Phoenix-KaRenee

Thoughts On Waiting

2012-01-31T18:07:00.000-06:00

Upon blade of knife
this heart remains suspended
in eternal pause

---

How many times must I realize that it is time to wait?

---

changes loom
like the rumble beneath the earth
one thousand years before a volcano

---

If time could fold,
today and tomorrow might meet
to warn one another
of paths unseen and forgotten.

---

I thought I found a place to stand
but my feet keep slipping forward.

Define Significance

2012-01-30T11:43:00.006-06:00

I will not be forgotten
though I am quite unknown,
I will not be neglected ...
for I am not alone.

My memory resides within
the maker of all worth;
wholeness forms by steady hand
to meaning he insured.

No tragedy or mockery
will ever make me less
beloved by the highest king;
and by his love I'm blessed.

I'm placed within his settings
and shaped upon his will.
No other could afflict me
yet build me stronger, still.

By every definition,
my substance solely his;
though my path may be obscure
I, full of value, live.

---

This was a difficult weekend ... strange how God pulls beauty out of emptiness and desolation.

But here is proof of his sufficiency! For the first time in a very long time I worked on canvas, using acrylic to create a backdrop and texture. I then called on my markers and pens to build the image you see above. It is titled Wind Dancing ... for more detail visit my Facebook page, where I've posted some close-ups and progress photos.

You're missing a lot in this overview image. Some of the detail can only be seen when you're face to face with the canvas ... just like knowing a heart. What you see from a distance may be beautiful, but it is only close up that you discover the intricacy of who they are ... and a deeper appreciation results.

The Unknown Adventure

2012-01-26T15:19:00.001-06:00

Today they offer adventures,
prepackaged and secure.
No unexpected or unprecedented
changes to the schedule, please.

Chasing a rainbow into open air,
trusting the fog to contain a path,
living like tomorrow isn't the point
so long as today is good and full ...

No, they don't put those on the shelf.
They grow in the wild, untamed.
To find them, leave the tended paths.
Bring a Guide who knows the wilderness.

De-cluttering the Blog

2012-01-26T15:13:00.003-06:00

I will be completely removing all Picasa-stored art and photos from this blog--due to glitches in software, unstructured filing, and transfers between corrupted computers. I am sorting, editing, and reformating older posts to create a more streamlined feel; and expect the process to take a while.

Once I have an organized system the images will return. For now, please forgive the broken image links and general disarray. If all goes well, I'll have all my posts and artworks sorted and categorized, ready for future growth.

Better to do this now and get it over with than wait and have an even worse mess when I'm busier.

Awakening - Des

2012-01-21T14:48:00.000-06:00

Voices outside the door punctuated the darkness permeating the sunlit room. Des turned his cheek into the pillow and tried to stay asleep. Escape must come, any escape from this empty world, where rest would always remain impossible and night crept in to vanquish day behind every blink of the eye. How could they keep going in the face of it? How could they ask him to act as if the world hadn’t ended?

Darin? The voice was unmistakable, deep and loud, challenging the irritating woman who had been nagging Des every day to eat, to talk, to live, not to die; forcing him to live. She thought she was kind. Des shook his head. He wouldn’t care, not even about Darin coming to see him; scolding that woman. Oh, she deserved it,... if he cared. He couldn’t help but hear the conversation as their voices rose.

“Lesta! You’re not protecting him from himself by locking him away with his thoughts. You’re letting him destroy his world from the inside out, with nothing good left to anchor him to reality and pull him away from his desire for the veil!”

Something thumped against the door.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Her voice, higher in frustration, grated into a shriek. “He can’t hurt himself in there!”

“Lesta! Lower your voice, woman!” Darin sounded nearly as irritated as Des had been, interacting with her. “I am assigned him, Lesta, by a higher authority than you will dare question. Look here!”

“You’ve been called off your assignments for this unimportant little boy? Oh, Darin! How awful for you. I’ll just take care of him for you and you won’t need to tell anyone. I’ve got him safe, after all.”

“Lesta! The key! Now!”

That voice.... Darin was clearly angry. Des squirmed backward and tried to nudge his head under the pillow. Perhaps it wasn’t that woman after all. After such important assignments as Guardians must work on every day, taking care of a petty thief would be so degrading. Perhaps it was their punishment for following Des behind the hedge, against orders?

Keys rattled against the door and the handle turned.

“He tried to push through the veil three times, already, Darin. He needs to be kept from hurting himself!”

The woman sounded so worried. Des sighed. Yet another proof of how broken he had become, that her love couldn't reach him. Darin walked through the door, looked around, then jumped to Des’s side.

“Lesta! How could you tie him down!” Darin tore at the knots binding Des to the headboard. “What were you thinking!”

“He kept trying to push through the veil, Darin! I told you! I couldn’t work, couldn’t turn my back for a moment. He was half-way out the window the first time, tried to use the knife for the meat on himself, tried to smother himself! I had to protect him, but I have other duties, too, other guests. The maids cause havoc without me!”

Darin shook his head. “I’ll report this, Lesta. You need supervision if you’re capable of this sort of treatment, even under stress. I thought it was bad when I learned you had locked him in.… But this?”

