I Feel

I don't want to think about it.
So, instead, I get out the last gift you gave me.
A delicate little menorah.
I load it up with candles and light them all.
Not to communicate with God;
just to watch it burn.
I stare at the candles as they flicker;
as they waste away.
And, afterwards, I stare at the lumps of wax they have become.
This is it, isn't it?
This is what it all becomes.
Ruin
This is what it is to reveal your insides;
to feel,
to be real:
a little pool of wax.
The menorah is marred with the drippings;
the candles gone,
having sacrificed all.
I think about you as I push a new candle into a holder,
pushing through the still soft remains of the one who was before it.
I ball some of the wax between my fingers.
I feel nothing,
loss,
grief,
regret,
anger,
and then nothing again.
Don't you love me?
Am I not worth it?
Foolishness;
useless thoughts;
once formed they burn away,
useful for nothing but covering the very vessel that gives them support.
I begin to scrape the wax off the menorah.
It's no use.
The wax has filled the intricate carvings decorating the piece,
now obscured and scarred.
It, too, ruined for fulfilling its purpose,
for being supportive.
The ruin affects us all.
I focus on the flame of the remaining candle.
My eyes water.
I can't have that.
I blow it out,
whisper amen.

Those Things Done In The Dark...

Post temporarily removed by author

The Chase

Suddenly, she is awake. Senses heightened, mind racing, awake.  One thought above all others:
Run!   She does not know from what or to where but she finds her feet pounding the earth below her, at a haphazard pace that she could surely not maintain.  Fear, overwhelming fear. And darkness.  Everything is black.  The path she is on is littered with black, slick leaves in layers that must have taken years to accumulate.  It is amazing she is able to remain upright, running, stumbling forward at this ungodly pace.  'Where am I', she wonders.  She is certain she has never been here before, but yet, it all seems familiar. She is certain there is a forged path through the towering black trees lying just beneath the layers of decomposing, black underbrush. Twigs snapping beneath her feet cause her to push on, almost falling. She wonders if the sound was made by her feet or by some unseen pursuer.  The air is heavy and she feels as if her lungs refuse to allow it passage.  Her legs become heavy, breath short.  Warmth spreads across her flank.  It is comforting in this cold, dark forest.  The warmth begs her touch. She reaches through the layers of her cloak and, in the few slivers of moonlight allowed to reach the earth through the dense trees, she pulls her hand back wet and red.  Blood.  Her life draining, the warmth spreading down her leg. She looks down at the earth below her. She imagines it greedy for her blood, her warmth, her life.  'Shall I perish in this cold, dark place? Shall the trees be my only bereaved, or will they look upon me as an offering to the blood lust I fear they have?' The thoughts rush through her mind unabated.  The damp earth opens its jowls beneath her and she finds herself enveloped.  Desperate to fight the descent, she claws at the thick air above her.  There is nothing to hold onto.  There is no escape.  'From the earth I emerged and to the earth I shall return.'  She recites the curse in her mind as her own warmth begins to engulf her.  'This is where I began,' she realizes.  'I blazed this trail. I planted these trees. The forest is my own.'  Revelation upon revelation washes over her as she sinks further into the bowels of her fear, her forest, her darkness, her warmth.  She slowly slips into unconsciousness, closing her eyes for the long awaited rest.  There it is again, the snapping of twigs. Startled, she opens her eyes to see someone standing over her, reaching out to her.  She instinctively reaches her hand up; the effort requiring all of her remaining strength.  Immediately she finds herself standing on her feet, strength renewed. She reaches into her cloak to find her flesh intact. There is no blood.  Questions overwhelm her.  She looks to the stranger for answers but the figure merely turns away from her and begins walking.  She follows the sure footsteps into a clearing where she sees a bed, of sorts, fashioned from the underbrush. The stranger turns to her, the moonlight illuminating blue eyes and pale skin.  The eyes are her own!  Her eyes are then drawn to the scar on the strangers hand.  "That is my scar," she says.  "When we planted the trees," the stranger replies, in a voice matching her own.  "Rest now," the stranger says, pointing to the pallet of leaves.  "Tomorrow, we begin again."

