A Few Brilliant Ideas...

I've heard this phrase used before, other have said it, and it frustrated me.
For to call my love simple desire for another is simply an injustice.
It is like painting over the Mona Lisa with muddied water at the bottom of a dish drainer.
It is like stepping on a Monet, so desperate are you to leave your mark
that you destroy the painting in the process.
My love is like the awakening sun, growing warm with the light,
yet it thrives in the cool evening, where the moon plays gently with the shadows.
You hurt my feelings, sir, by relegating my heart to a world of fleshly cravings.
It is a blemish on my repute, that you would think my body so controls my mind.
Man is not overruled by carnal instincts, but rather with the band of the mind and the wind of the heart.
Romanticism is not yet dead, not in this heart of mine.
And so I caution you, use wisdom in your sight, speak less, observe more.
For my love is like the roar of the tide, ever-flowing, never-ceasing
Ever-growing, unfaltering, even when I don't understand it.
It will always be there, and I will revere its presence as I ought.

So I apologize if you don't understand it,
it's not like I do,
but please don't say it's just my carnal desire
because my love is tamed and owned by God alone
and he will do with it, what he wills.

Soli Deo Gloria.

He knelt beside me
drawing patterns in the sand.
Fragments of a story
and I could tell there was more,
so much more that I'll never understand.

You learn to be okay with that though,
to accept people for who they are.
Especially when they're better,
better than you could ever be.

It's not that you give up on trying;
I'm still looking at all the pieces,
hoping I can fit them together.
But I also understand that if I need to know,
he'll tell me.

And honestly,
he's the only one who knows,
knows when it's time to show me.
And I put faith in the fact
that when he does
it'll all make perfect sense.

Is it possible
That you can't hear God because
You keep on speaking?

I have forgotten what is most important.

The world is a fabric.

I stirred a monster, I think to myself, as I type this words on my sleek black keyboard. I originally thought to put words on paper was nice, and something along the lines of, "Oh yes, I'll have to do it again soon." But here, instead, it has become an insatiable desire, consuming me. I cannot sleep for the words grow inside of me, demanding to be released. I guess they were always there, waiting; I just didn't notice until now. But here we are, and now I have destroyed the dam, let loose a flood of inspiration. There is more to be said than can be said, or will be said. An entire library of ideas that I "put on hold," waiting till it was a "better time," and they now possess me. I must speak. I must write. I must be heard... or perhaps not.

For it isn't whether you hear me that matters, because if that's the case, let's be honest, very few of you care enough to keep up with my writing and few take the time to read the sentiments of some nineteen year old, white, suburban kid. What could I possibly say that hasn't already been said? Even if you did read what I had to say, would you internalize it? Would it change you? Would it even make you think?

Laughter is cheap. Laughter is easy. If I demand more than that, would you meet me? Have you?

I'm not angry, I'm not even irritated because I am guilty of the same faults. I don't remember to listen to the people that will bend my world and make me better, make me think. I'm guilty. So are you, it's not worth lying, so don't. I may not be the person you're forgetting to listen to, but someone out there is, and if it's God, your problem runs deeper.

Yet, here I am with these words left in my hands.

Which leaves me with a question? Why the need to release all these pent up, congested words?
 The truth is I can't breath unless I do, and it has been a long time since I have had breath, let me tell you.

Silence is the easy route. Never spending time to record my thoughts and ideas and letting them slip away in a heartbeat, to join the graveyard of what once was wisdom.

However, that wisdom now roams like the dead arisen from their tombs, and I'm frightened by this prospect for wisdom is never easy to swallow.

But I will not take the easy route; God has never called me to the easy route. I have always been called to the road less traveled, and have been gifted to follow that road accordingly.

If you will read me, I will write. And if you do not wish to hear what I have to say, there's a beautiful "X" at the top your screen that will silence me, but I will be faithful to create. This is how I choose to reflect my designer.

I will not back down from faded lines drawn in the sand. I'm going to do my best to speak truth to you. Not everything I post on this blog will be this deeper level of understanding, but when things run deeper than the surface, I urge you to listen, and let your views be tested or changed.

With all the love of my heart,
Stevie

Soli Deo Gloria

The world is eclipsed in a moment of silence
as the earth breathes inward.
Light washes over the frame of a child's hand,
and a shadow transcends time on the ground beneath.
The memories of lost souls etch themselves on the mirror
and the air tastes of regret.

