Because I love poetry..

he is salt
to her,
a strange sweet
a peculiar money
precious and valuable
only to her tribe,
and she is salt
to him,
something that rubs raw
that leaves a tearful taste
but what he will
strain the ocean for and
what he needs.

-Lucille Clifton

Breakfast with a beautiful soul

In just a matter of days this beautiful soul is making her way to Vienna to begin her next amazing adventure. Savannah has the fullest heart I have ever witnessed, loving everyone and every thing she encounters. I have so much faith in her and know that she will not waste a single moment in this life. The meaning of her name says it all; no boundary can keep her from exploring every inch of this Earth.

Wherever she travels she will be carrying the same enlightening spirit with her. Savannah is the type of person that will change the world without even knowing it. In an unnoticed and humble kind of way she touches the people around her and leaves an impression that can not be erased.

⋆Savannah: from the open plain  

  

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⋆"Happiness is only real when shared." - Jon Krakauer

2042

I am from four numbers

and a few walls of warmth

where the sugared butter softens

cushioned against the white bread

I fought for. Holding memory was a task

given that every day was a blur

too full of life and love

to want to leave.

I am from four numbers

hovering over the red brick

running along a Monday morning.

The house sits still as the streets awaken

every blade of grass coming to life

the daybreak pushing past its shadow

into the hazel eyes of a young girl

clutching a small blanket

filled with hugs and play dates

carrying her secrets

into the world.

I am from four numbers

and I miss the solitude of an old woman rocking

back and forth like two blue swings

timing the breath between each moment passing

the old Calla Lily pressed down

by the inevitable.

I am from four numbers

and I’m coming home.

The Embrace

He held me fiercely inside a forgotten June.

The people humming beside us had no say,

along with the spotted butterfly chasing the hem of my dress.

The town spoke for itself, listening long enough

to see my hand against his neck and my eyes

weary from the space

he left (me).

What’s strange for me is that every flashback I had of what we used to be was full of beautiful memories. I hardly remembered or dwelt on the small fights and bigger battles we had in the last half of our relationship. Instead I went back to the first time he held my hand under water in the jacuzzi, or the time we were saying goodbye on my front porch when he asked me if I was cold and I said yes, so he threw everything he was holding down and held me tight enough to make me forget my chill, or the first time he kissed me right after he sang You Raise Me Up in my passenger seat and leaned over under the intersection at Baseline and Emerald to place a soft and subtle touch on my cheek, to him asking me what he should call me on my birthday, the night we star gazed alone in Azusa Canyon, the moment I was half asleep but awake enough to hear him say that he wanted to spend his life, his whole entire life with me, and the night he told me he loved me under a field of colored Christmas lights, the first days we spent apart during the holidays when I swear I fell more in love with him by each mile I moved, when he surprised me with a bouquet of my favorite flowers and a Circle K hot chocolate at our park, every touch full of life, gentle but passionate life together from surf to sand to snow to us, inseparable, connected at each instant, even when he tore my heart right out of its chest, leaving me in an empty house to wail with remorse, striking me with anger when I didn’t grieve the way he wanted me to, turning stone cold when I tried to let him go.

We stood as statues,

lifeless to the unfocused eye

waiting. Ready to give in.

Ready to come alive and I know that

he felt it too, the power in that hold,

backed against the fear of repetition but

I was his. We were real again. He was real again.

Waking Up

Blinking eyes open as I will the sheets to evaporate, each one heavy, holding me down squinting in the sun on a mid-August ten o five. The breeze sends a chill through my skin leaving me with nothing. Not a sound stirs the room. I have an empty day ahead but I can’t settle into any decision without running through my mind, picking apart every piece of an exhausted friend who used to hum to the beat of a sunny day when there was a high of sixty five keeping me out of the pool and in a senseless state of routine.

The towel hangs still, pressed too tightly to sway above the floorboard that was not forgotten, even rescued, but this room is hollow, wreaking of dry disinfectant spray lounging across the surface of a maze, where every paper seems unnecessary but not a single word out of place. A laugh brings me to the window and spills out when Shadow catches a warbler, continuing the cycle without me. The Baby’s Breath doesn’t mind being trampled by his feet, understanding the nature behind it all. I breathe in, my senses awakening to the life and death that each day holds. One more chill runs through my being before I quickly find my way back to what I know, a bed of sheets and stillness.