Run, Run

So, I ran a mile today. Without stopping.  No big deal to most people but to a big girl like me it's an accomplishment.  I've been working up to it for some time; running parts but walking in between.  I love to run and  now that I can finally run a mile again I will start to call myself a runner.  No, I won't, but it felt good writing that.  Running is a chance for me to clear my mind.  That being said, here is a quick recap of my internal monologue tonight during my mile trek.
Ok, here I go.  Run, run. Hey this feels good. Good pace. Run, run.  Good song.  I like Maroon Five.  Glad I bought this Ipod.  Glad I have a fourteen year old who can fix my Ipod.  Run, run.  Still doing well.  Glad I have this music on so I can't hear my heavy breathing.  I think that psyches me out, hearing my breathing like a dog in the heat of summer.  Run, run. Should I stop?  No, keep going.  Run, run.  This song is not a good running song.  It makes me a little sad; 'talking to the moon.'  Keep pace. Run, run.  Should I stop?  No keep going.  Run, run.  Second wind, maybe; hopefully.  Run, run.  I want to walk.  Don't. Run, run.  Better song; Smashing Pumpkins.  Run, run.  'Be the change you want to be.' Who said that?  Was that Billy Blanks or Dahli Lama?  I can't remember.  Run, run.  You know what I need right now?  I need that Nike commercial; hard work.  Can I just play that ad on my Ipod? Am I the target audience of that ad?  What was the product?  Shoes, maybe.  I suppose I might be the target audience.  I love shoes.  Run, run.  Or is it a Gatorade commercial?  I don't drink much Gatorade, but if I could sweat neon orange I might.  Run, run.  Paseo Circle. Oh my gosh, I'm almost done.  Should I stop?  No, I've come this far.  Run, run. Keep pace.  I must look ridiculous; this big girl, desperately attempting to put one foot in front of the other, panting away.  Run, run.  Almost home.  I'm proud of myself.  I want to die, also. Run, run.  DONE!!!!!
A whole mile, (which, I am aware is not a marathon or anything,) and my deepest thought was shoes.  Ah, it's good to run!

Just Some Things

So, this working thing I do is really affecting my blogging life.  If only I could secure some kind of pay for sitting in front of a computer all day...wait...never mind. (Insert lol.)  Anyways, there are times when I'm all like, "Geez, I would really like to blog today and then I get home from work, have these three kids, life, laundry, on and on...  But, despite it all, today I am posting.
So, here are a few things going on in my life:
Work:  (Edited)
Home:  My kids are great, new house, plenty to do.  Good there.
Things I have wanted to blog about lately:
1. I was at my son's soccer game; (yep, I'm a soccer mom,) and behind me there was this family, a mom, a dad figure, and a teenage girl.  The girl, evidently, is a cheerleader. She was all like, "OMG I am sooo white and I need a tan."  Then the mom was like, "Yes, you do and I'm not paying for tanning! You better sit your butt outside all summer!"  What?!?  Here is what I heard: 'Mom, I feel bad about my body  image.'  'You're right daughter, you look terrible. You need to increase your chance of getting skin cancer to look acceptable.'  I did not say anything.
 
2. Parking:  Is it really so difficult?  I mean, there are these white or yellow lines...

3. Fake people:  I am surrounded by them on a daily basis.  Just be honest.  Most people can handle it.  You don't have to pretend to like me.  I don't even pretend to like me.  C'mon, is it so hard to say what you feel?  (I apologize if that song just popped into your head:  "I wanna see you be brave.")  No one is perfect. I can appreciate that. Please don't pretend to be something you're not.  If you're not nice, just be mean.  If you're not confident, it's ok to ask for help.  If you know you're right, say so.  If you're not competent, please don't pretend. (In my field, that's how people die.  I'm just saying.)

4. Ungratefulness:  Here's the thing about this.  I have been so frustrated lately with people being ungrateful.  If someone helps you, say thank you.  Going to complain that someone does not help you when they clearly do is horrible!  You know who you are!!  It's only when something is gone that people truly appreciate what they had. 

5.Laziness:  It is NOT too much to expect someone to do their job. Period. (I know I typed a period after that first sentence there but I still felt the need to type out the word period, too; just for added emphasis.  On that note, that's all I have to say about that. Period.)

Having said all that, I want to say that I, too, am ungrateful. I owe so much to God and I am not focused on that most times.  The major difference is that instead of responding with frustration to my ungratefulness, He responds with love and grace.  This is something for me to think about.  It's like my dad said, "You can not change people. You can only change your reaction to them."  On this I ponder.  Thanks for reading.