“I fed him and let him free to use the lavatory whenever I was here, Darin. He was safe, comfortable, even!” That woman’s face looked pale and her hands were shaking as she clutched at Darin’s sleeve.

Darin lifted Des from the bed and set him on his feet. “Come, Des. I need you to help me with some important matters.”

Turning to that woman, he shook his head. “It’s not up to me, Lesta. You can explain to the council. You’ve done very well with managing the rest’ous, but it looks like you will need a partner with compassion to care for the needy ones. You should have known to ask for help. Bright day, Lesta.”

With long strides, Darin strode through the halls staring straight ahead as if he could see through the walls while Des scurried to keep up. It felt strange to be glad and miserable in the same moment. Whether he wished to live or not, this large guardian felt like a protector, a safe warmth he had thought lost forever when … but he wouldn’t think about that just now. He stumbled as they turned onto the narrow stairs.

With that, Darin stopped, catching Des before he could tumble forward. “I’m so sorry!”

Surprised, Des stared up at him. “I didn’t fall, sir. You caught me.”

“No … that … that woman! I should never have left you with her. I should have pushed past her earlier. I shouldn’t have let myself believe I was too busy to take the extra time to talk her out of her overprotective worries. I didn’t realize anyone … no, I should have known!” His fists clenched and he turned to glare back down the hallway. “She tied you down!”

“Oh.” Des looked down at the floor, shiny wood, carefully polished ... like … but he wasn’t thinking about that place. Darin didn’t know how bad things hadn’t been, had been before it all, long before … before.... He blinked against the tears.

“It wasn’t nothing, sir. Not a damp stone hole, nor a cage. It wasn’t chains and men with a whip to make me walk fast enough with the other children.” No, he wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t risk the look of scorn sure to be there, now that Darin knew what he had been. “I was on a bed, with blanket and pillow ... too comfortable and food ... I don’t deserve ... I don’t deserve to live … not with … not without …”

“Child, nobody deserves to live. It’s a privilege for everyone.” Darin set a gentle hand on his shoulder and directed him toward the stairs. “Melly wouldn’t want you to waste your life, would she? Remember her well. Live the best life possible in honor of her memory; then you will have wonderful stories to share with her after the veil sifts you in turn. I have the perfect place for you to start.”

“Start?” Des followed, trying to reconcile the lingering warmth on his shoulder and the thought that Melly would want him to live with the bitter knowledge of his worthlessness.

They emerged into the gentle warmth of mid-day, on a small courtyard lined with shrubbery and massive walls. Beyond a wide gate, a crowd of men surged in organized chaos, busy with some unidentified task. Most wore the Guardian uniform. He glanced up. Darin remained in a nondescript tunic. Was he really under discipline? He seemed unashamed and unconcerned as he led the way toward a cart where a uniformed Guardian was checking the harness of a small pony.

“Thank you.” Darin lifted Des into the cart and gathered the reins after a casual salute to the man, who grinned and waved them off. With a swift snap of the reins, they rolled through a second gate opposite the busy crowd and headed down a walled alley toward the telltale brightness of a roadway. “I want you to meet a good friend of mine, Des. You’ll be keeping him occupied while I take care of a few tasks he needs help with.”

“Keeping him … busy?” Des looked up as a tower guard called a brief greeting and offered Darin a casual salute. “Sir, everyone knows you here?”

“Uh, not everyone, but we’re a close community. You’ll see. It’s my old master you’ll be meeting today.”

The cart rattled over the cobblestone for a moment, then Darin nudged him slightly. “Don’t look so pale, son. I’ll be near, and the master is a worthy friend to all.”

Des clenched his arms against his chest and tried not to feel the emptiness that seemed ready to swallow him. This master would know, he would see how unworthy a murdering, thieving slave must be, and remind Darin not to keep him so close. No, the master might be worthy, but Des would never be.

They clattered through a gate and turned onto the packed earth of a forest road. Ahead, the shadows seemed to loom beneath the rustling of the trees. Des glanced back at the heavy stone walls of the city. He had never been outside before. What a strange day this was becoming. He edged closer to Darin and kept an eye out for the monstrous creatures rumored to hide behind every branch.

That strange effect

2012-01-19T09:32:00.001-06:00

Joy, like the sunlight, will overcome shadow.
Joy, like the moonlight, reflects in the dark.
Joy, like a flood, carries broken lives forward.
Joy, like a tree, grows strong roots in the mud.
Joy, like the rain, exists for refreshment.
Joy, like a gift, will always be free.
Joy, like a plant, grows larger with tending.
Joy, like a promise, is God's guarantee.

---

I've joined with the Faith Barista community to explore joy today. Stop by and enjoy!

Enough

2012-01-15T14:14:00.001-06:00

I am not enough.

Ten thousand times and more
within my heart, the sharp thought tore.
The truth, so evident to me.
I am convinced all must agree,
for it is not enough to be,
to strain and work, sometimes achieve.
I broke, and in the darkness, thick,
I searched for any way to live,
and found, beyond my vacant core,
a something else, a someone more.
And not enough, though I might be,
those circumstantial limits free,
for I have found my place within
the great Redeemer of all sin,
and there, the source of all good things
restructures, builds, and fully cleans.
His meaning now completes my life.
Through grateful focus I derive
transformed acts and growing faith
in evidence of present grace.

