she with sword

she with sword
rides boldly
through rigid lines
staffed with brazen men
housing withered hearts

some whisper hoarsely
how ungodly, how unseemly,
her short, wild locks
and "willful rebellion"
must appear before their God

yet she with sword
rides bravely, recklessly,
unmoved by human opinion,
toward the Lord's enemy--
with pupose, with destiny

she with sword
writes the Lord's name
on her waving flag
and provokes the enemy's spawn
to engage in a war already won.

those who mock her
are silenced then . . .
though no one speaks
when she with sword
finally meets the flaming stake

and they watch as she,
stripped of sword and flag and mount,
is finally humbled,
and they breathe their heresies
into the cold night air.

The Average of These

"You become the average of the six or seven people you surround yourself with daily."

I don't know how many times I've read or heard this quotation, and I don't even know who originally said it, and it probably doesn't even matter...but I remember where I was when I "heard it for the first time," really heard it, heard it and it meant something...

I was at CASC, listening to the guest speaker during a conference honoring African Awareness month. And when this doctor uttered these words, something awoke within me.

This statement isn't one endorsing elitism. It's something that makes you ponder your DESTINY.

It's so easy to be ordinary--some people desire it! They don't want to be different; they want to fit in. They will do anything to feel accepted, "normal"...and, it shouldn't be a surprise to any of them when, at the end of their lives, they look back and recognize "a life of mediocrity."

We all struggle against it. We all get stuck in the mire of the daily grind, the busy schedule, the demands of what it takes "just to get by." It's just so refreshing when we are reminded that THAT IS NOT THE PLAN WE HAVE TO ACCEPT FOR OUR LIVES.

Spiritually, too, it's easy to get in that survival mode. Where you're just hoping you make it through another day...instead of pursuing God and a life of VICTORY.

Today, I have been reminded of this quote...of how important it is to surround myself with people who BELIEVE that "with God, all things are possible." Because it's true. It's absolutely true. It's just up to me to CHOOSE to live that way. To pursue it.

Brook Walking

What I love most, I think, about the Book of Psalms, is that the lyrics found there aren't all happy. And they aren't all sad. They're so "real life."

One day, things are great--couldn't be better--the sun is shining, the smile on your face is blazing and infectious, there's a spring in your step, and everyone notices the sheer intensity of the JOY you radiate! And then, there are days when the shoulders sag a bit, the pace is slower, the energy is "mustered" instead of "free-flowing," and on some of those days, every step is a sacrifice. (And some steps even make you bleed.)

Yesterday, I was thinking of a brook. And I was thinking about how walking in a brook is a lot like our lives. When we choose to get involved in this life, we step in, and let the life flow around us. There is nothing quite as thrilling as when you put your foot down into the chilling water, and then feel the current hit right at the ankles. Something is jarred inside. It's almost an instant reminder that "YOU ARE ALIVE!" And, with every step, there's something "unexpected," especially when we step into an area where we can't quite see to the bottom...There's always that mystery--is there a fish near my foot? Is there some hidden treasure that has been dropped and gone unfound? Is there gold under my feet?

While these thoughts can be essential in propelling us forward, it is also true that something unseemly might be there lurking, unseen. Trash? A piece of glass? A rusty metal lid? A nail? I remember vividly one lake experience where I stepped on a piece of glass and slit my foot open and had to be rushed to the emergency room for stitches. It didn't make me avoid the lake forever...but ever since then, I have worn shoes.

Certainly, there are people who have a bad experience, a REALLY bad experience, and are reluctant to take another step at risk of personal injury or pain. But, in good time, in a reasonable amount of time, that person must be encouraged, pushed even, to step out and try again. Because every step is not the same. Every step is guaranteed to be different.

If we could see everything, it wouldn't be nearly as thrilling. If we chose to just stand there, and let life go by, never taking a step, it would get old (and we might just as well be standing on the bank, as much good as it's doing us). No, the thrill of it all is the movement of it all. Even the risk of it all. Every single day of it all.

No matter the type of day, the psalm that best suits us, we must never forget that the thrill of life, the nature of it, is never knowing what the next day will hold...and letting the mystery unfold is part of what is most alluring about our life experience.