Hallelujah

Hallelujah.
Promises lost. Vows broken. Holiness forgotten.  Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Sanity broken. Anger risen. Patience lost.  Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Ships up-heaven. Lights faded. Life lost. Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Bitterness conquered. Hatred held. Darkness sought. Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Voice calling. Heart rejected. Light receded. Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Arms open. Eyes averted. Heart retreated. Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Voice calling. Arms open.  Savior calling. Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Heart broken. Soul weeping.  Guilt rising. Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Voice calling. Heart breaking. Soul pleading. Hope gone.
Hallelujah.
Voice calling. Arms open. Savior embracing. Hope present.
Hallelujah.
Hallelujah.
Hallelujah.

Either You Will Love the One and Hate the Other

Alright, so who has seen this new show, Preachers of LA?  Anyone?  Well, I would love for everyone to watch one episode.  I have seen all the episodes so far and, I must say, there is little differentiation between them.  So, basically, the premise is this: all these (famous?) preachers in Los Angeles are on a reality show that follows their personal lives and their interaction with each other.  Now, I have never heard of any of the preachers and its not quite relevant to know their names, anyways.  As an aside, the show airs on the Oxygen network.  Outside of this show, I have never seen any of the other shows on this network.  A brief look at their website reveals they have other shows, such as Bad Girls, My Big Fat Revenge and Best Ink.  I haven't the slightest what any of those shows are about, but it looks like quality viewing to me...  Anyways, this show is ridiculous.  I know, I know, I just recommended you watch it; let me tell you why.  The producers of this show must have worked on Cribs.  Who remembers that show?  All these famous artists and athletes taking MTV into their homes to show off all of their extravagance...  Remember how it would show them getting out of their Bentley or BMW all in slow motion with background music and the little 'bling' flash and sound?  Well, you get the same shots in this show about these preachers, with the same vehicles and everything.  It makes for good TV.  These producers are as cynical about the 'megachurch' in America as I am. 

As it turns out, the gospel business is quite lucrative.  This is not a secret to most Christians but I would at least consider it dirty laundry.  I mean, we all remember that Jesus would travel around in a golden carriage and go to all the happening religious places to preach the Word before returning to his comfortable palace with all of his entourage.  Wait?  That didn't happen?  Oh, well, doesn't the Bible say some where, "Brethren, I wish above all that you prosper and be of good health?"  Doesn't that justify everything?  Nobody mention anything about that being a standard Roman greeting.

This show brings into focus the hypocrisy that most Christians in this country live their lives with, myself included. The real gospel is giving all that you have to those that have not and following Christ.  The real gospel is a rough wooden cross.  It is not comfortable for anyone.  It is not comfortable for me.  The tension is ever present.  It is easy for me to be appalled at these million dollar business parading around in the sheep's clothing of the 'church.'  However, my disgust must be self reflective. Hmm, the tension continues...

I'm Back

Sooo, I haven't blogged in a good long while.  I miss it.  I was reading some of my old posts the other day and it made me miss writing. Writing, in general.  I used to have such passion for writing.  I have written very intelligent things.  Not necessarily here, in this blog, but in other places I have penned brilliant things.  I'm not sure what has happened.  Please forgive me for the hodge podge rambling this post is turning out to be.  Hmmm, hodge podge is not a phrase spell check recognizes.  Spell check must not be from west Texas.  Is hodge podge actually a phrase or am I making stuff up?  It is really late right now and I worked all day so I'm just leaving it there.  I typed it three times and it is underlined with a red squiggly line each time.  As it turns out, squiggly is a word. Go figure.  Anyways, the point of this post is to re-initiate myself to sitting down in front of the computer  and typing my thoughts; they're just not very deep at this moment.  So, I'm back.  That's about all I have to say tonight.