Blocking the Channel

2012-01-12T11:57:00.000-06:00

Too long I've blocked the channel
of all God has for me
by clinging to my visions
of impossibility.
I know it is the quiet doubt
that stagnates in my will,
but the answer is to trust in him,
and he says, "Peace, be still."
I do not have the power
to roll away the stones,
to break down every barrier,
carve channels all alone.
And so my flow is guided
by the source of everything.
I watch in helpless wonder
as he seeps in, rages, streams.
Circumstances loom above,
yet mountains move and shift.
My Muse, by inspiration,
maintains the life I live.
How often do my dreams recall
the shower of his grace
and trust the flow of certainty
to open a new place?

Connections

2012-01-08T21:43:00.003-06:00

I've been hard at work adding bricks to the structure of my online presence. This is your opportunity to stop by or link up, if you wish.

Facebook Page

LinkedIn Page

My official Portfolio Page

Waiting

2012-01-08T00:35:00.000-06:00

The time is not yet come to see
what God is working out for me
and so I wait and cling inside
upon his presence, try to hide.
He is my shelter and my strength
my ever present help, and when
my heart is burdened, deeply sore,
he is my healer and much more.
I cannot help but feel the strain,
suffering long in this deep pain,
but through it all I've found such peace
in knowing he will not release
but holds me firm and sets me fast
on solid ground. Such grace will last
beyond imagination's reach
to overcome the weight of each
threatening circumstance,
even self-righteous helping hands.
And so, though I feel far or near,
I need not falter, need not fear,
for he is closer than my heart
and says he never will depart.

A Scrap of the Map Ahead

2012-01-06T21:18:00.002-06:00

I'm holding a scrap of the map ahead, things I might do, might become, might enjoy.

Life is full of these maps, some more accurate than others, and so I'm considering the cities and towns and paths, looking ahead. But in the end, I must say, "If God wills, then I will ..."

Most of my goals are to continue on paths I've already begun walking. I'm pretty sure this is why there is even a scrap of map to ponder. It is essential to remember that I will most likely find myself on roads I've never considered walking.

Better to have a Guide than a map, I think, and this is why I don't do resolutions, as such. It is habits I pursue, habits of dependance on the presence of my Creator, trust in his promises, and pursuit of the directions he gives.

All this being said (for the purposes of accountability) here is the list of goals I've been growing for the past couple years, with a few additions in recognition of the times and circumstances.

Faith and Relational Goals

Aim to live in constant awareness of the presence and sufficiency of Christ in all things.
Read a new theology or faith-oriented book by a new author every month, then discover the reasons for both the points I agree with and those I do not. (Thankfully I have lots of friends who love reading.)
Continual studies sourced primarily in God's Word, as he leads. Then live what I learn.
Practice a praise journal/collection/list until it becomes habitual to maintain it.
Record the stories of God's faithfulness in my life and share them with my children.
Mentor and encourage my friends and family, trusting God to work through my life.
Study with and learn from my friends and family, trusting God to influence and teach me through every relationship.
Cherish everyone I know or meet "as if" they will be important to me for eternity. Pray when a face or story comes to heart. Reach out generously and trust God for the sufficiency to meet the needs I am called to fill.

Writing and Blogging Goals

Continue blogging ... at least three times a week on average, preferably more.
Continue writing Des's exploration of his world to discover whether it's worth it to begin a book toward the end of the year.
Put together a book of poetry, just to prove to myself that I can write that many "worthy" poems ... and possibly try to get it published, though that's up for advisement.
Sing the songs I write and share them as songs instead of as poetry.
Reorganize my blog, website, and images; and push past the temporary, creative destruction to the final, easy-to-read vision I've been planning.

Art Goals

Submit my portfolio (by the end of the week) to the local museum, which is offering an artist's fellowship to be awarded to a local artist who catches their interest.... Then trust God to manage the results and go on growing no matter what.
Finish building my online portfolio.
Enter my art in at least six contests or calls for art this year.
Begin drawing at least one large work per month.
Continue drawing at least one smaller work per week.
Continue selling my originals, prints, and cards.
Study art licensing and proceed toward marketing my work for clothing and household goods.
Create or join a local artist's group.
Create a basic art and creative perspective course, primarily for my kids, but possibly including the children of several local friends.

General Goals

100% enjoy the upcoming family reunion. Yay!
Build an exercise habit I can maintain for the rest of my life.
Sustain a daily flow so I can continue my creative endeavors without sacrificing my health, household maintenance, or family relationships.
Work with my children to create crafts for sale and save up the proceeds to buy a computer or building renovation supplies for the orphanage our friends sponsor in Honduras (by the end of the year).
Begin planning for a missions trip next year.
Find new ways to be generous with my words, art, and time.

In what direction are you living your life this year?

Flow - time, breath, water

2012-01-05T19:24:00.000-06:00

I've been stagnant, in the past, dead within a silent hole where everything entered and nothing left but the faint evaporation of time and heat. But recently, life has begun to flow so sluggishly, thick, unused to the freedom, to the collection of experiences and interactions that are motion.

