Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray
For peace that never comes as my legs wrap
Sheets around them restlessly while I toss
And turn as she appears slowly next to me
Wrapped in a fine mist which slowly turns into
A body with black hair covering her face leaving
A single ice blue eye staring from behind the ebony curtain
A cruel smirk painted upon her lips.
Her eyes boring through mine, sharper than
Any dagger’s tip as words bite my soul injecting
Venom far deadly than a cobra’s that begins to
Course through my veins lighting my heart on
Fire with deadly pain.
“Liar,” she coos as finger nails slowly dig in my
Skin leaving beads of fear and anxiety rolling down
My arms like tears that I refuse to let fall
“Why do you pray?” She continues to ask, pulling
Me closer, tightening her grip as my anxiety levels
Begin to rise, my eyes frantically searching for an escape
Pleading for her to let me go
“You know you have problems,
I fear they are much too great for
Anyone to care, much less the man
Upstairs,” she purred so sweet I almost
Forgot that what came from her mouth was
A lie that I had forged in the back of my mind
She continued to hold me all through the night
My faithful companion,
Doubt never left my bed that night.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Do not write of Love
Do not write of love until you are thirty
Until you have worked the nine to five grind
And found yourself a loving mate to come home to at night
For anyone younger than that cannot understand
What passionate fires are awakened in the course of
Love so that when they write the words will not fall on deaf ears
Do not write of love until you are fourty
Until you have held a child that is yours in your arms
And torn out bits of hair in fruitless fustration at the child that you
Continue to chase around the house with jam stained cheeks.
For anyone younger than that can not understand what the protective
Love a mother feel when they go to pen the words that might be writen here.
Do not write of love until you are fifty
When your home is now silent
And it feels like your heart is slowly being rekindled to
Life by the smile that you see in their loving eyes,
While children that are yours and aren’t yours
Send in echos of playful laughter from the outside
For anyone younger than that can not understand what is like to
Fall in love with someone all over again
Do not write of love until you are sixty
And your years are well behind you as you
Sit on the porch wondering what is left of your life
Until your spouse gently coaxs you on a trip around the world
For anyone younger than that can not understand how sweet love
Becomes in age, like a fine wine they have to wait to taste.
Do not write of love until you are seventy
And standing by their grave silent as tears falling
Unchecked from eyes to water the flowers on the grave
Wondering if you could have made the time you both had last
Longer than those last few days that you were give
For anyone younger than can not understand how much it hurts to have
Loved and lost.
So my dear poets do not write of love
Youngesters have no cause to write of love
We who can be lovers, sisters, and mothers to friends and
Those who are closer than family in our young years because we
Have yet to sample its passionate fruit, its forbidden pleasures that
Sends tingles down the spine all because we are too young
To know what love truly is and fall into lust instead
Or so that is what we are told.
Therefore my dears remember as you sit with pen in hand
Waiting for a muse to gently tickle your ear and spill words
Onto your page, do not write of love for we can not truly
Know what love is yet.
__________________
So I guess this poem was just writen out of annoyance of being young and people thinking because of that I am not able to love. I know that a lot of things my age group does doesn’t inspire confidence but stop judging those of us who are mature by the low standards they have set.
Until you have worked the nine to five grind
And found yourself a loving mate to come home to at night
For anyone younger than that cannot understand
What passionate fires are awakened in the course of
Love so that when they write the words will not fall on deaf ears
Do not write of love until you are fourty
Until you have held a child that is yours in your arms
And torn out bits of hair in fruitless fustration at the child that you
Continue to chase around the house with jam stained cheeks.
For anyone younger than that can not understand what the protective
Love a mother feel when they go to pen the words that might be writen here.
Do not write of love until you are fifty
When your home is now silent
And it feels like your heart is slowly being rekindled to
Life by the smile that you see in their loving eyes,
While children that are yours and aren’t yours
Send in echos of playful laughter from the outside
For anyone younger than that can not understand what is like to
Fall in love with someone all over again
Do not write of love until you are sixty
And your years are well behind you as you
Sit on the porch wondering what is left of your life
Until your spouse gently coaxs you on a trip around the world
For anyone younger than that can not understand how sweet love
Becomes in age, like a fine wine they have to wait to taste.
Do not write of love until you are seventy
And standing by their grave silent as tears falling
Unchecked from eyes to water the flowers on the grave
Wondering if you could have made the time you both had last
Longer than those last few days that you were give
For anyone younger than can not understand how much it hurts to have
Loved and lost.
So my dear poets do not write of love
Youngesters have no cause to write of love
We who can be lovers, sisters, and mothers to friends and
Those who are closer than family in our young years because we
Have yet to sample its passionate fruit, its forbidden pleasures that
Sends tingles down the spine all because we are too young
To know what love truly is and fall into lust instead
Or so that is what we are told.
Therefore my dears remember as you sit with pen in hand
Waiting for a muse to gently tickle your ear and spill words
Onto your page, do not write of love for we can not truly
Know what love is yet.