Hope

I miss you so much.  You would know just what to say right now.  I wish I could hug you.  I can smell your sweater; your yellow sweater.  Smells like home, smells like comfort, love, safety, love.  Can I have that for just one second, God?  Could you grant me a moment with my grandpa?  I really need the security.  The familiarity.  I feel like a child again.  A scared little girl.  Am I the little girl in the closet again, begging God to see me?  God, do you see me?  I know you care, you have to.  You've proved it before.  I need you now.  Forgive me for everything.  Save me now.  Help me now.  Can you make everything better?  Could you please?  I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry.  I don't know what else to say.  The funny thing is, you warned me.  You warned me.  Why wasn't I paying attention?  Before I would have asked you.  I would have known.  You would have told me.  So stupid; I can't believe I'm so stupid.  Everything is unraveling.  Why can't I stop it?  I wish it so bad; I feel it in my bones.  My very core is trembling.  Leveled; completely leveled is my foundation.  Everything.  Everything.  Who am I?  I am scared.  I need a miracle now.  I need a miracle like before.  I know you were there.  I saw you.  I saw you that night.  You loved me then.  Do you still love me now?  I saw you.  In the back yard.  I remember.  All my grandparents were there.  I was scared then and I did not understand.  I'm so much more scared now that my eyes are wide open.  Can you perform a miracle?  You did before.  Before the pain.  Before the heart ache.  He believed.  He trusted you.  He loved you.  He still does.  He still does.  Do you love him still?  Can you tell him?  He needs to hear it.  He needs to feel it.  Can you tell him he's strong?  Can you remind him of who he is?  Can you tell him I need him?  Can you tell him I'm still his little girl?  I love him so.  I need him.  Can you be God to us?  Little, insignificant us?  You're our only hope.  I read once it does not disappoint.  That will have to be my new foundation.  Hope.  Let me be strong for him.  Pick me up so I can hold him.  God, please.  I'm begging you again.  Forget all that I know.  Please, God.  Please.  Help us.  Be to us what you were before. 

Is That Me?

I believe I may be having an identity crisis.  I mean, I'm not sure I know who I am at this point in my life.  The irony in this situation is I worked very hard to have this crisis.  I see who I want to be.  That is very clear.  Where is my disconnect?  Should I even write about this?  Does anybody else know how this feels?  Maybe putting these thoughts out there into the faceless world of the Internet will help me sort things out.  Even thinking about the words to express my feelings here brings a great deal of clarity.  (Please accept my apology for my vagueness.)  Yes, things have suddenly become quite clear.  (Thank you Internet.  Internet does not reply, as it is faceless...)  I want to be a professional at work and kind and caring towards everyone in my life.  I need to remember some of my authentic leadership lessons from university. (Dr. Joiner's classes come to mind.)  My problem has arisen from my desire to be friends with my coworkers.  Problem is I'm the charge nurse so, although we are coworkers, we are not on equal planes.  (Not really...)  So, I have decided to be professional and that's it.  That does not exclude kind and caring.  This will help me avoid being emotionally invested in what others think of me at work.  Not to shirk blame completely, of course.  I am by no means perfect.  (Gasp...not really...)  I mean, I love my job, but work is work.  I go to take care of my patients and then I go home.  That is simple, right?  It has not proven so but starting now it is.  Theory will become practice.  Perhaps I will get back with you and let you know how it goes Internet.  (Internet says nothing.)  Alright, this has been cathartic; one layer of dust off the proverbial mirror.

I Would TiVo That

I am sooo ready for this election to be over with!  Who else is tired of all the empty rhetoric and ugliness?  I watched both of the debates that have taken place and I was thinking that there has to be a better way.  One of the networks was advertising the last debate by announcing the style of the debate and the presence of "fact-checkers."  This was interesting to me.  I think I could make the debates much better.  I think the "fact-checkers" should be like the ones on Jeopardy.  You ever notice how on point those guys are?  As soon as a contestant answers, by the next couple questions they come back and say that answer is also acceptable or not quite right or whatever.  Let's have it like that at the debates.  Let's have the candidates stand up behind podiums that light up green or red. 
"So Mr. Romney, is it true that you actually support all of the proposed immigration laws in Arizona?"
"Well, not all of them, just the ones that are not too extreme for this bipartisan audience in front of me."
Long dramatic pause with music like on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.  Bum bum...bum bum...heartbeat undertones behind the music...pause...sexy woman's voice:  "That answer is...false."  The podium turns red.  Wouldn't that be more interesting and memorable?  Wouldn't more people watch?  Just the facts man, just the facts.  None of that rambling on and on and on...  Cut the mics if they venture beyond the yes or no response.  No skirting the questions.  Are they truthful or not?  That's all we need.  If that were the case all of the questions those "undecided voters" had would have been answered. 
It's a dream world I'm living in, I know.  I'm just saying.  Also, wouldn't it be cool if after, say, ten or or so wrong answers the floor just drops out from under the candidate like on Ellen?