This year's word seems to be "flow" ... for the water and the breath of life both surge within, and under their direction I am safe.

It will take trust to move forward, to reach out into new situations and depend on God to handle the boundaries and openings of the path ahead. He is the channel and the source, but I must choose to move, to leave the gaping vacuum of self and trust him with all I can't control (and everything I think I can).

As a child I slept to the sound of the rain upon the tin roof, a reassuring percussion I still miss today. I consider buying a strip of tin to suspend outside my window, but it isn't practical. I curl up in bed on rainy nights and strain to hear the sound while the clouds flow by in shades of grey, all-too visible in the light from the city below. Rainy nights aren't dark here.

I remember the roar of the river pouring down the Andes Mountains after a rain, hearing the throbbing rumble of cottage-sized boulders grating forward, rolling, tumbling with a sound I could feel in my chest. We walked down the mountain from our home to watch the chocolate water foaming high against the cliffs, and spreading wide over the giant rocks upon which we had consumed a picnic lunch just days before. Fear and awe surged as God carved the landscape before our eyes, land and water flowing together with great power.

God channels the hearts of kings, who believe they flow where they wish. It must be similar, I think, the growling thunder of power restrained by the shape of the land. I need not wonder whether he can manage my heart as well.

Trees reach their roots down into the soil, sink into the death and corruption where the seed once died and decomposed beneath the earth. But the flow of living water pours through in daily miracle, straining life from death, composing structure out of destruction, reaching green and fresh into the light of the sun, building strength year by year ... until branches reach high and broad, wearing the liquid heartbeat of the seasons in the fruit they bear.

God flows through me, therefore I will move forward in the flow of time and believe that whether the motion is an overwhelming roar or invisible seepage, all is in his control. The wind rushes through the branches above, invisible, the breath of life; wearing the clouds as I turn my face to the sky and wonder if I will hear the rain.

---

Joining the Faith Barista community. Come read more contributions or add your voice.

A Word, the Breath of Time

2012-01-02T00:00:00.000-06:00

"Breathe," said the voice in the silence.
"Inhale and exhale one more time."
I wonder, without breath, would meaning
express what we do not define?

We're choosing words to live by for the year, a new bandwagon for me, though it is suited to my interests. I could almost say "Breathe" was last year's word, it came up so often; except I didn't choose a word at the beginning. It chose me.

I have yet to walk the year-long path by choice. Accidentally, yes, which is why joining is even a possibility for me. I'm not into forcing meaning into my life in unnatural ways ... or, rather, I've learned it doesn't work that way. Meaning sneaks in whether I wish it to or not, and rarely in the expected fashion. But there is a pattern to this word for a time ... and choosing one for a year seems to play off their natural ability to sink in and take hold of me.

So, here are some featured quotes from my blog where "breathe" slipped in covertly, with links on the word if you want to read the whole thought. I've arranged them so as to shape a thought, rather than by date. Soon, I'll feature the chosen word of 2012.

"God breathes into our souls and, when we breathe out, His influence touches the world."

"When you touch the painting of life
does it breathe the scent of warm hope"

"It is nothing, exhalation of vibrating throat and twisted tongue.
Emptiness to emptiness, a scented wisp of subtle wind.
Yet by the word all things are invested with meaning.
What a wonder to consider this vast universe
existing on such a simple breath of sound."

"gap in the breath
where music fills
and flows across the fragile bridge
to ask the questions
there portrayed"

"unpredicted lines from jolted elbows sweep
across a page while I gasp a breath
and stare as imperfection manifests."

"Upset again between this breath and that,
the dark emotions roll against the hidden side
of doors clenched tight, yet still slip through,"

"Beneath this cloud of thought, tucked soft
amid the breath of wind and sigh.
I strain to fly"

"afraid to try and breathe the Sky"

"Full of tears, that liquid place,
deep beyond the drowning point
where breath and water meet."

"It's hard not to struggle or give in to fear,
hard to breathe deep when drowning,"

"There is no stopping to take a breath. Life moves forward whether I am ready or not to face it,"

"We like our world to be empty of spaces,
those moments of silence where souls stop to breathe"

"It's very easy to be caught in the distortion that the veneer of exotic life carries and never see the people who live and breathe, making the exotic into ordinary life."

"Many fine fingers reach to the sky, desiring breath in the wind brushing by"

"Earth exhaled moisture,
a vaporous breath of warmth
veiled light, mystery."

Finishing

2012-01-01T01:26:00.002-06:00

Incidentally, I finished it ... the gift I unwittingly started earlier in the year or was it last year? Time slips past so swiftly, and I've forgotten how long it has been that the gift and I have been interacting. She doesn't know, yet, that the gift is coming, that I've been preparing it for so long.

She saw glimpses earlier and liked it, but that was all. Perhaps the memory slipped away with the passage of time? I hope it will mean as much to her as her gifts have meant to me, but it doesn't have to ... so long as she smiles for a moment.