Here I hold time just long enough to wake up in a blurry morning. I think what I know and I feel what I want but the truth is the breeze blew away the sound in this habit of taking my time cooking eggs and hanging dress shirts, lining all the collars up just so. I was only kidding myself in thinking that these pale pink walls could protect me forever, not just from the monsters in my closet or the knee scrapes from the slide, but from the car wrecks and the heart break my life includes. Try to carry a collar out now and I will surely melt, just like my mind in a mid-August ten o five.

Where I go to be alone

In my search for balance, I have come across a spot on campus that I am particularly fond of. It is a calm place next to a common building. Most people don’t know that two big tables sit there, but I do and I go there to focus in on what I need to do or be. In this place I can relax and not be distracted by the many friendly faces around school. The area is outside but covered so rain or shine, I can always go there to catch my thoughts. I have only seen one other person sit there before, but I feel like they shared the same desire of solitude as I did.

Silence is a beautiful thing. In my spot I can experience this truth in a very tangible way. Without televisions, radios, or electric instruments to fill my ear I am left alone with the world. The bugs are loud, much louder than back home and the wind moves as if it is only speaking to me. On a sunny day I am in awe at the way the leaves reflect the light differently. Angles and shapes create my own kaleidoscope so only I can see them. But the rain is my favorite. There is something about the way it falls, each drop hitting the ground harder than the one before, each hit defining the earth in a new way. The thick air hangs in front of my face, wrestling with the loose hair I hadn’t noticed fall from my bun. I am warm, whole and wondering here. I feel smaller, like I can see the world as the enormous adventure it is and not be fooled into thinking it follows my lead. This table holds up a fresh perspective and a new way of thinking for me. My chair overwhelms me with comfort as I rest my head, close my eyes and appreciate the simple things like silence and rain.

This place is like a secret, told once but never forgotten. And surprisingly, it is here where I feel the most presence. Here I can take a step outside of time and catch a glimpse of eternity, a piece of the knowing. Through my kaleidoscope of fallen leaves and drops of rain, I see what matters and I know who I am. This is my place where I go to be alone.

Restless

My soul is restless, yet here I stand in a sea of calm, unsure how one could contradict another while simultaneously providing some kind of parallel to remind me of a lost face, a face I left behind so many years ago. This face has a warmth deeper than the dark eyes it holds, seeing through my rich shoes to give me something lasting, some kind of wholeness, but not a false satisfaction like this sterile room with four walls. The face here is white, full of purity or some kind of worth as it searches my complex soul for a sign of revelation, waiting, hoping to read my mind and give me his word that everything will be okay. But his okay is defined by a full stomach and a blanket to keep his head warm in his over-conditioned two-story home. My home is back by the red floors of Uganda, beneath a blanket of stars hidden by the mosquito net around my head. The room speaks for itself, no decoration or end table necessary. This water is dangerous because it hasn’t been filtered through a man-made system of security. The food is unsafe because we wash dishes with that water and the people are uncivilized for consuming the only form of physical nourishment they can and I, I am fuller here than I am in any sanctuary. Where is my god? Where is your god; hiding backstage afraid of what the crowd will say when he reveals the truth they don’t want to hear? Is your god willing to lay down fierce words in a place of refuge? Or is that him, cowering in the face of opposition, whining with the wolves, crying at the rain, whispering something sweet into an innocent ear and all with a composed sense of accomplishment, like nothing in the world is wrong. He is safe if they can’t see him shaking. I saw Him, and He wasn’t wearing white or walking down a road paved with gold. His hair was disheveled, His body bone dry. He was on His hands and knees talking lightly, weeping with the empty case of a lost child in the slums, His tears falling down the face of one of His own. His hands mirrored what I already knew. He didn’t reassure me that everything was all right. He didn’t try to carry me away because He knew I was broken, and that in that brokenness there was something to learn. There is always something to learn. We just sat there, He and I. His silence told me more than any word and in that moment, I knew that my heart had found its home, amidst gun shots and red eyes, trash-filled streets and rainy summers, in between diseases, among hungry mouths, aching for a change within the breath of the Earth, surrounded by the only hope left for this world, the children who give it something to mourn over. Even when morning breaks, He recites their prayers. He remembers everything. In the short amount of time that I spent in that beautiful, restless world of the less fortunate, I knew that this man was not just my god, but the real god, the only god, the One who patiently sits back and waits for us to let go of the white walls holding up a building with air conditioning and a man waving a book in the air, giving us time to forget the senselessness of it all and get into the real heart of this world. Can we let go of the rest?