Cursed

Cursed is woman.  Cursed by God.  Cursed by herself.  Cursed by everyone around her.  A facade, a facade, all is a facade.  Nothing is reality.  All is another's perception.  Who am I to you?  Who do you need me to be?  There is no room for me.  I am irrelevant.  Irrelevancy defines me, cursed as I am.  My reality is of no consequence.  You know me when I do not.  Who do you say that I am?  It is all of me.  Cursed.  Emotions threaten my damn.  Billows of waves incessantly barrage me.  Waves I can not suppress.  The beauty of them is lost.  I dare not relent, lest I drown.  Drown myself.  Curse myself.  Breathing is irrelevant.  It benefits no one in this cursed land.  This cursed state of being.  Perhaps I shall plunge in.  How bad can drowning be?  Perhaps this curse would be absolved.  If only I were worth sacrificing.  But who wants a tainted offering?  The cloak of the curse spoils the good.  Woman is cursed.  The entire lot of us.  Cursed, we rip at each other's flesh.  Struggling, we drown each other.  We all become oblivious.  Worthless.  Cursed.  Our true selves become irrelevant.  Perhaps irrelevancy is truly who we are.  Cursed is woman.  Cursed, everyone.  In our cursed world honesty is merely a perception.  A hall of mirrors reveals our truth.  I once heard that truth was in the armory of God but here it is only used a the talon with which we rip each other apart.  My breast is open and bleeding.  Shreds of flesh litter my feet.  I realize the threatening waters are composed of my own tears.  Those not shed exceeding any barriers.  Cursed woman.  I plunge in.  I have decided to drown.  I go down to the depths of the earth.  The waters close in around me.  All is dark.  I relent to the drowning.  Moments pass.  Moments that are as hours.  I can not breathe.  Fear envelopes me.  What have I done?  I shall die cursed.  Moments. Moments.  Darkness.  Nothing.  My heart stops.  All is calm.  All is at rest.  I see the sun.  How can that be?  How can I, having drowned see at all?  There are no more waters.  I am free.  Absolved.  Free.  I lift my head, my weary arms follow.  I touch my breast.  Scars.  Scars healed.  Sacrifice accepted.  Curse absolved.  My worth, insufficient.  Covered by another.  Absolution from curse.  Woman, once again.

Remember Who You Are

"You have forgotten who you are, and so, have forgotten me."  Okay, okay, so I know that's Mufasa and all but I think there's some validity to this statement.  This was a divine voice for Simba in his culture of ancestor worship.  There is real truth in this animated moment of spiritual awakening.  How easy it was for him to forget who he was.  On that note, I ask myself, who am I?  Sure, I could tick off a list relatively easily; I am a mother, a wife, a minister, a nurse...  Is this really who I am, a quantitative list of roles and obligations?  How many of us define ourselves this way?  Let me add Christian to this list; does that really change my definition?  Is this not just another obligation, a set of rules to follow and standards to adhere to?  No wonder I have forgotten who I am; perhaps I've never known. 
Let me think about this for a minute.
I suppose the only way to know who I am is to imagine who I would be stripped of all these roles, these obligations.  What does that leave?  Loneliness, emptiness, me.  Am I but a tragedy blanketed over in a thousand things to do?
Again, I need a moment for reflection.
I have wants, I have desires.  I use my roles to fulfill them.  That is why they are never satisfied.  What are my core desires?  To love, to be loved, to be accepted for who I am, who I am not.  So, I suppose that answers the question I originally proposed.  I am just a little girl, wanting to hear I'm lovely, I'm worthy.  And yet, in my solitude I can hear a still small voice.  "I see you, I hear you.  I love you.  You are lovely, you are perfect, you are worthy of my love."  Outside of myself I find myself.  This is who I am.  This is spiritual awakening.  I remember myself, and so, I remember God.

How He Loves

I'm not a trendy Christian.  I don't keep up with the latest worship trends or songs.  Sorry.  I mean, I go to a baptist church, so it's not all my fault, right?  (That's kind of a joke and kind of not...anyways...)  So we went to this worship service the other night at a church here in town that I didn't even know existed.  It's this little church where they were having a youth lock-in.  Blah, blah, blah...none of this has anything to do with my point.  So, there was this one song where there is a line, "If His grace is an ocean we're all sinking."  Wow.  I mean, wow.  What a fantastic line.  I've been thinking about it.  How true is this line, this concept.  His grace is like an ocean and living in it is a lot like drowning. 