I completed the year with two blog posts waiting for permission, but this one slipped up and passed them, unexpected. Completion does that. I wait and wait until the waiting is forgotten, and life simply is. Then it arrives, the fulfillment, the end ... and it's always the beginning of a new waiting, of a change, or another moment in time.

What will I do this year? I wonder ...

Today, I dream of completion--of living well--inspired by finishing the gift she doesn't even guess has been prepared for her.

It's a good feeling to have come this far.

Dream of the Sky

2011-12-30T02:50:00.000-06:00

Wait.
Tonight the world falls silent.
Beneath this cloud of thought, tucked soft
amid the breath of wind and sigh.
I strain to fly and finally reach
the soaring platform of the sky.
Oh, friends that walk upon the land,
look upward, gasp and wonder now
--
just as I wonder how you stand
so firmly there without concern
and fondly stride upon the earth;
I always wish that I could learn.
I'm of the wind, for what it's worth.
--
On waking, for a moment I
remember that I touched the sky
and, finding tears, I understand.
I'm bound again upon the land.
Tonight the world falls silent.
Wait.

This Day - and baby elephant art

2011-12-22T22:56:00.000-06:00

like any other day
the motion of moments swiftly press
proceeding onward like the wind
unseen but for the changes brought
by blend of vapor, cold and hot
vacillations, captured, transform the sky
contrasts hasten, more or less
like any other day

---

This poem can be read bottom to top as well, though it means the same either way.

---

In other news, we had our first Christmas celebration of the year, enjoying time with my brother and sis-in-law who came to visit. I am so grateful for every chance to see them. I was finally able to give her the baby bib I made for my impending niece. So now I can show it to you, also.

I'm especially proud of it because there was a cherub stenciled on the bib in grey, for someone who uses thread instead of ink ... which isn't me (neither the stitching nor the cherub). You can't see any of the grey, and it looks nothing like a cherub. Yay for baby elephants!

An Author's View

2011-12-22T01:08:00.001-06:00

He was simply a blank canvas of a child, at first, stepping into the world that has been growing over the past five years to experience life within it, for my sake as the writer. I wanted him to encounter the worst and the best of life and to need growth desperately. I hoped he would become an explorer and mature into the politics and culture so I could learn it from the inside. When Des is finished testing the foundations, I hope to know enough to write a "real story" in this world, or perhaps several.

Des was too content, once he built himself a face and a position in life. He wasn't satisfied, but more happy than he expected to be. He needed to move, so I removed his comfort, broke his small world, and altered his perception of himself. (Who knew the problems we all have would become so literal? I certainly didn't.) He must go through the suffering and loss in order to become more than he was, even though I'm still trying to think of a way for his friend not to die ... because the thought brings back my own regrets.

But service to a kind master and Des's unexpected friendship with the sickly daughter of the house, together ensured that he would remain content and anchored in his place. He wanted to forget his beginnings, and ignore the chains that had lifted him into position as a pawn in a larger game. And if she hadn't died, he would have slipped back away from growth. He needed soul-searing regret and an ideal to pursue.

I'm often like Des, content to be happy and floating along in safe waters, without a clue about or even a desire for the future God has planned for me. Gradually he is teaching me that it may be a future of turmoil and unexpected challenges, but through these experiences he helps me to grow and become more whole than I could be otherwise. It is a combination, though. Experiences. Attitude. Most importantly, it is the focal point set before the heart as it's moving forward into uncertainty. The mark. The goal. The ideal.

And this focal point is what Des must discover, the center of the world that has been gradually growing for his exploration. I haven't framed the government or charted the culture yet, but I have lived the mysteries of its spirit as they grew in the midst of life's questions and the answers I'm only just learning to glimpse.

I hope to communicate to your heart and draw in your mind, just as the best stories have always done. But above all, I want to illuminate the story of God's work as I have seen it. And so, I must grow as I write. Please be patient, and enjoy exploring this world with me.

Just a warning, though. I'm still learning how to write consistently. You're getting raw overflow without much planning because it is easier to keep writing when I project ideas to an audience. If there aren't real people to connect with, I have conversations between the various aspects of my personality ... and talk to God a lot ... and I'm confident you're his answer to those conversations. So what I'm saying is ... you're essential for my growth as a writer. I couldn't do this without you ... even if "you" are intangible, unknown, and exist in a future moment.

Your presence is a gift. Welcome to my world.

Despair - Des

2011-12-19T21:29:00.000-06:00

Des peered around the courtyard as they ran through, hoping to see any indication of normality. All remained far too still, except for a high-pitched wail, rising and falling, irregular and wild. Deep voices formed a steady counterpart to the sound as they followed it, straight over the carefully groomed lawn without regard for the crisp stone paths.

[This is part three of Des's story.]

--- Read Part 1 --- Read Part 2 ---

Jonas stood waiting near the corner and gestured for them to keep away before hurrying out of sight. The voices rose and fell until, at last, the wail slipped into the recognizable sound of sobs.

Despair gripped Des as he realized some tragedy had overcome the high walls of protection surrounding Melly’s home. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Hope of repairing the damage he had caused was slipping away, and along with it the strength that had brought him this far.

