The Anchor

Life is wonderfully interesting. It's as if I am on a boat surrounded by complete blackness and the waters are awfully choppy, but not overwhelming. Sometimes I sit in terror with my arms holding to the sides of the boat, eyes closed tightly.The vast darkness seems less frightening with lids drawn together. Sometimes I row frantically trying to escape the unknown storm around me. The waves lap against the wood of my oars. All of my best efforts to take my vessel further from the center of the tempest fail; I am held firm by an anchor running down into the deepest depths of the water.


My desperate fingers seek to loose the chain, but find an unmovable rope. Every attempt to unlace the thick cord from my boat fails until eventually the challenge is abandoned. How much longer will this darkness capture my ship? Idle frustration builds until the breaks in the waves become a comfortingly familiar echo in my defeated mind. No more struggling to flee from the anchor, only a bitter acceptance of each slap of water against the decaying sides of the ship. My hands return to the rim resting uneasily and afraid to release their grip.


Let go.
a voice commands.


I am incited many more times before my fingers unlace from their safe embrace of one another. Darkness still surrounds me but I am no longer afraid. With the unfolding of my hands came an opening of my heart. I realize that the anchor isn't what is hurting me, but the darkness I feared. The Anchor is keeping me from being swept away by the frantic winds and spinning currents. The strong tether between my small, useless dinghy and my Anchor is perfectly made. This understanding travels down from my eyes into my heart assuring me that I am exactly where I was made to be.


Jesus is the Anchor. He is the lifeline holding me from the endlessly eclipsed ocean.

Boots

Boots, en vogue.

Delicate and trendy, how they carry a starving girl who hungers for more than another meal. 

What can satisfy that insatiable need for love and attention?

Boots, black and loosely laced.

Dusted with earth from paths-less-traveled all around the world.

Where is home for a wandering wonder?

Boots, shiny and tall.

Reaching over netted legs, disguising bruised knees; turning tricks and getting paid at an hourly wage on her back, just like her momma taught her.

When will the cycle end?

Boots, salted and soggy.

Seeking solace from sleeting snow on broken streets and sloppy sidewalks.

What can warm the coldness that reaches the deepest parts of a soul?

Boots, hidden and scuffed.

Beneath the faded and worn denim of a man who traded the simple life for big city dreams.

Why isn't our own grass green enough?

Boots, used and shared.

Passed down, too large for his developing frame; he'll grow into them like his siblings before.

Who will be the one to give a new gift?

Time is a Funny Thing

Time is a funny thing, it passes more and more quickly with each year. 2011 has been passing with a speed unlike any year before. What have I to show for it? Even though I am not a fan of New Year's Resolutions I did set a few goals for myself this year. Regrettably, I do not believe that I have accomplished nearly as much as I would have hoped to have done by now...my music still needs to be de-cluttered, my photo albums organized and properly maintained, and I haven't paid my personal debts back (actually, they have increased!). I figured out a payment plan for my schooling, though I've irresponsibly procrastinated in paying it. Likewise, my "bills" and rent haven't  been paid at all this year thanks to the good graces of my mother! I haven't worked out even once a week for most of this year, my eating is pretty out of control and I've spent most of my money on food (for others as well as my self...).  I've inconsistently been disciplined in my faith practices; my spiritual growth has felt stunted. 

How Do You Measure a Year?

How Do You Measure a Year?

In cups of coffee? In alarms snoozed? 

Hugs? Hello's? Maybe in miles spent or moments shared?

Friends gained? Enemies made?

It's been about a year since my dad dropped me off outside Bethlehem Baptist Church on a windy and sunny Sunday morning; It was my first time there. Jordan had invited me to hang out at his church after we had hung out a few times before. I arrived early with my backpack, a duffel bag, a pillow and sat huddled on the floor for about 40 minutes waiting for him. Smelling like smoke and mildew I am not surprised that not a single soul acknowledged me which encouraged my quickly retreating confidence to further pull back. Surrounded by unfamiliar faces I was flooded with relief when I received the text from Jordan saying that he was finally there. Moments later he appeared and two others tagged along. Somewhat awkward casual greetings were exchanged and then we four headed into the service (which had already started). We sat along the back wall on the floor. I was incredibly uncomfortable and insecure because I knew that I smelled raunchy. But everyone was polite and friendly, not mentioning my odor. After being dismissed we exited the sanctuary and more fully did introductions. The first was Shea: the silent conversationalist. She was tall and plainly beautiful, looking remarkably like her older sibling. Robert was long-haired and visually out of place amongst the sea of Sunday's best dressed. A few visits later would reveal more friends and as winter became spring, and spring finally warmed to summer the group had been defined with Jordan, DeLaney, Robert, Crystal, James and Shea. Of course other's are intermingled within the time contained in a year, but these were my Lovely Jankies: The beloved friends of inner circle of my heart.

It's been 2 weeks since what I call "the breakup" which really is just the end of something good, and the beginning of something better. Beyond the romantically inclined relationship that I had with James (which will be blogged about soon, I promise!) the break up of the group has been heavy on my heart lately. The ones that I once called my friends, now sometimes feel like my enemies. Just saying that makes my heart turn and twist a little.

...slow spinning redemption...

I'm considering moving to Joplin, MO with Opal in a few weeks. Only a back pack of belongings, living out of the car, and a fresh start is an appealing opportunity. I’ve dreamt of leaving and pursuing the gypsy lifestyle for a while but is it really the answer to my desires? I consider the things keeping me here like my friends (however fragile those relationships may be), my schooling (which is on hold anyways), my family (who may frown upon my adventurous flight) and my God (with whom I bear the heaviest consequences for this choice). In my mind I have already decided to go but something radically has changed and uncertainty steeps my excitement. It seems silly, but my hopeful heart begs me to ask the question: am I giving up too easily and too soon on everything?

It goes beyond my relationship with James.  It’s been a slow breakdown of the 6…my lovely jankies have degraded, deformed, and deteriorated as the days have grown shorter (and the nights longer). Now as the sun begins retreating later in the evening, I wonder if there will be any peace, healing and restoration within our group. I’m considering that perhaps Jak is right: the truth of Ecclesiastes 3 is speaking to my life right now. If everything has a season and a purpose then maybe we have run the course of and fulfilled ours. A conversation with Mrs. H comes to mind as I recall her comments one sunny, Sunday morning. The word for word exchange escapes me but I do remember she expressed a sincere speculation about the seasonal longevity of the group’s intimate involvement. Would we survive the end of summer?