In my trouble I called to the Lord, and he answered me;

From the belly of Sheol I cried out, and You heard my voice.

You cast me into the depths, into the heart of the sea,

The floods engulfed me; All Your breakers and billows swept over me.

I thought I was driven away out of Your sight:

Would I ever gaze again upon Your holy temple?

The waters closed in over me, the deep engulfed me.

Weeds twined around my head.

I sank to the base of the mountains; the bars of the earth closed upon me forever.

Yet you brought my life up from the pit, O Lord my God!

When my life was ebbing away, I called the Lord to mind;

And my prayer came before You, into Your holy temple.

They who cling to empty folly forsake their own welfare,

but, I with loud thanksgiving, will sacrifice to You;

What I have vowed I will perform.

Deliverance is the Lord's!

Lord, cause me to drown so I may emerge a new creature, alive in your grace; (even if I'm covered in whale vomit.)

What art thou that Usurp'st this Time of Night?

"Is it everything you thought it would be," she asks, seductively leaning against the door frame. Look at her, the whole world at her fingertips. Her confident air is so intoxicating it's sickening. Who does she think she is? She has come here to boast and gawk. She is also angry and vindictive in her tone. 'What have you done to me,' her eyes imply. Who is she? Why is she here? Has she come to torment me? How could she possibly have any influence over me? She has none. I have conquered her. What nerve she has asking me anything! What does she know? What could she possibly know? She has never done a thing for herself! She is incapable of an independent thought. She lives under an illusion of independence. Were illusions ever so bad?

I stand up, facing her. She flinches and she hopes I do not notice. We stand nose to nose, eye to eye. Some things never change. She tries to show her superiority over me. She relies too strongly on the physical. She is no match in strength but she knows she reigns in quickness. She chooses not to make a move in retreat, almost certain I will not harm her. I consider addressing her question, but I resist. I have no need to defend my choices. She would never understand my reasoning. All she knows is youth and beauty. She lives in a suspended state, unaware that these things fade. She has no idea I have not inflicted anything upon her and I let her accusations drift in the air between us.

"I can not believe what you have done to us," she hisses. Sometimes I can not believe it either but I dare not concur with her. I could outwit her easily but I am intelligent enough not to speak. I consider striking her but the perfection of her face stops me. She sees me falter and her eyes suppose victory. Perhaps she has won. How easily I feel defeated. How often I pursue her without her knowing. She evades me every time, only appearing when I would rather her not.

It is time for her to leave and we both know it. She recedes into a memory, from whence she came. She is not gone; she always returns. She lives another day to flaunt her ignorance. I continue to despise her, to pursue her, to hold her, to push her away, to submit to her, to overcome her.

Everything Must Go

Alright. Time to clean the closet. I'm over most of the stuff that is crowding my life. All of these all-give relationships are smothering me. They have to go. I will draw the line between what is actually a friendship and what is a drain. I need to re-file a bunch of stuff. I think I have quite a few relationships filed under friends, when they actually belong under the ministering-to tab. It's not so draining that way because there is that seperation that keeps me sane. Any other minister knows what I'm talking about here. Also, I am getting rid of some antiquated notions hanging in the closet, suffocating my new ideas. How I view myself, for example, needs some revamping. I can not be all things to all people. I will prioritize which people are most important, starting with my children and husband. The rest of it can be put away and some can be donated completely. Oh man, I'm feeling better already. Oooh, I forgot I had this: Value for my time. It looks good on me, don't you think? Perhaps I will have a yard sale. In the fifty-cent box goes worry and stress and situations I cannot affect. For a quarter you can have some relationships that I mistakingly purchased thinking they were friendships. Not interested? To the trash it goes.

Open?