He tugged his arm from Darin’s loose grip, dropped to his knees, and knelt beside the corner, ignoring Darin’s whispered reprimand. He could hide behind the long hedge as he had many times during his games with Melly. He wouldn’t be seen. He had to know!

Darin gripped his tunic, which ripped further, though the tug was gentle. “Kid, they shouldn’t see you just now.”

“They won’t!” Des whispered his explanation. “I got to know what happened, sir!”

“Can you be silent, kid? No matter what?”

Des stared up at him. Could it be Melly crying?... “I ... I gotta see, sir!”

Darin sighed and shook his head. “I’ll come along, kid. Is there room in those bushes for me to hide too?”

“Uh … hmm …” Des wondered how much stranger this day could become, but nodded before leaning forward. There ought to be room, since Erb always left himself a passage to easily trim the hedge.

Jonas caught sight of him as he peeked around the corner and raised a hand slightly before looking past him and dropping his hand with a shrug. Everyone else was standing or crouching around a huddled figure on the back stairs. Their backs were against the hedge, so Des scuttled forward to creep along the narrow passage. A rustle behind him reminded him of Darin’s presence and he glanced back.

There was just enough room for the Guardian’s shoulders between the wall and the branches. Shaking his head, Des hurried forward. He had never thought a Guardian would skulk in the shadows. There was a thinning in the branches just ahead, a perfect place to peek through. Des balanced on his knees and thrust his face into the opening.

Melly’s mother looked up at the captain, her face streaked with tears. “But why?” She buried her face in a corner of the cloth she held, bundled against her heart. “Why would she jump?”

Des gasped and felt Darin’s hand cover his mouth, firmly. No sounds. Not now. But … he saw it then, Mellie’s favorite ribbon trailing from the bundle of cloth, her embroidered slippers tumbled in gray dust on the steps, her ring caught in the gaps between the stones.

Darin clutched him close, his hand still tight against any sobs, but Des didn’t care if they heard his grief, if only he could pull the screams free of the knife shaping them. With a groan, he welcomed relief as a wave of darkness emptied his world.

----

To be continued.

Where I Come From

2011-12-19T04:00:00.000-06:00

I am an imperfect individual who has been captivated by God's grace.

If you read my writing or know me personally, you will see my flaws, sins, and idiosyncrasies. You will also see God at work, if you pay attention, since he has promised to assist all who belong to him in both willing and doing his good pleasure. He says he laid out good works for us to live and will enable us to complete them. He will never stop working on us, and will demonstrate his character and grace in our lives in many ways.

This is where I find the courage to blog.
This is why I live.

I don't expect you to agree easily and hope you don't think I claim perpetual right. I only discover and test truth like anyone, and am likely to always live upon some perspectives with which you disagree. There is always a process of learning and growing, meaning there are changes day by day. Wait and experience the outcome with me.

Some of my beliefs will only become stronger no matter what circumstances or opinions may be thrown at them, because God has placed ultimate Truth in an unassailable position. My own opinions may seem just as firm, but I trust they will break if ever they conflict with him. It seems obvious that God is great enough to separate me from my false assumptions, just as he is great enough to ensure Truth rises victorious over all attacks.

Disagree or agree with me as you will. God teaches us all, and none of us know everything. Some of what we think cannot work together fits perfectly under his control, and some of what we determine must work will never fit his design. Because we are all in this place of discovery, I must trust God to work in and through you (even if you don't believe in him) and ask you trust him with me, also.

Whether I fall or stand cannot change who God is. It is he upon whom I depend to create value in my life. I may falter beneath the judgement of the world or the church while encountering shaky confidence in the truth I long for and a deeper realization of my sin.

Yet I am reserved for the final judgement before God, and there is the true unveiling. My evil and error will burn in his presence, while the purity and truth he promises to invest in me will remain unscathed. Because Christ has claimed me, no matter what burns away, there will be treasure left to his credit.

I pray you can see it already.

I'm always encouraged to see the way God works in the lives of others. There are many people, past and present, who I admire because they live in the presence of Christ. Rather than wasting time envying them, it has proven more helpful to trust that he is also at work in me. My life will be different from theirs, as they are significantly different from one another; but where God is at work the story is always worth telling.

I feel called to be transparent, not because there is no evil within, but because the goodness of Christ is greater than my sinful, weak, and foolish eruptions ... and he exposes them for what they are. See what he does with my life, yet look to him for wisdom, strength and courage. Live wholeheartedly within his presence.

Caught - Des

2011-12-18T11:02:00.000-06:00

---Read Part 1 First---

“Grab his feet!”

Des squirmed, but his shoulder caught on a stone in the too-tight space. “No!” He felt a hand grip his heels, clutch tight. “Ow!”

A swift collection of additional bruises and bleeding sores later, Des found himself set roughly on his feet under the stern gaze of three muscular Guardians. Melly’s bag dangled from his fist like a blazing beacon of guilt.

Sun-blackened hands settled on his shoulders as one of the Guardians knelt before him and Des bowed his head to avoid the piercing green eyes that seemed to reach into his soul. Could they really read minds? He thought of the other rumors he had heard, that they drank blood in the shadows and this was the source of their immense strength. Tears blurred his vision. How could he have thought he might save her?

