Sideways

If you want to know what my current life is about (for true completists only), listen to "Smoke & Mirrors", the latest album by Lifehouse. Having never been more than an occasional listener of their hit songs, something caused me to gravitate toward the album when I saw it was $1.60 on MP3 City. It's what I expected: over-produced and highly Chris Daughtry-esque (fitting since at least one song was co-penned by the American Idol alum). Still, despite all apparent flaws, I am in love with this album. It is literally like someone has put my feelings to music.

Lately, I have been ineffective spiritually because I've been sidetracked by cursed feelings. Feelings are a wretched kryptonite to my lonely spirit. My concerns have been more on finding "the one" than living for the one true God. Facebook has become a breeding ground for my isolated tendencies, a house of one-sided mirrors where I can watch the world but have to allow the world permission to watch me. There, my heart is safe, my dreams remain unscathed, and I can pretend to be an interesting person.

I'm tired of wearing the Internet veil. It's such a manipulated environment. God did not intend for us to communicate solely by keyboard. If He had, asdf would be on our arms. I want to embrace life, or at least learn how to. This isn't my own version of "Your Best Life Now"; I long to remain in Christ, but making John 3:16 my status does not equal bravery. I want to set my feet to pavement, and if that means slipping through mud on occasion, it's still better than tripping through wires.

Unrequited love will not stop my heart. God has a plan for me, but it doesn't involve pining over Patty Mayonnaise. Loneliness will not be a conqueror, but an incentive.

"I want to breathe in a new beginning with someone who will wrap her arms around what's left of me." -- Lifehouse, "Had Enough"

The Silent Scream

Serene as Sunday, my cries to You break through the silent barrier as You demolish the icy walls of my heart.

The same God who created Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, predestining their purposes long before they breathed their first breaths, speaks to my soul. The tears I cry are not as much about regret for who I was as they are over who You are to me.

It's at this moment that I scream, at least I think I have, but it's one only we can hear. The screams are ones I want the world to hear. How is this possible? I do not wonder long, for to spend more time dwelling on how than relishing with joy and gratitude in my soul does You a disservice. It is a mystery that in my wickedness You would want to touch me with Your Holy right hand, but it's one I do not care to solve. I just enjoy, Lord.

How great it is to serve You, the one who knows more of the depravity of my nature than even I, and yet, You write peace on my heart!

Now that I know You, I am more responsible than ever to let others know who You are. Thank You for Your hope.

The Funeral

I was at a funeral, dressed in black. The usual church pews had been replaced with tan fold-up chairs, the kind that do a number on your rump after ten minutes. There's little more I can recall about this place; I wonder if it was even a church at all.

The most salient part of this dream was that you were there, on the cold concrete floor. In the middle of all the action was you, but no one was paying you attention. You were laying in a fetal position, eyes wet with tears and hands shaking. Clearly, you were mourning whomever was in the casket.

I was the only one who saw you--truly saw you. Sure, there may have been the occasional scoffer casting a cursory glance, but what I saw was different.

Without contemplation, I stood up and separated myself from the stuffy surroundings. I laid down, took your hand in mine, and our eyes met.

I didn't want to wake up.