Silence fades, at the roar of an awakened beast;
The pressure takes precedence, scorning social convention,
and the echo permeates generations.
The supersonic pulse of a passing tragedy
seizes deafened ears
and darkness grows.

Then night merges day and the ground shakes-
Philosophy, art, and science are thrown flat,
captured in the fire of scientific anarchy.
The shadow never moves,
and ash falls from rubble like tears.

"We met over an empty glass. That's usually how it all begins with me. Well, perhaps not an empty glass in particular, but something so strange that when I try to remind people of it, they usually don't believe me. You remember though. You always have been good at remembering that type of thing. It was 2004 and I was with my family at Avalon in New Jersey. We always go to Avalon, every year, so that's really not that out of the ordinary. I was only fourteen at the time, and most kids at fourteen would kill to be at the beach, but not me. I've always hated it. It's become a family joke that we go down here just to irk me. Jessy, in particular, is especially annoying about it, and takes advantage of it every single year, but hey, what are thirteen year old girls for if not to bug their older brothers?

"Hey Jaaaames," Jessy taunted. I already knew where this was going.
"Hey Jessssyyy."
"Wanna go to the beach?" Jessy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she grinned at me. She was dressed in beach attire to the tee, and I mean her t-shirt literally had "BEACH LOVER" printed across the front in capital letters. She looked stupid of course, but neither of us would realize that until years later when we looked through photo albums.
"Nah, I'm good," I said, scooting a little further away from her on the couch, just in case she tried something.
"OMG, but the beach is your favoritest place in the world!" I could just feel more text lingo about to roll off her tongue. I decided I would forestall this and wipe the smirk off her face.
"You're right. Alright. Let's go." I said, hopping off the couch and strolling toward the stairs. Jessy trailed behind me in astonishment, as I rolled through the door and shut it behind me. I walked down the curb, making my way toward the beaches. I honestly wasn't looking forward to this, but the look on Jessy's face had been totally worth it. I grimaced as I thought about the gritty sand and freezing ocean all under a baking sun. I always feel like a turkey on Thanksgiving when I'm laying on the beach. Jessy eventually caught up to me, sunglasses on and bag on her arm per prep-girl fashion. I swear to this day that there was some sort of manual she was reading from, probably titled "How To Look Like All The Other Teenage Girls."
"I can't believe you're actually coming to the beach." Jessy said, looking through her bag for something. She pulled out another pair of glasses and traded. They looked identical to me, but hey, fashion. "Why are you carrying that?"
She pointed at my hand and I glanced down to find that I was still holding the glass of water.
"Huh, must have slipped my mind when I went out the door. Oh well." I said, drinking the last of the water and swallowing. The two of us made our way up the sandy road to the beach and I felt the sand run over my sandal and grimaced. Did I mention how much I hate sand? It's like having sandpaper rolled across your feet. Anyway, the two of us strolled to where the family was sitting/laying/playing. The family greeted us as we reached their encampment midst the scattered beach chairs, towels, and sun umbrellas. Hannah and Char looked a little shocked I was there, but Peter didn't bat an eyelash. It took a lot to surprise Peter. Hannah and Char assaulted me with inquiries until they were satisfied then I wandered off toward the ocean. I figured if I was going to torture myself by coming to the beach, I might as well go near the ocean. If I like anything about the beach, it has to be the ocean. The way the waves rolled in and out rhythmically, always constant. It's peaceful, unlike the ten children splashing around in the shallow water, but I smiled. I took a moment and stared out toward the ocean, watching the white ripples of waves crashing in the distance. I didn't realize there was anyone next to me.
"Your cup is empty." I jumped, the voice startling me out of my trance. I whirled around to find a red-headed kid next to me. It was you. You were about my height, and I guessed you were probably near my age too. Turned out I was right.
"W-w-what?" I managed. I remember you had freckles scattered across your face because of spending a lot of time in the sun, and your hair was curled back automatically, like it always is, which I'm still jealous of by the way. It's okay though, I don't mind that much. You gestured toward my hand.
"Your cup is empty," you repeated, unphased by my confusion. I looked down, remembering now that I was holding the glass from the kitchen.
"Uh yeah, I guess it is." I said lifting it to examine it closer.
"There's this saying about seeing the glass half full or half empty, but it's hard to see it either way when it's just plain empty." You pointed out, using one of your ridiculous proverbs, which I later learned was a thing you did regularly. I moved forward a few steps into the water, bent down and scooped up some water into the glass. "My name is Don."
"Better?" I asked, holding the glass towards you so that you could see.
"Much better if you ask me," you said, and a smile clung to your face. The smile you still wear now."