He had never had a chance, not really. Taggar had been mocking him with an impossible task, again, and now he had lost Melly’s trust for nothing.

“Said they’d destroy Melly,” he muttered, knowing his words would slip away unheard, knowing they wouldn’t make a difference.

A light blazed bright for a moment and he brushed away the tears with his fist. What had they done now?

“Poor child,” muttered the pale Guardian as his partner raised a glowing sword.

He choked on his scream and broke from the grip on his shoulders to stumble back against the wall. “Don’t! Don’t want to die!”

The sword descended with swift precision, sliding through his head as though it were made of porridge. He waited for the feeling to strike, for the veil to slip through and sift him to dust. A deep, burning pain erupted in his eyes, consuming his face like fire. Gentle hands caught him as he fell.

“We’ve purged the distortion scales, child. This method is painful, but we’re in a hurry. They were twisting your perception, and we need the truth from you quickly. Think, now. Who did this to you, and why?”

Des opened his eyes to find the dark one stooping over him. “I won’t fall to dust? But … the sword! I’m not dead?”

“Unusual.… You saw the sword?” the pale Guardian kneeling nearby shared a meaning-filled glance with the dark one. “Our swords heal, child,” he said softly. “We restore the broken whenever possible, but it is your choice now. Will you choose to tell the truth instead of the shadow’s lies? We cannot prevent you from returning to your old ways, but we can help you build a new life if you ask. Quickly, now. Your friend Melly is in danger because of you.”

“But I was trying to protect her!” Des heard the words as if for the first time and glanced down at the bag, now resting on his lap. “I stole her mother’s jewels!... But … it was to help her?”

What was it Taggar had said? It had made so much sense at the time. He was going to save Melly from … from what?

“Taggar said Melly was in danger....”

The pale one nodded.

“He said her father is a bad man, I think. Or was it that he was dangerous?… I think,... anyway, they were going to make him pay. Yes, that was it! And Melly … oh … They’re going to hurt Melly!”

He jumped up and clutched at the dark one’s hand. “They said they would hurt Melly if I didn’t bring the jewels.... But this hurts her already! Her mother trusted her! Oh, why didn’t I see it before? They used me! It was all a lie.... It’s always a lie. Why do I believe them? Oh, sir, please help her!”

“Quickly, Jonas!” said the pale one, brushing his hands against his tunic and taking the stained bag from Des. “I’ll return these, boy. Darin, you bring him as quickly as possible. We will run ahead.”

“Yes, sir!” The dark Guardian turned to Des as the others ran back down the alley. “You’re pretty bruised, kid. You think you can run?”

Des stomped firmly. His ankles ached and his whole body felt like the time Oref and his buddies had used him for punching practice, but he would run if it killed him. “Let’s go.” He stumbled forward, hoping his legs would obey, as the Guardian loped ahead. He tried to infuse his voice with confidence. “You Darin? I’m Des, sir.”

Darin looked back to nod, then paused to grip Des’s arm. “I’ll help you along, kid. You’re a little shaky.”

It felt like forever before they arrived at Melly’s front gates, which gaped open like a conquered fortress.

----

Continue to Part 3.

Escape - Des

2011-12-17T15:29:00.000-06:00

Des dashed down the alley, full speed, stumbling over the low walls of children’s games and the tumbled fortresses of city rodents. His heart thundered as he gasped for air over the piercing ache that threatened to break him at every stride. Melly would forgive him. He gulped back a sob, unwilling to release the bag enough to scrape the tears splashing into his ears with the wind of his escape.

Behind him, the shouts of his pursuers grew louder as they turned the corner. Too close. If they caught him, Melly wouldn’t forgive him. If they caught him …

He crashed into the rough stone of a boundary, scraping the skin from his bare shoulder where his service tunic had already torn during that first slide down Melly’s wall into the street. No, she would lose everything, Melly would, and her pain would come in her realization of his betrayal. No, no forgiveness unless he could get away … unless he could complete his mission.

A pile of crates hid the tunnel, his emergency escape route. They would be waiting on the far side, full of their treacherous promises and safety for Melly. Safety for him, perhaps, though he had known all along that this was less certain. Too unimportant, as he had always been. He glanced over his shoulder. The alley remained empty down to his last turn, giving him a chance. No, he was too unimportant for safety or protection. This was why he had been chosen; even his truths would seem insignificant in case he might try to betray his benefactors.

Chosen? He ducked between the boxes and slid into the gap between the stones of the wall, filthy with damp and scum. Not chosen. No, he had simply been the nearest disposable child of the right age and expression when the chance had come. He froze as the pounding of footsteps approached, unable to crawl deeper into his hole without making a sound, unable to stifle the wrenching need for more air. Caught between alternate betrayals of his secret, as always.

Too many secrets for a worthless boy. He clutched his treasure close and buried his face in the soft scent of quiet and hope, already tainted by back-alley filth. So easy for even a nothing to stain and destroy beauty. He waited, silent at last, stilled by the depth of his breaking, and listened to the scrape of booted feet and voices as the pursuers paused, all too conveniently, beside his hiding place.

