Published
what I wouldn’t give to rise
from this window seat of longing
and brave my way into the gray
and through the gray to part
the veil that obscures life from Light
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Grief ebbed onto my shore last year. It came at first just slapping at my ankles with a catastrophic rift in my family. Then a dream died and it sucked the hope like sand from beneath my feet. Months of chronic pain that no one could explain or alleviate brought it higher still. Finally, with the awakening of past trauma I had never quite confronted, sadness like the tide rose to my waist and chin.
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Fear was my father’s favorite game
and one I learned to play at four years old.
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I would still consider myself a “baby-Christian.” I have not been doing this Jesus thing all that long. I am struggling still with some of the qualities that go with Christianity; things like patience, virtue, and self-control. I practiced life for a pretty long time the other way, so such Godly attributes do not come as naturally as I would like.
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Got a gypsy sort of soul keeps runnin’ with the wind
Anywhere that I’d call home is no place I’ve ever been
So its somewhere further on from where they taught me how to live
Hurtin’ people never know how to give
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listen to a rough cut by Jessy Napier here
Every September, my hubby and I pack up all our gear and set off for a week in the mountains. To us, there is nothing more healing than that week of quiet; nothing more likely to salve the rough spots of our souls that the world has rubbed raw. And every year on this trip, I have what many people would call a “mountaintop experience” (pun intended.) God meets me in those mountains and ministers to me through all He has created and the resulting rare quiet in my soul.
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I’ve stitched life together with fear-colored thread
trying to mend my own pain
stood back and admired my own handiwork
just until the wound opened again
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Grace, now sufficient for my sin
It covers me. It quiets
all these voices from within
The people that I used to be
they fight against your will
But your love keeps them still
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Listen to a rough recording by CONVINCED
Who am I
that you’d suffer and die
That your innocent blood would let
So that I’d be redeemed
and now be free
To be the person I am not yet