Invisible in a world full of molds,
We search desperately for someone who will see us–
Beneath the masks, beneath the facades, beneath the uncertain smile.
Will today be the day that someone will finally take notice of me?
Hear my words, look into my soul,
Acknowledge the small flame of my existence?
Will you be the one to stop by for a moment,
And warm your hands briefly by my fire?
To let me know that for a moment in time,
I was not alone in a world full of molds.
Did you ever have, as a small child, moments of such pure joy, that it felt like you could smell the sunlight, taste the freedom of the grass and the trees, and feel the song of birds gliding across your skin? And it felt like you were filled with so much lightness, and this knowledge that there lies something great and beautiful in store for you and all you have to do is reach out and just dive into it?
Almost like diving into a shaft of sunlight and exploding into a million particles of gold.
I remember how happy my childhood was, especially in that green house in Silver Lake. There were those moments that I felt like I was full to bursting with that feeling of pure, unfettered, joy. I have come to believe that was the presence of God, to be honest. As a child, I just didn’t know it was God. It’s very specific, too.
I have been awake and laying in bed for several hours, sifting through all the layers of adulthood that have been cast on me with every year that I have grown, and realizing that I never even had to carry a single one of these burdens. As I’ve been wrestling with God and all these realizations, and casting them all off of me, I was instantaneously brought back to that very specific place and time in the green house as a small child of 4 or 5, and that full-to-bursting presence of pure, unfettered joy I used to experience.
I realized that’s what Jesus meant when He said we are to become like small children. It doesn’t mean to become immature. I also realized that even as a small child, in hindsight, that feeling that I would bask in so often was actually a very mature and whole feeling. I’m doing everything in my power to bring that back.
When you realize you’re a heathen, that should give you hope. That means there is a way for salvation, for miracles.
We were taught to feel shame and guilt when we realized we were heathens. We were taught to bury our wickedness deep down inside and do our best to work our way back to the Father.
But Jesus didn’t die for the ones who were striving to be perfect, He died for the ones who knew they were heathens and were a lost cause any other way. The fact that God works huge miracles in witchcraft nations like Africa should scream to us the error of our ways, but instead we pat ourselves on the back and pacify one another that at least we have known God all our lives, and we are decent and civilized.
How we lie to ourselves.
The working of miracles amidst such sin and wickedness should provoke us to jealousy; instead we focus on preaching the same subjects harder.
To wrestle with God
is to prevail in the face of adversity.
It’s to have hope when there is none.
To keep striding forward
when all you want to do is lay your weary soul to rest.
To wrestle with God
is to battle your very self
Arrested, you stand still as a familiar feeling grips you.
A well-known scent, the flirtatious laughter of a passing couple,
and you find yourself drifting slowly into her memory.
Like gliding into your favorite pool of water on a hot summer night,
the sky a black velvet blanket with diamonds strewn haphazardly across.
Whispers of lovers drift past your ears as her laughing green eyes tease you with their depths.
The love in her burning brighter on those nights than all the stars combined.