“I saw something moving next to these crates, sir.” It was a deep, cultured voice, full of authority--the voice of a Guardian.

Des cringed back, wishing they could guard him, too. How wonderful to feel protected by them as Melly had always felt, instead of this wrench of fear at the mere sight of their polished boots. Cautiously he slid further into the cramped tunnel. He had grown since the last time through and it had been close then. If only he could have run to the gate. Pushing the bag out in front, he slid into the gap between the foundation stones, his fingers still tangled in the fringed strap.

Wood scraped against stone and a man shouted. “He’s got a tunnel down here, sir!”

---

Go to Part 2

Channels of Water Rumored to be True

2011-12-16T12:38:00.001-06:00

I receive the gift in the mail on a grey day, Rumors of Water by L.L. Barkat, and tear away "from Amazon" knowing how undeserved is the credit on the mailing label. Finding the heart beneath the thick skin that protected its way to me, I brush my fingers over the cover. A heart on paper, but I've listened to the rhythm in pixels of blog and email for longer than my short memory can define.

I already know this gift is going to mean more tomorrow than it does today, and that it will change the way I see ... like all good books do. But I am confident because Laura breathes in the presence of God and her words are touched with significance as a result. And, after all, this is one of those bright gifts ... the desires I pray for in secret then watch as they form, a tangible touch of God manifested so clearly in a gentle offer from Laura. "I wonder if you own Rumors of Water [...] a small gift ..."

And God takes small gifts of loaves and fish--and, these days, our words too--and multiplies them. I've already seen her words multiply in other lives, and now it's my turn. I open the cover and promise myself just a chapter for now.

Laura begins with a story about not-writing. I have felt the hesitations between words that gap so wide whole books fall through the spaces and never make a sound. And even though I've heard this first story before, in pixels dancing, it pours out of the paper alive with scent and a rustle of sound to carry me along into new discoveries, until I realize I've gulped the entire book in a single swallow.

Well, now,... I look around, grateful for a family that knows how to feed itself.

I think that I will have to read it again, bite by bite, but already there is a feeling that something has changed. It's so strong that I feel the need to mention it to Laura in the midst of "thank you" ... a strange place for such an excuse or evasion. "You make me feel as though I could write a book, though I have told myself to be content with the blog and art for now."

All those stories falling into the spaces between words. It's too much to expect to blog, write poetry, create art, care for family, AND write a book, especially the fiction that has called to me for years.

I've always told God it's too much to expect anything from me. He has been pretty insistent that he doesn't necessarily expect FROM me ... but that he has every intention of pouring through me whatever good thing he desires. It's a lesson that grows larger and deeper with the learning of it.

So, I'll blog these stories, I suppose. After all, I've already blogged several books worth of poetry, a book or two of memoirs about God's work within, and an art book. There is probably more tucked into the archives, long forgotten. If I consider this blog a sacrificial altar, I suppose I can lay some stories on it, too. We'll see how many there are and how long they might be.

I'd "blame" Laura for this ... but the truth is, it's been coming for a long time. Still, she remains the channel through which God poured the liquid push that threatens to set my stories in motion. Rumors of Water into a channel of life ... Thank you, my friend. When you see green shoots of words, or even leaves to rustle through in search of fruitful thoughts, remember God used you to nurture these things.

In Darkened Cage

2011-12-10T15:30:00.000-06:00

I fear to reach and touch the dreams
that glisten in the sun,
afraid to try and breathe the Sky
(it's not for everyone)
upset to find my fingers caught
within the webs of shame,
expecting failure,
not making a claim.

Where are the songs that I would sing?
The words contained inside me seem
like birds within a darkened cage.
They close their wings and slowly age.
Oh, Courage, could you make me wise
and build me braver, lose the sigh
of never learning to build skill
and wilting deep without a will.

It's time to open up the doors,
and see if I could ever soar,
it might be pride to even try
to cry the tears caught deep inside.
I wonder if I've buried them ...
those tiny birds in shadow cage,
in missing letters, yellowed page ...
Raise up these wings and if I fall,
there's still a song to tell it all;
I trust the Wind to hush the tune
or carry it and softly croon.

---

This is an old poem I found among my drafts. I fixed it up a little to share since I'm finding the answer to it, now ... an answer I felt would never come. The doors are open, heart-wings feel the touch of wind, light bears warmth and strength between the bars, and I see the sky brighten with dawn.

Do I merely dream of flight or truly fly?

Consequential

2011-12-05T09:55:00.001-06:00

I broke the world with my fingernail.
I think
it cannot be coincidental detail.
The resulting explosion was too vast,
oh,
and nobody is left for me to ask.
How else could all life on earth fail?
I think
I broke the world ... and my fingernail.

Belong

2011-12-04T13:40:00.001-06:00

When you touch the painting of life
does it breathe the scent of warm hope
within the canvas-weave of events
where heart binds to heart in never ending
connection ... my dear ... does it linger
in your recollection ... that motion
of presence unseen past thick layers
of dread, hate, grieving, desire and more
shaping each boundary and what
they are for ... imagine the artist at work
... all is well in his presence,
though some deem it hell ... do they
know the rhythm of good in the song
where love builds the willing ... yet all
still belong