The Light to My Path

the last time
You took a knife to me
i hurt and bled and
lost much of me
You took from me and broke me
but
i became just a little more lovely,
a little more like You,
a little more fit for Your plans.
i was but a lump of clay
content in its natural shape
but You hollowed me out,
to be filled with light

and You faithfully did
which is my only solace
as I watch you take up
Your blade again,
as I watch you cut
as I watch my own...

it's like shooting an arrow,

with no point, 

at a moving target,
 

or like bathing a cat,

one with all its claws,

and natural aversions to water,
 

or like assembling a puzzle,

one with a thousand pieces,

and some beautiful Thomas Kinkade sunset,

only to find you've nine hundred ninety-nine,
 

or like following the GPS for hours,

and getting lost, 

and missing the whole engagement,
 

or like getting there on time,

to realize you've left you...

why have You sent me
why is it that things I love
home and hopes I held
will be traded in for
gray static,
blank spaces in void unknown?

and why do I not thank You
but weep at Your feet,
mourning a life no longer mine
why do I hurt for loss
instead of await my gain?

I know it’s You there
in the blackness,
void I can’t see
and I know to follow
but I’m turned towards what I left,
knowing it will never look this way again
if on...

if I

shut my eyes

tightly enough

I’m in the field

tickled by the brush

underfoot

warmed by a late afternoon sun,

not standing

in front of the bathroom sink

drinking lukewarm tea. 

before life goes on, 

it appears some of it has to stop.

can't you see the end

of the track like I can?

is no one else feeling the

screeching halt?

and the closer it gets

the worse it feels

and another stop

no easier, no more prepared for

than the first

and then another

each one hurting more

each one a hair ripped out,

a scrape on a knee

and now You're telling me 

to get off

that there's some other car waiting

that I can't even see from here

and...

my eyes fill at the sight of stars

and my whole being floods

joy. 

could You really have something

held for me in another place

to be brought down that

is more glorious than my glimpses

of sky through smoke and streetlights

could there be anything better

than what You’ve given me here now

You tell me yes

and many sleepless nights I’ll lie

wondering about the perfect sky

I have always felt

someone missing

(how funny to know the feeling 

of a person never there,

as if my body were created to 

feel them)

and even after meeting the God of the universe

the Author of my salvation

my sinful flesh longs for 

what is not there

I am saying

I’m always the odd girl out

the one without her best friend

for those I consider mine

don’t consider me theirs;

no reciprocity in love. 

and those whose company I enjoy

don’t return...

i would like to

become better,

at loving strangers

for the sake of Jesus

for the sake of spilt blood

instead of selfless love,

i wrap up my heart 

in old self

and i am then the thief,

stealing moments to share Him

taking time without any spoken consents

i am wretched

sick

waiting to be taken up 

but without outstretched hands

to other souls

i wish i could say

i thank God every day 

that my merit is not a credential to Him 

but I cannot,

and I fai...

when you get there

you forget how cold you are,

how pained you are, 

how lost you felt

lay down on the cool rock

let it burn your 

bare arms

because you shed yourself off 

just to get here.

you see nothing but the glory

the goodness

and it is worth it,

getting just lost enough to

feel your blood move through you

hurting just enough to remind you 

of your own flesh

but well enough to keep

moving,

even if you don't want to

you could stretch out

los...

that turns off the bad parts

makes me function

at work, at home

i wake up on time and my dishes are always clean

but it turns off the good parts too

i am cold and feelingless

realistic robot

paintings of black and white,

or gray on a special occasion

that's why i gave them all

to the trash man 

instead of selling all that i am

i learn to cope with the bad so

i can keep the good

you see, 

the anxiety is what makes the art

if we were not so pas...