__________________
So I guess this poem was just writen out of annoyance of being young and people thinking because of that I am not able to love. I know that a lot of things my age group does doesn’t inspire confidence but stop judging those of us who are mature by the low standards they have set.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Where I am from
A young marriage’s love is how I came to be
A duplex in Old Folsom with an old Oak tree out front was the first place that felt like home.
Childhood days of make believe pass through my mind as I think of my history.
I am from people who danced in pale moonlight under the Irish sky and proud warriors who chanted Poems of old around smoky fires.
Of people who pledged by saying Hial and committed murders and those who pledge neutrality
A child of mobsters and Tuscany and a race who respected Mother Earth.
This is where I am from.
I am from summer vacations to distant states and places that seemed to be heaven on earth
From thoughts of freedom and despair in equal measure
Of letting words and tear bleed from a pen and keeping a smiling face the whole time.
From condescending voices in my head telling me to do better and be the best
I am from hidden dreams that are taboo and cravings that would label me odd
From being a paradox and making perfect sense and that one song that describes me perfectly
I am from crazy car rides with six people in a VW Bug while rocking out to Seventeen Forever and hair Blowing in the breeze down Highway 50.
I am from a privileged background and yet take it for granted
From being the perfect daughter in public and the monster in private cause too many buttons have been pushed that I snap like a guitar string across your hand.
From something going right and friend’s smiles and holding on for the crazy ride of life, grinning like the Cheshire Cat all the while.
I am from making friends and being a teenager.
From growing up fast in some things and not another, learning the secret of life is making something Epic out of shit and counting your blessings and stopping to thank God that you’ve made it through Another day.
This is where I am from and I don’t have a problem with it.
Another old poem I found from a poetry promt my teacher gave me.
A duplex in Old Folsom with an old Oak tree out front was the first place that felt like home.
Childhood days of make believe pass through my mind as I think of my history.
I am from people who danced in pale moonlight under the Irish sky and proud warriors who chanted Poems of old around smoky fires.
Of people who pledged by saying Hial and committed murders and those who pledge neutrality
A child of mobsters and Tuscany and a race who respected Mother Earth.
This is where I am from.
I am from summer vacations to distant states and places that seemed to be heaven on earth
From thoughts of freedom and despair in equal measure
Of letting words and tear bleed from a pen and keeping a smiling face the whole time.
From condescending voices in my head telling me to do better and be the best
I am from hidden dreams that are taboo and cravings that would label me odd
From being a paradox and making perfect sense and that one song that describes me perfectly
I am from crazy car rides with six people in a VW Bug while rocking out to Seventeen Forever and hair Blowing in the breeze down Highway 50.
I am from a privileged background and yet take it for granted
From being the perfect daughter in public and the monster in private cause too many buttons have been pushed that I snap like a guitar string across your hand.
From something going right and friend’s smiles and holding on for the crazy ride of life, grinning like the Cheshire Cat all the while.
I am from making friends and being a teenager.
From growing up fast in some things and not another, learning the secret of life is making something Epic out of shit and counting your blessings and stopping to thank God that you’ve made it through Another day.
This is where I am from and I don’t have a problem with it.
Another old poem I found from a poetry promt my teacher gave me.
The party
Do you think I like the party?
Oh of course you would, that's right
I forgot. You can't see.
A black blindfold is covering your eyes
Always smiling and running with eyes closed
Like a reanimated corpse.
Do you think I like the party?
No, I absolutely without a shadow
Of a doubt, with complete certainty
I can state I
Hate
It.
Do you think I like the party?
The vile blind creatures pitifully
Stumbling back and forth like
Lost children, hiding under blindfolds
With the marks and scars of what they
Do when the lights are out displayed
For all to see as they dance like frenzied winds.
No I don't like the party
Do you think I like the party?
I am only here for you
No one else
Trying to save you, trying to make
You see, to burn away that damn cloth
That covers your eyes and stare you in the face.
To look you in the eyes and finally wonder
If you can truly see me.
Do you think I like the party?
No but I can lie better than you
Because you hate it too.
Another old poem that I'm finally getting around to posting... ^_^; enjoy :)
Oh of course you would, that's right
I forgot. You can't see.
A black blindfold is covering your eyes
Always smiling and running with eyes closed
Like a reanimated corpse.
Do you think I like the party?
No, I absolutely without a shadow
Of a doubt, with complete certainty
I can state I
Hate
It.
Do you think I like the party?
The vile blind creatures pitifully
Stumbling back and forth like
Lost children, hiding under blindfolds
With the marks and scars of what they
Do when the lights are out displayed
For all to see as they dance like frenzied winds.
No I don't like the party
Do you think I like the party?
I am only here for you
No one else
Trying to save you, trying to make
You see, to burn away that damn cloth
That covers your eyes and stare you in the face.
To look you in the eyes and finally wonder
If you can truly see me.
Do you think I like the party?
No but I can lie better than you
Because you hate it too.
Another old poem that I'm finally getting around to posting... ^_^; enjoy :)
Orchestral Organic Missives: The Other Half of the Tango
Prelude
I want to be wrapped in you
Until I sing your song
I.
