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Our world is full of flaws. No matter how many amazing people you meet, all it is really is that they’re trying. its funny how we all have our standards. & As humans we must have em to define our lives. To do something, to act upon. to reason & decision. But God.. ? Man. You just let loose, like your best shot at just dance. Who cares how many steps you miss, how stiff your bones are. And you just do it. Just go with his sound. Live like his song. And try your best. Give it your every energy. He’ll take you however bad you are. We sinners. Imperfect. God is crazy about. To the point of death. No wonder why I’ll never get tired of that. The cross. the sacrifice. The blood, its shedding.. The truth- his truth. The love. His all. Its all that will ever matter.
To me,
they are foreign to physical compassion,..gentle language,.. & the great value of fellowship.
They’re foreign to affection.
To immediate consideration,
to conversations about true love and real patience. They are not fully aware of what it means to give time- to spare time, to spend time.
To silent oneself, and to let God do the talking.
They are foreign to simple hello’s.
To 3-second hugs.
To eye contact.
To giving an open ear.
They are foreign to the consistency that strengthens a relationship- the one full of communication and bond—The one where understanding immediately exists and touch is not taken for granted. Where I love you’s are normal. & kindness is goal.
They are foreign to God’s love.
For if they know not God, they know not love.
There’s always something kind of missing even when things are going well. I love those instances of perfection. They’re not perfect. Nothing is. But they were to me. Those moments that bring great pleasure to the soul. To the heart. Those times when laughter is easy.
We make excuses of why things feel heavy. Or hectic. Or why I cant seem to embrace the wind like i used to. Apparently, the past always looks better: “Remember that time when…” But i realize that every now will be a past. So then, now is also better. Tomorrow will be as well. These physical duties are my excuse. What else is there to blame.
Give it a name. These things that occur but are not true. Its true that fantasies are lies. That at times we unconsciously yet consciously lie to ourselves to feel good. To be happy. She said stop rehearsing those thoughts. Then I solve it with this”: Start spending real time with real people. Networking can only take you so far. The genuineness of a connection is deeper when face to face. When you’re vulnerable to each other’s flaws. And still trying to make the best out of it. Love isn’t blind.
I love those instances.
Life gets a little lot more vague when you get older.
I’m less sure. compared to before when my insides always proved certain. Even when, they were undecided but certain.
Now my words are blurry like my eyesight. Things are harder to define, but easier to understand. I get it. But I can’t articulate. I can’t easily navigate. or decide. Or turn something into art. Writing was easy. Knowledge seems to only kill you. “For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief.”
Life is lonelier when you’re older. But it is more exciting. It doesn’t feel more exciting like it was, but it just is.
Emptiness is easier to find. Fulfillment harder to once again define. I think its all about the choices you make. Cliches then come to life. Histories repeat. But you never really learn until you walk in that path.
The goal now is to EMBRACE. To ‘feel’ the sunset. To touch life. To have more memories of glory and meaning. even if these will bring pain. To love more. To keep meeting God. To quit things. To take many many risks. Like giving your heart to a new friend. And being ‘not brave and confident,’ but courageous. To try things, and decide things even when you’re not sure.
Its interesting. that I cry less. Everything now springs from within. None of my responses ever come from the surface first (besides reflex of course;) ).
I’m looking forward to what’s forward.
My brothers fought the good fight. And I’ve decided that I’m doing the same thing.
Till death do us a favor. And bring me into glory with You.
(Source: Ecc 1)
Dear God,
Everytime I mentioned You, it just didn’t click to her. So it seemed like blabber to me since she didn’t understand.
When I spoke about You, her problems ate my words. What she was going through was bigger than what I had to say.
She couldn’t understand why things were, and why they are.
You were too big for us to understand. And so I didn’t really know what to respond with.
You were too big for her to understand. But I thought.. You are big enough for me to worship.
This is your opportunity. And you know things better than I do. And I trust you. Help her find the way you meant for her. Please help her see. even if she will not understand. Because heck, I don’t. But I know. And I love you. And I know you love her.
In Jesus name,
Amen.
Jesus is not like the charm of fishing. “The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” -John Buchan. Instead, Jesus is living truth. A guaranteed hope. Joy that is set in its place, promised for you, waiting for you. Unlike the evasive fish, He is rock. So set your feet on him, and you will have a firm place to stand.
can u miss something that you dont miss? If you miss missing something that you don’t miss anymore like u used to, does that mean something more than merely wanting to feel that something again? Before, when you thought you used to make sense. of when you could better articulate what your senses sensed? When you could dig deep and at least present those existences with words as in a blog site. As in a song. As in a blank now filled sheet of white.. paper?
