Thirsty

I reach down and crack off a dried-out stem of grass.

The air is stale and there is no moisture to be found.

I didn’t even notice the state of the weather until recently.

Where were the warning signs?

The sand is hot and dusty between my toes.

It burns the soles of my feet whenever I take a step.

The unrelenting sun makes my skin hot and sweaty.

I am uncomfortable in myself.

All of this motivates me.

To move.

To grow.

To find water.

You reach down and stroke my sweaty back.

You take my dry and frizzy hair in your soft, cool hands.

There is relief.

“He said to me: ‘It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life.’ Revelation 21:6.”

Waterfront Girl (Excerpt)

(Excerpt from some of my writings...)

I don’t know how long we stood there. I don’t know how the candles remained lit? I don’t know how she didn’t run out of breath as her sobs continued and continued. All I know is this was goodbye. After tonight, no one would speak of this again. In fact, no one may even speak of him again. How was that right? Yet, who was I to argue at their ways?

Finally, the wails turned back to sobs, which turned back to silence. As if nothing happened, she turned and exited the water. As she made her way back up the beach, the candles were blown out row by row as she passed by. No one looked at her. She was making her way in my direction, yet her eyes would not acknowledge anyone. She neared me. I could not breathe. I could not move. What would I do when she was within touching distance? Nothing. She brushed me with the skirt of her garment. It enchanted me. It chilled me. Never again would I be the same. That touch. That wail. This night. It would haunt me forever. How would I ever recover? As she disappeared into the darkness, the dark figures passed by me as well. Was I invisible? Why was it such a sin to make eye contact? Yet even in my misunderstanding, I understood. This was how it is to be. This is how it always was. Who I am to question? But more importantly, who was she? And whom was she mourning? Who was she bidding goodbye to? I was terrified of the answer. So I ignored the question. 

If I Only Could Make A Deal With God

What would I give up for peace?
What would I relinquish for justice?
What lengths would I go to for truth?
If I only could make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places....


What would I do for love?
What would I do in loyalty?


Morality - psychologists will tell the story. Choose to save the one life or the train-load of people. But the part that they never focus on is the lack of time in which to make that decision. Fairness would rule if time was our friend. But it's not. Time demands decisions and makes us slaves to the world. So we are faced with decisions with no time to make them correctly.


They say that it is when you hit rock bottom that things get better and God intervenes. What if they've been at rock bottom for too long?

.

The Same Girl

She is fully occupied in living. Like a train schedule, she walks by at the same time every morning. Always, always, she has on her black knee high boots which are only a little scuffed up from the wear and tear of the dirty oil-town, but no matter, her head is always held high. In her arms are the numerous assignments she must distribute complete with post-it notes and highlighted items.
She is happy. As she springs by...not lightly, mind you...you know she has had her one cup of coffee complete with several verses from her Bible. With eight hours of sleep behind her, she is ready to face the day. You return to your book. Three hours later, the on-time train rolls in again. Still the same boots and the same smile, this time she is returning with friends whom she leaves at the door. You watch through the window as she sits at the table with her books piled high. Occasionally she stirs to answer the phone, finish the laundry, and begin the evening dinner.
She is fully occupied with living.


She is fully occupied with herself. Like an airport, I never know what to expect while I sit at my window waiting for her to walk by. Sometimes she is dressed all prim, like she has to prove something, while other times, it's as if there is no effort put into her outfit. In her arms are the necessary items, but you know she'll be running back in a few minutes to pick up what she has forgotten already. As she storms by, you know she is tired. There are circles under her eyes from...too much sleep or too little? You can't tell. She isn't ready to face the day. A little while later, you see her slowly pass by on her way back, her head down. She is all alone which is exactly what she wants but hates it all along. She gazes helplessly around at the entrance before beginning the long climb up the stairs. You watch at the window as she crawls into her bed after pushing the numerous stacks of paper off of it. She reaches for her laptop but nothing ever happens on the screen. Occasionally she stirs to eat or drink something. She is fully occupied with herself.

This is the same girl. I wonder who she will be as she passes by my window today?



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