I can hear it. Your heart. It breaks the silence of the room. It beats in time with mine, trying to touch but dancing out of reach. You’re stiff but you are here. I watch. Will you speak? Do you hear me? I’m asking you to speak. I hear your roar and can’t help but smile on the inside. I will watch until you speak to me.
II.
You break the barrier. Distance isn’t an issue anymore as you weave your body into mine. I let you hold me, wrap your legs around me. You anchor me as your chin rests against my throat. I listen to your whispers as the years pass. But my world is cold at times and yet you long to understand. Your work isn’t in vain because it is hard to understand.
III.
We are separated. I dare not count the number of worlds and rules we break by just staring. They were made for a reason as I hid in my dark façade. I try to block you and the sunlight you bring out. I throw black holes and dying stars in my wake, begging you to go. But I am pleased to see that you will cross.
IV.
Gravity is broken. We both collapse, crushed and beaten by reality. Your macrocosm of aneurysms twists the sheets above and below as we both seize in wordless pleasure. My traitor tongue tries to spill the secret we seem to share. But I force it down and keep in its grave. The decay poisons and corrupts my body with your scent and spirit.
Interlude
My words are a tango, danced for your hands (your eyes) alone
Something I wrote after reading a poem online almost a year ago, so enjoy :)
I want to be wrapped in you
Until I sing your song
I.
I can hear it. Your heart. It breaks the silence of the room. It beats in time with mine, trying to touch but dancing out of reach. You’re stiff but you are here. I watch. Will you speak? Do you hear me? I’m asking you to speak. I hear your roar and can’t help but smile on the inside. I will watch until you speak to me.
II.
You break the barrier. Distance isn’t an issue anymore as you weave your body into mine. I let you hold me, wrap your legs around me. You anchor me as your chin rests against my throat. I listen to your whispers as the years pass. But my world is cold at times and yet you long to understand. Your work isn’t in vain because it is hard to understand.
III.
We are separated. I dare not count the number of worlds and rules we break by just staring. They were made for a reason as I hid in my dark façade. I try to block you and the sunlight you bring out. I throw black holes and dying stars in my wake, begging you to go. But I am pleased to see that you will cross.
IV.
Gravity is broken. We both collapse, crushed and beaten by reality. Your macrocosm of aneurysms twists the sheets above and below as we both seize in wordless pleasure. My traitor tongue tries to spill the secret we seem to share. But I force it down and keep in its grave. The decay poisons and corrupts my body with your scent and spirit.
Interlude
My words are a tango, danced for your hands (your eyes) alone
Something I wrote after reading a poem online almost a year ago, so enjoy :)
House of Cards
Is our love dead?
I sit and stare out the window, rain
Gently drumming its fingertips against
The window panes while my forehead rests
Against the clammy center of my palm.
Two cups of coffee sit at our dinner table,
Rapidly cooling as I watch you staring at your back.
Is the love broken?
Can I let it go, a life time of memories
Photos splayed on the table telling of
Summers spent under apple trees with laughter
Dancing on the wind, of winters clutching each
Other in the snow as flakes nested in our hair.
My fingers slowly clutch the cup in front of me
As I stare at your back, willing you to break the
Silence that has us ensnared like prey, wishing
You would speak, letting the words I long to hear
Tumble from your lips and fanning the dying flame
In my heart.
How did this happen?
When did we become two strangers being
Perfectly excellent room mates who shared the same
Bed, tangled in sheets with our backs facing each other
When we use to be tangled in the others arms.
We pass in the hall like phantoms now
Barley aware that the other exists.
Will I take the first step?
The fights we had mar the beauty we once
Created as I stare into the murky brown liquid
Before turning away the chair scrapping against the floor
The two of us back to back as the storm rages against
The house of cards we have built
Will you take the first step?
Can I find the strength to stay
To reach out to you and hold out you,
Can you find the strength to do the same
Or will the house of cards collapse all around us?
Finally found the time to go through my poetry and start posting it on here. So enjoy :)
I sit and stare out the window, rain
Gently drumming its fingertips against
The window panes while my forehead rests
Against the clammy center of my palm.
Two cups of coffee sit at our dinner table,
Rapidly cooling as I watch you staring at your back.
Is the love broken?
Can I let it go, a life time of memories
Photos splayed on the table telling of
Summers spent under apple trees with laughter
Dancing on the wind, of winters clutching each
Other in the snow as flakes nested in our hair.
My fingers slowly clutch the cup in front of me
As I stare at your back, willing you to break the
Silence that has us ensnared like prey, wishing
You would speak, letting the words I long to hear
Tumble from your lips and fanning the dying flame
In my heart.
How did this happen?
When did we become two strangers being
Perfectly excellent room mates who shared the same
Bed, tangled in sheets with our backs facing each other
When we use to be tangled in the others arms.
We pass in the hall like phantoms now
Barley aware that the other exists.
Will I take the first step?
The fights we had mar the beauty we once
Created as I stare into the murky brown liquid
Before turning away the chair scrapping against the floor
The two of us back to back as the storm rages against
The house of cards we have built
Will you take the first step?
Can I find the strength to stay
To reach out to you and hold out you,
Can you find the strength to do the same
Or will the house of cards collapse all around us?