It seems as though the more I grew, the more I knew, the more I’m experiencing, the greater my headaches, the lesser my words. the more painful my searches, the easier I move on and do on. For something else. For someone else. For what He says. For everything besides myself. Its funny I say this. because its exactly what I asked for. And what I will continue to, ask for.
I just want to feel deeper. I want to sense that endless whirl of emotions and expressions of the heart, of the very being of me. Where the source of sooo much passion exists. I want to get back to that brave writer who spoke out her thoughts. Publicly declaring but clearly only personally hearing. When I could dwell on what I knew and what I didnt know and what I longed to know. When I felt pretty human. Its funny I say that. because what I strive for isnt exactly of the human„ nature.
i know who I am. But I want to be able to know how to own me. How to show that I don’t belong to myself yet I can never be more certain of being why I am. Why i control me but surrendered me. I need You on this one. You’ve always known I do.
Hm.. more than what’s more. And it never ends .. .
“It was an epiphany: scientists had been trying for decades to grow immortal cell lines using normal cells instead of malignant ones, but it never worked. They thought their technique was the problem, when in fact it was simply that the lifespan of normal cells was preprogrammed. Only cells that had been transformed by a virus or a genetic mutation had the potential to become immortal.” —
from the Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
this passage reminded me of the truth that we’re all meant to die. But through the transformation of our hearts caused by faith in Jesus Christ, believing in his death and resurrection, we can all live in eternity with Him.
(Source: conflictingheart)
“Welcome to the fallout
Welcome to resistance
The tension is here
The tension is here
Between who you are and who you could be
Between how it is and how it should be”
— I dare you to move
This is life. Its meaning is there’s no constant happiness. But there’s permanent joy. You stick with God because only then will you be fine. There’s no other way. In his presence, within his kingdom, in his arms, following him is the only place where I am able to see life as an adventure, with its necessary ups and downs. Without God, the adventure’s only a road with an end that’s determined by mood swings and feelings, a chaotic adventure full of burdening pain and confusion. accompanied by its deceiving temporaries and abused pleasures.
Then you come to the moral lesson regretting your decisions or you live in the past. Compared to diving in the journey with a faithful father who molds you through fire and when you get across that obstacle, you slowly find even joy in your suffering. because you know every single moment of it was worth the commotion knowing you serve such an awesome God.
That indescribable eternity that lives in someone who loves this man called Jesus the Christ. The man many shoved aside, mistaking him for another spiritual dude who thinks he knows everything. I once asked someone why she believed in this Jesus. Paraphrasing her words she stated that why wouldn’t she believe in somebody who would die for her. If I could add on to that, not only did he die but that man lived again. Proving to be god. stirring our minds, our lives, convincing us that purpose exists. Setting a standard higher than humans’, giving sense to all the why’s and what’s and how’s of - do i live.
The hard questions are only parts. There’s also the part where a life is changed forever. The part where one begins to understand that maybe its meant to be this way.
There’s nothing like your sunrise. Red and orange hues of the sky in a horizontal view, dropping to ease the night.
Help me define my emotions, Lord. Let them be a part of me. Make them strong. I want to be human.
Provide me with your gift of companionship. A sweet caress for the heart, relaxing my inner soul, unconsciously living, lost in the core of familiarity.
Or even that of new. Surprise me.
There’s…an existence so deep that I believe it’s not found within me. To be is to have someone know you’re alive. Someone must’ve given us the want of friends, the want to love. The feel of company. The easy laughter.
why do my insides say ‘you don’t have the guts to express yourself’ ? Words are the tools used that take time. for me. some are born to joggle words blindfolded. Words, I don’t have enough of them. I have to shuffle a million times before the right positions come out.Giving a good posture to my ability to express through literature. Yet so many things exist within me. How else do I paint them out?
Songs require lyrics. Or at most they do. Poems have rhymes. Well, my being suggests a different form of way of perception to let out what lives inside my body that’s so physical making it so limited to understand this thing that is best (in our language) defined as spiritual. Some art that is nameless.
Crap, i don’ t know. It is found in hour-less worship. in family, in love. in prayer. in vacation.in conscious carelessness. in turning to praise in the midst of unwanted occurrences.
But however I begin to be in this place and effortlessly indulge in its fulfilling power to capture every single molecule of me, I know one truth. It all comes from above.
“Words, they’ve been short lately.”