I'm a little too quiet and I need to open up more. What does that mean, exactly? What does this mean, open up? About myself? Who cares? How does that change my abilities as a nurse? Surely this is not what it means. Why does this bother me? It shouldn't. It's just an evaluation, after all. It's one person's opinion of me. It just happens to be an important person in my career right now. So, will I take this to heart? Possibly? I just don't understand. This is bothering me. Why? Well ok; here is me opening up:

I'm not sure I love being a nurse. I hope that I will. I hate that after hours upon hours on my feet my lower back feels like its on fire. It is hard to concentrate on anything else but pain when it gets like that. Maybe this is why I don't open up, because I don't want to be viewed as a complainer. Because I am not a complainer. I'm frustrated that I do not know what to do all of the time. I'm not sure where everything is, I forget things I need before I go a patient's room and I keep forgetting to print those damned med slips! I need to start an IV. I need to learn more about all of these meds. I need to prioritize my time. It drives me crazy that I feel inferior to everyone around me. I'm so ready to feel comfortable as a nurse; to feel like I'm competent and know what I'm doing. I am trying my best. I will always try my best. So, I can not open up at all, you see. I don't want you to know that I feel this way. Frustration and feelings of inferiority are not appealing. So, there it is: I'm all opened up now. Hmmm, I have to say, I don't really feel any better.

I Have More Marks Than You, So There

I was thinking about something the other day. Why do some Christians give credit out? You know, like when someone is "saved," (if you don't know why I put it in quotations ask somebody who knows me), and someone else will say something like, 'oh, well that so-and-so, they really are good for that. They are going to get a big blessing.' Or, take someone who prays for someone who is sick and they get better; inevitably someone will credit the person who prayed. The thing is that some people receive a higher status in the church for this reason. Heck, I've heard people say that they should have so-and-so pray for them because they have more power. Seriously? Do we really believe that? Or, again, how about when a Christian singer or preacher dies and their music or preachings still are broadcast and someone is moved by them? I know that I've heard it said, "wow, look at that; they are already gone and they are still blessing people. They just got another reward in Heaven." I don't understand this logic. If people have some special powers then what do I need God for? Please, don't get me wrong. I don't serve God because he has special healing powers or anything. The only thing I need from God is his love and salvation, both of which are mine without the asking. Is it not one God who works through us all? Why credit people? Do we really think that God has a huge chalkboard with all of our names on it and he adds a tally next to our name when we do something that blesses someone? After five tallies we get a prize, what we call a blessing? Does this make sense to anyone else?

The Essence

Words. Feelings. Emotions. All jumbled together within me. I cannot express them. I am without. I am a conundrum. I want to write, to express myself, to open my soul and bleed it a little. I need an outlet. It's all wrapped up inside of me. A mix of feelings unspoken, perhaps not yet perceivable, even to me. I need to release, to exhale, to clear my mind. I need you, as well, in the way you need me. Something brought you here. You've read me before; now you're back. Intriguing, isn't it? All of us now are gathered here, where time and space seem irrelevant. Matters, doesn't matter, matters, non-matters, all jumbled together here. All found, all lost. Anger, expressed. Grief, found. Sorrow, expounded. Happiness, sought. Joy, obtained.

Peace.

Love.

Peace.

Love.

God, man, and the distance between them.

Peace.

Love.

Peace.

All of our feelings amount to this. This is the end of all humanity. This is the intention. Why we are without, why we suffer. It is all for peace, love.

Peace.

Love.

It all amounts to this. It all falls apart and is collected into this: Peace, love. Welcome to the love of God, the peace that surpasses all understanding. Emotions can not overcome it. The tides do not erode it. It is the beginning and the end. The matter of all things. Broken I am and peace speaks. Humble I become and love overflows. Welcome. Take it all in. Here I am laid bare. I fall into submission and the essence of all things overtakes me, overtakes you.

Peace.

Love.

Love.

Peace.

This too?

I am sooo hungry! Man, what I eat is not what I want to be watching! !! (Extra exclamation points just for good measure!) !! (One more time: !! I'm done now.) Anyways, I am t-h-i-r-t-y years old now. Wow, thirty, three-zero, 30, 3-0. So, I can no longer eat just whatever in the heck I want to, (like I ever really could. I just did, even to my own detriment.) So, I am mostly just hungry right now. I really want some gravy or melted cheese or pasta or any kind of carb or meaningful fat. It's like a battle between my mind and my appetite. I have to prevail. I really have no choice at this point in my life.

Ok, so here's the deal: I like to control my environment. Why is this one thing so hard? You know, I literally have to try not to control so many things, but this one thing I really want to control has ruled over me for years now. Hmmm, it's a conundrum.

Well, anyways, I am winning the battle for now and I will always do my best to continue. I will learn to deal with hungry and this, too, shall pass...(right, this will pass, won't it?!?)