Finally found the time to go through my poetry and start posting it on here. So enjoy :)
Monday, January 10, 2011
I AM NOT YOUR LUNCH!
( I will warn you this is extremely long and detailed because that is me. If that doesn’t bother you then read on)
This weekend was amazing for me I went on my church’s college winter retreat and had such a blast. I think it also helped that I was treated like I had a brain by everyone instead of a thing that needed to be herded fr0m place to place (And with that I make referance to the way high school ministries seem to be run. And time to get off the bunny trail) Ah but let’s see how to recap the weekend?
Well, the car I was in got lost on the way to get to the retreat. So its me and two other girls, Liz and Regina, in a car, on a windy mountain path lost in the dark…..(cue Twilight Zone theme to be followed by the Halloween soundtrack. XD ) Needless to say we were freaked out because we had no recption in the hills until we finally pulled over at someone’s house and we got bars to call for directions. At said house we met a very nice mix dog whom I dubbed Benji
Finally we made it to camp and spent another five minutes being loss until we found were our college pastor was preaching to everyone else. I really hate the whole walk of shame thing you do when you are late. Plus our pastor then sprung on us that we would be sharing our stories! Yay………not. See the thing is as an interovert, I don’t share. Actually let me repharse that last sentence. See the thing is as a person who as built walls over the past 6ish years and so many of them that I’m starting to get lost, I was not happy.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that as a writer/poet/blogger/listener/reader that stories are important. But to share my story is like pulling teeth from a kicking horse. Its not going to happen very often that I share my story and when I do its really hard and painful for me to tell the whole thing so I leave a lot of it out when I share it with someone.
So our pastor continues and says that there are journals for us that have questions that we need to answer by the next time we met again to hear someone share their story. I head down to my room which I am sharing with the people I rode up with, feeling a little bit sad that all the two rooms my friends where in were completely full :/ Oh well, I thought as I began to unpack setting up my bunk area and pulling out my journals and books I brought. I brushed my teeth and popped out my contacts and began to answer the questions that my pastor had wrote for us. Meanwhile Regina had gotten burned playing a game called Fire ball and we all dropped what we were doing to watch a home made episode of Grey’s Anatomy as her burn was treated. I went back to working on the questions that I was very unhappy with wondering if I was so unhappy with them why am I doing them? I’m not so anti-establishment as I thought. So I won’t be becoming a political activist anytime soon oh well….
The two that stuck out in my mind the most were “what was the time you felt furtherest from God and why?” and “What has God showed you this year?” So twirling my black pen for a minute I placed it against the paper and began to vaguely answer the questions figuring I can bs add more when I share. Finally I went to bed and was awaken at 7:10 by the sound of girls talking and moving around.
One major thing about me is I am not a morning person. Never have been. I need two cups of coffee before you can get a mumbled good morning out of me. Getting ready in the bathroom I had several people say good morning to me but I grunted/growled thingy before five minutes later replying morning. Or I would just hand wave as I stared in the mirror noting that my hair had decided to pick that morning to have part of it stick up like a peacock’s tail feather before folding over in a cockito look.
After gettting ready I quickly walked over to the cafiteria due to A) I was straving B) I was cold and most importantly C) I needed my coffee. After pouring myself a cup of coffee (with five sugar packets and two things of creamer) I sat at a table with the girls from my small group and a few other girls from the college group. We were having a great time eatting, laughing, and just talking. Or in my case, eatting, talking and laughing occasionally, and then reading Wuthering Heights while eatting. I was paying attention to the conversation around me and heard my friend Faythe tell my friend Mary, that she is moving to Fresno in two weeks.
While she made that announcement I quickly and quitely made a hasty retreat to the outside where the cold greatfully decided to hug me. My mind was going a hundred miles a minute. But the only two thoughts I could get out were “God how could you! I need her! This isn’t fair!” and the second was “I need to write.” My feet carried me to a bench that sat above the trail to the meeting area and I sat. Pen in hand a poem began to form as I poured out my hurt into it.
As her friend, I am happy that she is moving and it is where God is leading her, however as a selfish human being who does want to let her go I was upset to the point I was blinking back tears because I am a rock. I don’t cry. I comfort those that do. Finally I had finish writing the poem my heart still wounded as I was slowly realizing that I could no longer feel my extremities. That was a problem. I rushed into my little room area to grab the journal our pastor gave us and to get warm before heading up to the meeting area.
Along the way I ran into my small group leader Sarah who I had managed to convince to wear an eyeliner mustache with me. We put them on in the bathroom before heading to the meeting causing everyone to laugh and the pastor, PC, to say yes someone wore a fake mustache. I love to make people laugh so I had fun doing that. After we had worship my friend Sarah L. (There were three Sarah’s there… XD) got up to share her story and about how she had been in a car crash and God taught her how she needed to trust him and be more open with others.
Looking at her you would never imagine that she would be a speed demon. She is one of the sweetest and kindest people I know and to hear about her car crash and someone screaming at her when she was hurt and freaked out made me want to hunt him down and show him what happens when you are a jack-ass. However it was so amazing to see how brave she was to share that and halfway through it she noticed that Sarah K and I wearing mustaches and cracked everyone up again.