Switchfoot sums it up.

"Souvenirs"

here’s to the twilight
here’s to the memories
these are my souvenirs
my mental pictures of everything
Here’s to the late nights
here’s to the firelight
these are my souvenirs
my souvenirs

I close my eyes and go back in time
I can see you smiling, you’re so alive
we were so young, we had no fear
we were so young, we had no idea
that life was just happening
life was just happening

here’s to your bright eyes
shining like fireflies
these are my souvenirs
the memory of a lifetime
we were wide-eyed with everything
everything around us
we were enlightened by everything
everything

So I close my eyes and go back in time
I can see you smiling, you’re so alive
I close my eyes and go back in time
you were just a child then, and so was I
we were so young, we had no fear
we were so young, we had no idea
that nothing lasts forever
nothing lasts forever
nothing lasts
nothing lasts
you and me together
were always now or never

can you hear me?
can you hear me?
I close my eyes and go back in time
I can see you smiling, you’re so alive
I close my eyes and go back in time
you were wide-eyed, you were wide-eyed
we were so young, we had no fear
we were so young, we had just begun
a song we knew, but had never sung
it burned like fire inside our lungs
and life was just happening (nothing lasts, nothing lasts forever)
and life was just happening (nothing lasts, nothing lasts forever)
I wouldn’t trade it for anything
my souvenirs.

Anything is possible.

My friends often make fun of the extreme optimism that I tend to shove on to everyone I know or meet. Often times I have been teased for over-using one of my favorite and most cliche quotes, that "anything is possible if you just believe". That, or someone will just counter my efforts to be encouraging with a sarcastic remark, but as I learn more and more about the love of God and the power that He holds, I realize that no matter how many people try to pull down a person's optimism, the truth still remains that all things are possible.
Pretty much everyone who knows me these days knows that I absolutely adore the youth that I work with. I have been blessed to be a youth leader at my church for the past two years, but it wasn't until just last summer that I realized how incredible and important they are to me. I find my optimistic self challenged by the hardships they face, questioned by the blunt innocence they possess and even more surrounded by the love of God then I was before they were in my life. They exhaust me physically and emotionally, but in the best kind of way. And every time they talk to me about something they are going through, or if there is just a lull in our conversation, I happily share my "go to" Bible verse, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Phillipians 4:13). At first, it was just an easy one to remember and seemed to fit my glass half full kind of personality, but as I use it more and more I am beginning to discover just how powerful those words are. Maybe it is the books I have been reading in the past year (like Radical and Kisses Fom Katie), but with the belief in an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God is it really that far-fetched to believe that anything is possible? Or even more, is it so crazy to actually expect the impossible?
What if those old miracles that we read about, like Moses parting the Red Sea and Noah building an arc or maybe a mere human walking on water are still happening today? What if the reason we don't see miracles all the time is not because they aren't happening, but because we are too distracted to be aware of them?
That was too many questions, I know so I want to share a part of what makes me so certain that anything is possible.
If anyone has read any of my posts on this blog, I think it is pretty clear that I had my heart broken once. I talk a lot about the healing process and my mission trip a few months after it happened, when God used a beautiful brown face to show me that His grace would never let me go, but I rarely talk abut the time before that, the time when I wasn't as joyful as I usually am.
I am blessed in that I never went through a depressive stage during my middle or high school years. It's sad that I even have to say that, but I know that so many young girls and guys fall in to that temptation early on. I am also blessed that even though I felt like I was depressed that first month after he was out of my life, God didn't give up on me and the joy that I was trying to hide. It went something like this... Wake up. Drink coffee. Ignore my stomach rumbling for some food (I was also convinced that not eating and somehow getting thinner would help the situation, which it didn't and did not happen). Go to work (I was doing temporary part-time, mind-numbing office work for a construction company). Come home. Avoid talking too much to my family. Avoid smiling. Avoid any ounce of patience for the people that cared about me. Eat something (even trying to starve myself wouldn't stop my love of food). Spend time alone in my room, probably checking Facebook to figure out what he was doing or who he was with. Shower and go to sleep.
I look back now and wish that someone would have just shaken me out of it, told me the things that I tell my youth kids now, maybe even thrown some optimism in my face, but that was not God's plan at the time. The truth is, I stayed like that for a month, faking any smile to keep my parents from suspecting my unhappiness. It wasn't until I started school that fall, met new friends and fell into the routine of a student that I started to remember what it felt like to love life. Slowly but surely I spent more time with people, each one struggling with their own trials. I stopped letting myself think that life was unfair and horrible and that I would never be happy again. I said no to the temptation of forgetting to have faith and just as God does, He made His presence known in a way that restored my hope. Maybe this story isn't grand enough to be placed next to Moses parting the Red Sea, but when I reflect on each minute detail of that time in my life; the people I met and the stories they shared, each one expressing their passions in a different way and giving me the exact words I needed to hear
to live that day with a little bit of joy in my heart, I know that God gave me a miracle in healing me of my heart break.
I am only eighteen (and a half!) but my life has come way too "full circle" to not trust that God is in control of my life. As I watch young adults struggle with a lot of the things I faced last year, I try to encourage them to appreciate the blessings in their life and to seek after the loving perspective that God has when He looks at this world. I have learned that it isn't just about being optimistic. It's about recognizing that anything is truly possible. Whether it be walking on water or just getting over a first love, God is there for it all and nothing is too big or too small for His love. Sometimes it is hard to see past the hurt that is right in front of us, but Jesus Christ gave his life to give us ours. That, if nothing else, is something to rejoice in.