Tunnel Lights

Not sure how I got here.
I awoke, if I remember correctly, in this place
with dark, rounded walls, slippery to touch
where the water has drained from above.

Narrow path, and I can't turn around,
Though I can hear distant sounds
from far behind me . . . dull echoes.
There is no one behind me, I am sure.

I am going somewhere. I choose to.
There is darkness, and I am afraid,
but I gather resolve and place one foot in front
and will myself to move.

Up ahead, I see the darkness for an eternal expanse;
Yet, every now and again, I think I see a glimmer of light--
or is it a trick my mind has constructed?--and I smile
with faultering hope or unnerving anxiety . . .

There is something up there, isn't there?

Time passes. I have gone a mile. Or a meter.
It's hard to tell in this tunnel time warp.
It's hard to breathe, the air is heavy.
I am wheezing with the burden of movement.

I know it would be simpler to lie down
and close my eyes until the darkness
claims my life at last . . . but I cannot.
My resolve is stronger than the un-light.

Step. Feel the walls. There is water here.
Above, somewhere, there is life and light.
If only I could climb and claw my way up.
Up . . . There IS light and life and love there.

And . . . there it is! . . . another flicker
of something I can't identify--but light it is!
That makes two. Today there have been two sightings!
Or, wait . . . was that today and yesterday?

No matter. I see them, the tunnel lights.
And I can remember them in my mind, just long enough
to hold on desperately to their memory.
They, the promise of what lies ahead.

A Tale of Two Reoccurring Dreams

When I am overwhelmed, when I feel like the daily grind is zapping my energy and spirit, when my brain is on overload, I often have one of two reoccurring dreams.

One dream I was reminded of just a couple of days ago, when a series of tornadoes ripped through mid-western Oklahoma again. In one of the live pictures they showed, you could see three snake-like tornadoes descending from the sky in one place, reminiscent of the movie Twister.

In my dream, I am always at my mom and dad's house in Liberty, OK. And we are always hiding in the hallway, or desperately seeking the safest place in the house (knowing there is not a "safest place"). And when I look out the windows, I realize that I am surrounded by those reptilian-looking tornadoes, but there are more than three--it's more like a dozen or two dozen. Some are on the horizon, headed my way, and some are close, surrounding the house. I usually wake up when the tornadoes are on every side of the house, and we are all hunched down in bleak anticipation of what is to come.

At this point, I don't want to spend time analyzing this dream. I want to talk about the OTHER dream I have.

There's another dream I have when I'm stressed out, overwhelmed. And in this dream, I go to my own personal Paradise. I've seen it time and time again, and every time I realize I'm there, I can inhale with gratitude. I know the room. It's a white sunroom, with big windows and white wicker furniture. The windows are covered with white see-through curtains, and there is a breeze blowing in from the outside. The temperature and the breeze are cool, soft, totally relaxing. And every time I go to this room, I am overwhelmed by the white-ness, the breeze, and how calmed I get there (in the space of a mere moment), and I close my eyes, so thankful, so very thankful, for the return visit.

This place is the place I wish for right now. I hope that I get to visit it again soon. I need it. I need to go there again, close my eyes and inhale deeply, relaxing at my core. This place I love.

I'm sure there is a house somewhere with a room in it like this one. I hope that someday I am able to afford a house with a room like this one. A place of calm and quiet.

My First Blog

So here it is. The first blog.

Um...

I never thought I'd start blogging, I never thought that I needed to. But when I get stressed out or overwhelmed, I know I need to write, to get thoughts, phrases "down" out of me and onto the page. Used to, I did this with pen and ink, but these days, by the time I grab my trusty notebook and pen, I've already lost the energy, or something else has distracted me, or there's someone or something that has caught and exacted my immediate attention.

I don't plan on tediously editing here. I don't plan on over-thinking it at all. This is a place for me to do the James Joyce thing and embrace "stream of consciousness," as much as I am able.

So here it is.

For me. For my daughter. For my husband and family. For those who may like to know or be curious enough to read...A Happy Psalm or Two.