After that one of the guys Brian came up and just shared on how when he tried to control his life it didn’t work out well for him until he let God in. Now both of those stories have a ringing echo in my life. I have tried to control my life only to have it crash and burn in a firey splender and I am not open but need to be as God keeps pushing that fact in my life. After that we broke off into small groups to share the questions we had answered.
I was in a group with Sarah, Sarah S. (the third and final Sarah on the trip), and a guy named Dan. Now me sharing with these people was as likely as a snow storm in July but I could find no way of getting out of sharing. Thankfully both Dan and Sarah went first leaving me and Sarah S.(I have yet to really speak with her about her but from watching her she is like a butterfly, a beautiful fraigle thing) to share later in the night which left me with about 8 hours to come down with the flu or food posioning. Dan shared about his time in Guatemala and how a woman there Tia really influenced him by her strong faith. He shared with us that he wanted to continue to serve the Lord but didn’t think that Guatemala was the place for him to do it as God has called Tia and several other people to help her out.
After that Sarah shared about how she felt really far from God in this past year and how she really couldn’t share that with her mom because of how she was just diagonised with cancer and continued to make jokes about it which hurt her feelings and made her feel like she just couldn’t share. I completely understood how she felt, recalling how when my dad was really sick and the doctors couldn’t figure out what it was (we deduced later it was all the side effects from the drugs he was on that the doctors had given him for his back pain. That is my main reason I will not do drugs other than asprin for cramps and headaches.) he would say how happy we would all be when he was dead and jump up and down on his grave.
And I couldn’t share that with him because I would be told I was being too sensitive (To be honest I think sensitivity is a gift that shouldn’t be made fun of like it is.). After we prayed for the both of them we headed out to our rooms to drop off our stuff and to come back and watch people play Dance Revolution on the Wii. I must admit seeing PC do the robot was pretty awesome Right after lunch I wiped off my mustache and headed into town with Liz, Regina, my friend Lori (0ne of the most artistic and beautiful people I have had the privallege of knowing), Hannah (who was originally my prayer partner on a mission’s trip and now my amazing awesome Ke$ha double friend), her sister Lydia (a very passionate and vibrant strong woman), two girls who I had only just met, Lectia (my book reading buddy who became my friend after punching me in the nose [nothing broke more of a love tap really when I stop to think about it now]), PC (who I really want to hear more slam poetry from at some point), and another girl named Tia (who was in the worship band for the retreat). Three of the guys went with us, John (who had surgery on his shoulder recently), Andrew (who is working towards a Poliy Sci major [I have no idea how to spell the first word to be honest] at UC Davis) and Dan who was in my trust group.
We went to an amazing coffee shop where they had twenty pund bags of coffee just laying out in the window and in the store. It was pretty perfect in my opinon and we all left to go to this book store across the street. And it was the best book store I have ever been in. In every single room there were books stacked on bookshelves with books behind them with an upstairs area that had even more books. One room was just deciated to dvds music and stuff like that. As a group we spent about a half an hour in there and I walked away with 7 gently used books that I have been searching for for quite awhile now.
After that we continued to visit through the downtown area for two hours before returning back to camp. Thankfully I managed to spend most of that alone by taking a shower and heading to the cafiteria to read Jane Erye (to let you know all of the books I bought were published before or during the 1920′s originally) in front of a huge fire. It was a perfect way for me to just recharge and relax, my eyes plunging my brain into the 18th centuary while the cracking fire did little to distrub my consintration.
A half an hour later I was surrounded by friends occisionally offering a word or two into the conversations and agreeing with my friend Lori that we needed to start a book club for our college group. Soon dinner was served and I enjoyed the company of my friends, still trying to plot a way out of sharing my life. My brain began to toy with the idea of chicken pox but I didn’t think my red ink pen would do a very convincing job of making me look sick. I would probably look like my skin unleashed an attack of pimples on me.
Subjecting myself to my fate, I headed back to my room to grab my bible and journal and headed up to the meeting place. Sitting next to Faythe I wondered if I couldn’t escape before the “trust circle”as Sarah called it. Two more of the guys shared after the band, my friend Zack and another one of the guys Cameron shared. Zack talked about how he has done so many missions trips but never really thought about how much money was spent on his faith and how he sees all these people who have nothing have such a great faith. He felt like God was calling him to abide in him to make his faith stronger.
Cameron meanwhile told about his life and struggle with drugs and ending up in jail. And I just sat there listening to both of them and I felt like such a failure, like who was I to sit here and thinking my life was horrible when Cameron had gone to prison and had all these things happened to him. And it was something that PC warned about because here I was comparing my story with his, forgetting that God gave me my story for a reason. After they shared we broke off into our small group (Sarah decided to name it the Trust party and we came up with a sign for it.
