Roses

Time, sun,
and we dry out.
Our dreams and velvet patience
evaporate, leaving us
hard and dark, curling up
a little more with each day. We crumble
at gentle touches.

Swept off the floor,
the counter, the table,
we give in to the final fate.

A breeze and we skitter
across the cool surfaces, soft
voices unfurling into stories.

Can it be:
roses do not simply die?
Fragerences last, as distant
voices whisper fading words.

Perhaps,
just maybe,
we still hold worth
to the special few.

It's Late

Well, late to be writing a blog post, anyway.

I should be going to bed, but my thoughts won't quiet down. I need to ramble, pick apart words and put them together in different orders again. I suppose that's where I find myself, in the space between reality and dreams, sitting in a dewy meadow under a vast universe of stars, tying daisy chains with clovers.

I'm messaging with Christian at the moment. I am truly blessed to have him as a friend. We talk about things that matter and about nothing at all. It's good to be able to have conversations about things that really matter on the inside. Sometimes we get lost in a world so focused on surfaces that we lose the way back into our hearts, and we can't find who we are anymore. We become mirrors that stumble along lanes of superficial social conformities, only reflecting and never projecting anything that isn't already packaged and labeled for our society. If everyone is a mirror, there is nothing to reflect.

Are we truly that afraid of ourselves? Are we truly that afraid of what we can do?

In a world full of mirrors, those who choose to become lights shine all the brighter.

Thank you, Christian. You are a light.

Let Us Shine

I have a special love for stars. They shimmer in a blue dark enough to pass for inky black, fragments of some glistening magic from afar raining down gossamer kisses. They beckon me into contemplation and enshroud me in comfort; they call me to open my eyes and dream.

They have inspired writers and other artists for ages. Shakespeare's "Sonnet 116" describes love as "the star to every wandering bark" (line 7). It doesn't really surprise me that he chose a star for his analogy. Sure, it makes sense logically, but it's also emotionally fitting. I look up into the night sky and I am awash in Abba's love. It's like He's taking my hand and pulling me into a dance, laughing.

"But when I look at the stars,
when I look at the stars,
when I look at the stars I see someone else.
When I look at the stars,
the stars, I feel like myself."

Switchfoot "Stars"

Everything has an end, right? Even stars die. The thing is, starlight continues on through time and space, continuing to affect us. Oddly enough, we're like stars in that respect. We live and we die, but there's more to us than that, to which we are often blind. Each motion, each word, is a spark, the tiniest of lights in a vast darkness. Together these sparks define us, combined to make vast stars. We are seen within our solar systems, our galaxies, our universe. Even after we die and our bodies crumble into dust, the our lights continue on through space and time. Maybe in our writing, our art, our music, or simply the memories of others.

There is a long history of using stars to navigate. This also applies to us. We use stars like the disciples, saints, writers, and musicians to help us redirect ourselves to Christ, to stay on course when we can't see the shore. All of whom will continue to inspire others long after they die, whispering Father's love into hearts that are battered and torn, for all hearts are.

"Your love will lead us through the fight
Like stars in the night"

Tenth Avenue North "Stars"

He took him outside and said, "Look up at the heavens and count the stars--if indeed you can count them." Then He said to him, "So shall your offspring be." Genesis 15:5

We are the descendents of Abraham and children of God, and we are stars. We are more than innumerable; we are lights in the darkness. We light the way long after we have gone.

"This little light of mine

I'm gonna let it shine"