March 12

Today is your birthday.
A spring baby with the temper of a Leo, bound to be broken.

I wash my hands again, one drop at a time cleansing each fingertip.
A blank envelope lies in the back of my closet.
I close the door so your promise is real.
My faithfulness unfolds one centimeter at a time.
I can feel you just inches away
settled in my routine, but
this time is different.

This time, I forget to apologize for speaking up in front of your best friend.
Silence is your solution and I am left deaf with disappointment. This time,
I can’t recall the warmth of your touch
apologetically brushing the outside of my thigh,
always under a table. This time when I blink,
I lose a little bit of you.

You’re a child lost in thought, spinning my focus as you lead me
away from everything I am sure of.
We wander among the out-of-state license plates,
making stops at every park we come across,
resting tired bones on blue swings, the inertia
carving out our bodies as you slowly pick up my hand and rest
your shoulder against mine.

4 months later, I memorize every imperfection on your face,
knowing it will dissolve.
My smile fails to conceal just how much I want you.
You start picking fights like the sun burnt skin that won’t relent but I am numb,
permanently missing everything we were.
You leave 3 thousand miles between us and I run in circles this time.

I can’t wait for you to change.

What I miss the most: that voice, every crack it carries,
the pale eyes that found another face as I let go of forever to fall in love.
We watched every memory fade into an empty plot and I hurt you,
possibly harder than before.

I know that my heart will heal
if I let it,
but I can’t undo you. I am lonely,
not alone.

A Sweet Tooth for Sadie

Sticky and sweet were our younger years. With a spade in hand, I fearlessly ran through life. No fire ant too tough to take us and no distance far enough to say goodbye. You were a sweet tooth and I had a friend.

I collected attention as you gathered cards off the floor, picking up a mess without a sound. We ran to the kitchen, flying for the last blue Otter Pop. It dripped down my arm and you cried while I reached for a napkin.

We waved at the man whispering to the July shore. He did not smile back.

Perhaps he lacked the same appetite, or maybe just let his eyes close for that imperative moment.

Either way we continued.

A single drop of sweat ran down my leg as we raced our shadows past the water’s edge. I saw a white flag floating atop a crooked crest of sand, and I knew we were alive in that tender, breathless moment.

But time rolled over and our faces thinned.  A summer heart break left you dry.

We found chocolate in a hidden drawer. The soft sound of chewing comforted us as I tucked you in.