Both Sarah and Sarah S. tried to get me to go first but I balked, my leg slowly began to move. As Sarah S. shared it shifted gears into rapid bouncing as I felt my pulse began to violent beat against my chest. This was something that I did not want to do and I didn’t care if I made myself sick because of how freaked out I was. I had built the walls I had for over the past 6 years, they were there to protect me, my head screamed as I slowly began to breath again focusing on listening to Sarah S. tell her story. The thing that made me so jealous of her for a felting second was that God was proud of her. To be honest I’m not sure if I can even claim that when I heard her say that.
Then they looked at me, awaiting for me to speak. I briefly wondered if I could run before they noticed I was gone. But I then remember that they were looking at me. Taking a breath I began to share, my brain trying to keep too much from slipping out. I told how I felt so far from God last year,the darkness that threatened to swallow me whole but didn’t, and finally how God wrestled with my stubbornness to bring me back to him. And finally how God has been saying throught the people in my life “It’s time to let go of those walls that you built.” After that Sarah asked me questions on my story drawing out more details to cover the very gray picture I left before praying for me and we decided to make a coffee date to answer more of her questions that I had left unanswered.
After that I hid out in my room, wanting to just forget this aching that was in my chest screaming so many things at me. I found Faythe after a few hours and she braided my hair, I just sat there enjoying the feeling of my hair being braided becoming slightly restless when she began to ask me questions. We sat after she braided my hair, her words explaining how excited she was going back to work at Fresno for the college she graduated. The words “I’m happy for you.” came out before I could catch them by the dam of my coffee stained teeth.
I began to become quieter wondering if I could fade into the fabric of the chair I was sitting. Faythe began to stare at me harder as if I was blurring into a hazy memory that she was desprite to remember while the conversation turned into something painful for me. We switched it to something lighter although she left me with the advice/order from a friend to go read my bible and journal. So I did. I was up until three journaling before crawling into bed and falling asleep.
Four hours of sleep later I woke up and actually felt alert and calm. I actually said good morning to people before heading up to the cafiteria to read James and journal. Faythe came later with Cameron and Sarah and the two of them invited Liz, who had joined me in sitting, and myself to join them in life journaling. So the six of us sat down with our Bibles and read two chapters in Genesis and a chapter in Luke. I said that the thing that stood out to me in Genesis was that how in the passage that the guy who was speaking had such faith that his prayer would be answered and how specific he was. So I said that I needed to have that faith and specificness in my prayers.
After breakfeast and our last worship sesson, Sarah and I made plans for coffee and I headed home.
That weekend was amazing. I learned so much being around my friends and hearing the stories.
I learned that I’ve got to keep going on this openness and how to be closer to God with that.
I will continue this journey. I don’t know where it leads, I know it won’t be easy but its okay. I will have friends to help me when I stumble and a God who is there to guide me along the way. And now it is late and I am off to bed. Goodnight
(Longest blog entry ever!)
This weekend was amazing for me I went on my church’s college winter retreat and had such a blast. I think it also helped that I was treated like I had a brain by everyone instead of a thing that needed to be herded fr0m place to place (And with that I make referance to the way high school ministries seem to be run. And time to get off the bunny trail) Ah but let’s see how to recap the weekend?
Well, the car I was in got lost on the way to get to the retreat. So its me and two other girls, Liz and Regina, in a car, on a windy mountain path lost in the dark…..(cue Twilight Zone theme to be followed by the Halloween soundtrack. XD ) Needless to say we were freaked out because we had no recption in the hills until we finally pulled over at someone’s house and we got bars to call for directions. At said house we met a very nice mix dog whom I dubbed Benji
Finally we made it to camp and spent another five minutes being loss until we found were our college pastor was preaching to everyone else. I really hate the whole walk of shame thing you do when you are late. Plus our pastor then sprung on us that we would be sharing our stories! Yay………not. See the thing is as an interovert, I don’t share. Actually let me repharse that last sentence. See the thing is as a person who as built walls over the past 6ish years and so many of them that I’m starting to get lost, I was not happy.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that as a writer/poet/blogger/listener/reader that stories are important. But to share my story is like pulling teeth from a kicking horse. Its not going to happen very often that I share my story and when I do its really hard and painful for me to tell the whole thing so I leave a lot of it out when I share it with someone.
So our pastor continues and says that there are journals for us that have questions that we need to answer by the next time we met again to hear someone share their story. I head down to my room which I am sharing with the people I rode up with, feeling a little bit sad that all the two rooms my friends where in were completely full :/ Oh well, I thought as I began to unpack setting up my bunk area and pulling out my journals and books I brought. I brushed my teeth and popped out my contacts and began to answer the questions that my pastor had wrote for us. Meanwhile Regina had gotten burned playing a game called Fire ball and we all dropped what we were doing to watch a home made episode of Grey’s Anatomy as her burn was treated. I went back to working on the questions that I was very unhappy with wondering if I was so unhappy with them why am I doing them? I’m not so anti-establishment as I thought. So I won’t be becoming a political activist anytime soon oh well….
The two that stuck out in my mind the most were “what was the time you felt furtherest from God and why?” and “What has God showed you this year?” So twirling my black pen for a minute I placed it against the paper and began to vaguely answer the questions figuring I can bs add more when I share. Finally I went to bed and was awaken at 7:10 by the sound of girls talking and moving around.
