the eye that dares to look 

Did the women and children really have a choice? 

Are these sekeleton of men to be blamed? 

Is their pursuit of life so impure? 

Is the heart that hardened by the Times? 

The Times tell their own story, 

the seasons have turned

will anyone seek refuge outside of themself

Would a people called not my people find home? 

Who would take a desolate wanderer 

and create an Oasis of safety?

Who could be a true guide

refusing bribe and bearing insult

so as to lead beyond this watery grave?

In this boat are the people without a captain

Blind have been led by the blind

There is no turning back for ruthless men plot against it

Yet no one opens the Way, 

People sit all day in the darkness of the ships belly. 

Unwanted, desperate, and nameless. 

Are these the times that we live in? 

A godless generation

everyone doing right or wrong in their own eyes

The world is sinking into the tossing sea

The car sales man is at the helm 

Elephants, donkeys and lions read the maps and compass

The peacock has turned her face away

The fly is precariously resting on a plant called Venus

Moldy bread and cake are rationed out as gold. 

Come fill your belly, toot your horn

say you have a life vest

Or that your compass points due North;

As the helping hand of this world 

lends its hand to the other...

Have no worry we are told 

...We will sink together. 

The Bell Rings When the Father Comes Home

Right between 5:15 and 5:20 the little bell rings; ding,ding—ding ding—ding ding ding! Then there is a little squeal that comes from the other direction of the hall. Laughter and greetings ensues, and the joy from both parties is almost palpable.

I smile when I hear it. As I listen to their laughter and delight, I remember when I was young, how I loved waiting for my dad to come home too. I would prepare by sitting in a place where I could see my daddy approaching from as far away as possible while I did homework or drew pictures, and I would work while I waited. But when I saw him approach I would jump up and race after him and give as big of a hug as I could. Sometimes it turned to a bit of a game as he would try to dodge the full force of the hug which would allow for a little bit of tag and end in even more laughter. Sometimes I want to peek out the window and watch the fun that goes along with the words I hear.

This is a sure thing, every night. As I listen to their greetings while we are in prayer, I think about the awareness that the Father has that the ringing of the bell will produce the desired reaction from the one who is expectantly waiting—sure of what will come and attune to the signs that the Father is near. This compels me to pray and be alert all the more, desiring to be aware of the season and the time that approaches for great Joy.