The room was mostly dark, with the exception of one window, in through which light streamed into the haunting study.  At that moment, Jessy entered the room, and shrieked in terror. In the far corner of the room, James sat with Don's head cradled across his lap, muttering words to the corpse in the dark, and in the hands of the corpse, a glass. "See how the corners of your mouth go up? I knew then that you would be my best friend."
"James? James!" Jessy called across the room, but James just kept muttering. Jessy ran across the room towards James and tried to pull him away from the body, but James just clung tighter.
"I told myself I'd never let you go." James muttered, as he stroked the hair of the dead twenty-four year old man.
Jessy was hyperventilating in between screams of "JAMES!" as tears rolled down her face.
"James, please look at me James! James, please! James!"
Eventually the other siblings were called, and James was separated from the body and nursed back to his bed, still muttering. "We met over an empty glass."

My fingertips are barren wastelands,
no mystical swirls of life preaching words onto an empty page.
...
This is what it is to forget how to write.
--------------------------------------

My stomach curls inward as the earth rolls beneath my feet
as the words leave me, a river flows to the ocean.
Passion colors my face, and I feel the aura of possibility.
It capers through my chest, and lays to rest next to my heart.

Feeling returns.

Fairytales come true in the time it takes a finger to stroke the keys,
and my world reverberates with the echoes of a lost love.

I caress words and let emotion carry the tab,
and I wonder

about the number of words whose throats I've slit,
by my lack of attention and foolish inaction.
As I search for words to fill the gap between my heart and mind,
they rush to me, and a more prodigal taste becomes inconceivable.

Who knew that the word could be so forgiving?

This must be a delusion,
this must be insanity,
and I've come to the conclusion,
that my dreams are fantasy,
to be or not to be.

I look at all the puzzle pieces
that once fit so nicely together,
but the edges have decreased
to rounded clouds of stormy weather.

And I pray for some hope,
for some sight,
just to see the light...

A telescope won't help me see the North Star,
to find some guidance, to find my way home.

Oh God, won't you speak?

Blindness makes a beggar out of the best of us.
Begging, just begging to see the next step.
I guess that's where we get trust.
Or faith.

Am I insane?
These feelings bubbling in my chest
for the impossible remain.

I hear others speak in the voice that I have used
and it leaves me confused
because that's exactly how I ought to be.

Their warnings resound with my own;
a decision made by pros when someone knows the roads.

Yet repressed, undefeated.
I've regressed; I've conceded.
I've assessed my mental state but unable to explain.
Unable to address something I simply can't restrain.
This is feeling.

I might be deluded,
but I can't tell, 'cause I can't see.

In the meantime,
put one foot in front of the other

and dream.

Devotions

“Woe to the world for btemptations to sin!2 cFor it is necessary that temptations come, dbut woe to the one by whom the temptation comes!8 eAnd if your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life crippled or lame than with two hands or two feet to be thrown into fthe eternal fire. 9 eAnd if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into the fhell3 of fire."

Today is Matthew 18 again. The passage it fitting, considering that I'm currently reading Tempted and Tried by Russel Moore (a thank you to a sir Nathan Lee for the book). If there's one thing I'm already aware of, twenty pages into the book it is two things.

1. Temptation is dangerous.
2. Temptation is prevalent.

The first may seem like a no-brainer, and indeed, for the most part I think it is. However, just because we "know" something, doesn't mean that we live like it's true. I may be aware temptation is dangerous, but too often I knowingly put myself into situations where I am more likely to be tempted. Jesus says temptation is necessary, not that we should pursue temptation. Even Jesus says fears for those who experience temptation, "woe to the one by whom temptation comes!" Temptation is not to be trifled with. We need to on our toes, prepared to "Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called and about which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses." (1 Timothy 6:12).

Devotions

"At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” 2 And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them 3 and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you uturn and vbecome like children, you wwill never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 xWhoever humbles himself like this child is the wgreatest in the kingdom of heaven.