One major thing about me is I am not a morning person. Never have been. I need two cups of coffee before you can get a mumbled good morning out of me. Getting ready in the bathroom I had several people say good morning to me but I grunted/growled thingy before five minutes later replying morning. Or I would just hand wave as I stared in the mirror noting that my hair had decided to pick that morning to have part of it stick up like a peacock’s tail feather before folding over in a cockito look.
After gettting ready I quickly walked over to the cafiteria due to A) I was straving B) I was cold and most importantly C) I needed my coffee. After pouring myself a cup of coffee (with five sugar packets and two things of creamer) I sat at a table with the girls from my small group and a few other girls from the college group. We were having a great time eatting, laughing, and just talking. Or in my case, eatting, talking and laughing occasionally, and then reading Wuthering Heights while eatting. I was paying attention to the conversation around me and heard my friend Faythe tell my friend Mary, that she is moving to Fresno in two weeks.
While she made that announcement I quickly and quitely made a hasty retreat to the outside where the cold greatfully decided to hug me. My mind was going a hundred miles a minute. But the only two thoughts I could get out were “God how could you! I need her! This isn’t fair!” and the second was “I need to write.” My feet carried me to a bench that sat above the trail to the meeting area and I sat. Pen in hand a poem began to form as I poured out my hurt into it.
As her friend, I am happy that she is moving and it is where God is leading her, however as a selfish human being who does want to let her go I was upset to the point I was blinking back tears because I am a rock. I don’t cry. I comfort those that do. Finally I had finish writing the poem my heart still wounded as I was slowly realizing that I could no longer feel my extremities. That was a problem. I rushed into my little room area to grab the journal our pastor gave us and to get warm before heading up to the meeting area.
Along the way I ran into my small group leader Sarah who I had managed to convince to wear an eyeliner mustache with me. We put them on in the bathroom before heading to the meeting causing everyone to laugh and the pastor, PC, to say yes someone wore a fake mustache. I love to make people laugh so I had fun doing that. After we had worship my friend Sarah L. (There were three Sarah’s there… XD) got up to share her story and about how she had been in a car crash and God taught her how she needed to trust him and be more open with others.
Looking at her you would never imagine that she would be a speed demon. She is one of the sweetest and kindest people I know and to hear about her car crash and someone screaming at her when she was hurt and freaked out made me want to hunt him down and show him what happens when you are a jack-ass. However it was so amazing to see how brave she was to share that and halfway through it she noticed that Sarah K and I wearing mustaches and cracked everyone up again.
After that one of the guys Brian came up and just shared on how when he tried to control his life it didn’t work out well for him until he let God in. Now both of those stories have a ringing echo in my life. I have tried to control my life only to have it crash and burn in a firey splender and I am not open but need to be as God keeps pushing that fact in my life. After that we broke off into small groups to share the questions we had answered.
I was in a group with Sarah, Sarah S. (the third and final Sarah on the trip), and a guy named Dan. Now me sharing with these people was as likely as a snow storm in July but I could find no way of getting out of sharing. Thankfully both Dan and Sarah went first leaving me and Sarah S.(I have yet to really speak with her about her but from watching her she is like a butterfly, a beautiful fraigle thing) to share later in the night which left me with about 8 hours to come down with the flu or food posioning. Dan shared about his time in Guatemala and how a woman there Tia really influenced him by her strong faith. He shared with us that he wanted to continue to serve the Lord but didn’t think that Guatemala was the place for him to do it as God has called Tia and several other people to help her out.
After that Sarah shared about how she felt really far from God in this past year and how she really couldn’t share that with her mom because of how she was just diagonised with cancer and continued to make jokes about it which hurt her feelings and made her feel like she just couldn’t share. I completely understood how she felt, recalling how when my dad was really sick and the doctors couldn’t figure out what it was (we deduced later it was all the side effects from the drugs he was on that the doctors had given him for his back pain. That is my main reason I will not do drugs other than asprin for cramps and headaches.) he would say how happy we would all be when he was dead and jump up and down on his grave.
And I couldn’t share that with him because I would be told I was being too sensitive (To be honest I think sensitivity is a gift that shouldn’t be made fun of like it is.). After we prayed for the both of them we headed out to our rooms to drop off our stuff and to come back and watch people play Dance Revolution on the Wii. I must admit seeing PC do the robot was pretty awesome Right after lunch I wiped off my mustache and headed into town with Liz, Regina, my friend Lori (0ne of the most artistic and beautiful people I have had the privallege of knowing), Hannah (who was originally my prayer partner on a mission’s trip and now my amazing awesome Ke$ha double friend), her sister Lydia (a very passionate and vibrant strong woman), two girls who I had only just met, Lectia (my book reading buddy who became my friend after punching me in the nose [nothing broke more of a love tap really when I stop to think about it now]), PC (who I really want to hear more slam poetry from at some point), and another girl named Tia (who was in the worship band for the retreat). Three of the guys went with us, John (who had surgery on his shoulder recently), Andrew (who is working towards a Poliy Sci major [I have no idea how to spell the first word to be honest] at UC Davis) and Dan who was in my trust group.
We went to an amazing coffee shop where they had twenty pund bags of coffee just laying out in the window and in the store. It was pretty perfect in my opinon and we all left to go to this book store across the street. And it was the best book store I have ever been in. In every single room there were books stacked on bookshelves with books behind them with an upstairs area that had even more books. One room was just deciated to dvds music and stuff like that. As a group we spent about a half an hour in there and I walked away with 7 gently used books that I have been searching for for quite awhile now.
After that we continued to visit through the downtown area for two hours before returning back to camp. Thankfully I managed to spend most of that alone by taking a shower and heading to the cafiteria to read Jane Erye (to let you know all of the books I bought were published before or during the 1920′s originally) in front of a huge fire. It was a perfect way for me to just recharge and relax, my eyes plunging my brain into the 18th centuary while the cracking fire did little to distrub my consintration.
A half an hour later I was surrounded by friends occisionally offering a word or two into the conversations and agreeing with my friend Lori that we needed to start a book club for our college group. Soon dinner was served and I enjoyed the company of my friends, still trying to plot a way out of sharing my life. My brain began to toy with the idea of chicken pox but I didn’t think my red ink pen would do a very convincing job of making me look sick. I would probably look like my skin unleashed an attack of pimples on me.
Subjecting myself to my fate, I headed back to my room to grab my bible and journal and headed up to the meeting place. Sitting next to Faythe I wondered if I couldn’t escape before the “trust circle”as Sarah called it. Two more of the guys shared after the band, my friend Zack and another one of the guys Cameron shared. Zack talked about how he has done so many missions trips but never really thought about how much money was spent on his faith and how he sees all these people who have nothing have such a great faith. He felt like God was calling him to abide in him to make his faith stronger.
Cameron meanwhile told about his life and struggle with drugs and ending up in jail. And I just sat there listening to both of them and I felt like such a failure, like who was I to sit here and thinking my life was horrible when Cameron had gone to prison and had all these things happened to him. And it was something that PC warned about because here I was comparing my story with his, forgetting that God gave me my story for a reason. After they shared we broke off into our small group (Sarah decided to name it the Trust party and we came up with a sign for it.
Both Sarah and Sarah S. tried to get me to go first but I balked, my leg slowly began to move. As Sarah S. shared it shifted gears into rapid bouncing as I felt my pulse began to violent beat against my chest. This was something that I did not want to do and I didn’t care if I made myself sick because of how freaked out I was. I had built the walls I had for over the past 6 years, they were there to protect me, my head screamed as I slowly began to breath again focusing on listening to Sarah S. tell her story. The thing that made me so jealous of her for a felting second was that God was proud of her. To be honest I’m not sure if I can even claim that when I heard her say that.
Then they looked at me, awaiting for me to speak. I briefly wondered if I could run before they noticed I was gone. But I then remember that they were looking at me. Taking a breath I began to share, my brain trying to keep too much from slipping out. I told how I felt so far from God last year,the darkness that threatened to swallow me whole but didn’t, and finally how God wrestled with my stubbornness to bring me back to him. And finally how God has been saying throught the people in my life “It’s time to let go of those walls that you built.” After that Sarah asked me questions on my story drawing out more details to cover the very gray picture I left before praying for me and we decided to make a coffee date to answer more of her questions that I had left unanswered.
After that I hid out in my room, wanting to just forget this aching that was in my chest screaming so many things at me. I found Faythe after a few hours and she braided my hair, I just sat there enjoying the feeling of my hair being braided becoming slightly restless when she began to ask me questions. We sat after she braided my hair, her words explaining how excited she was going back to work at Fresno for the college she graduated. The words “I’m happy for you.” came out before I could catch them by the dam of my coffee stained teeth.
I began to become quieter wondering if I could fade into the fabric of the chair I was sitting. Faythe began to stare at me harder as if I was blurring into a hazy memory that she was desprite to remember while the conversation turned into something painful for me. We switched it to something lighter although she left me with the advice/order from a friend to go read my bible and journal. So I did. I was up until three journaling before crawling into bed and falling asleep.
Four hours of sleep later I woke up and actually felt alert and calm. I actually said good morning to people before heading up to the cafiteria to read James and journal. Faythe came later with Cameron and Sarah and the two of them invited Liz, who had joined me in sitting, and myself to join them in life journaling. So the six of us sat down with our Bibles and read two chapters in Genesis and a chapter in Luke. I said that the thing that stood out to me in Genesis was that how in the passage that the guy who was speaking had such faith that his prayer would be answered and how specific he was. So I said that I needed to have that faith and specificness in my prayers.
After breakfeast and our last worship sesson, Sarah and I made plans for coffee and I headed home.
That weekend was amazing. I learned so much being around my friends and hearing the stories.
I learned that I’ve got to keep going on this openness and how to be closer to God with that.
I will continue this journey. I don’t know where it leads, I know it won’t be easy but its okay. I will have friends to help me when I stumble and a God who is there to guide me along the way. And now it is late and I am off to bed. Goodnight
(Longest blog entry ever!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)