Least of All

Am I really good enough?

Am I really strong enough?

I'm not.

I know I'm not.

I know I am not worthy.

I know I am not a leader.

I know I am not a healer.

I know I am not meant to be anything.

Because if I was,

Wouldn't I be stronger?

Wouldn't I be kinder?

Wouldn't I be wiser?

Wouldn't I serve better?

Wouldn't I do better?

Wouldn't I bring people together,

Not push them away?

If I was meant to lead,

Like I have been told all my life,

Wouldn't I be able to stand for those who follow me?

Shouldn't I be able to smile at them,

Give them orders whilst helping them?

It shouldn't doesn't matter if home for me

Feels like hell on a good day.

They are more important to me.

I need to lift them up

If I am to lead.

If I was a healer,

I would be able to stand the darkness within people.

I would be able to love them

Despite all the horrendous ways they live.

I would be able to actually help people,

Not make them hate me even more.

There is no way I am worthy of anything.

Not a crown.

Not love.

Not heaven.

Not with the person I am.

For I am broken.

I am selfish.

I am rude.

I am angry.

I am bitter.

I am scared.

I am torn apart.

There is no way I was meant for anything.

Least of all healing.

Least of all leading.

Divinely Appointed Friends

It's the friends you have not the successes that you are given, that give the world color and make the flowers bloom. They make the long winding road straight. And there is that one friend whom you know was sent to you by God, else they would have checked out long ago. Instead, they held on even tighter, made the sun shine brighter, and put the world back into its orbit. It's because of them that you are who you are today. God sent them on a special day long ago; and we will never let them go. No matter if we live a thousand years without them for they are divinely appointed friends whom we always have in our hearts.

The Somber Serenity of the Aftermath

Everyone talks about the calm before the storm, and the devastation that occurs whilst the storm rages. But there is never any discussion of the odd, somber serenity that is the aftermath of a battle. 

No one ever speaks about the drizzle that follows the flood waters; the calming tears of a sun-streaked cloud barrier. There are never words penned about the whispers that follow an emotionally scarring shouting match; never a literary picture painted about the droplets falling down from a storm-soaked tree. 

The same can be said about the Battle at Gettysburg. A thousand Homeric epics can be spun about that trio of blood-bathed days, and yet not capture it all. But there are no epics to describe the aftermath of those three days; the weeks to come where none could open a window, and each person became a doctor, nurse, or assistant. 

Even now, a hundred and fifty two years have gone by. Several wars have been won, and even more have been fought, but saying "I survived the battle" is not the same as saying "I lived through the aftermath."

The end of a battle, be it literal, metaphorical, mental, or spiritual, is never the end. The end is the eye; the second, "false calm". Anyone can fight a battle; anyone can win or lose; anyone can sit in the doctor's office and receive the diagnosis; anyone can stand up; but who is able to deal with what comes next?

Fools at the Table of the King

Lord of my heart,

King of all Kings,

All nature praises you!

The ocean's frothy waters rise up 

For your feet;

The sands of the desert 

Give way for you.

The song of the stars' 

Silent crescendo tells your story.

The rise and fall of the heavens 

Gives you glory.

As you have made 

the heavens, and the earth,

And silence, and song for your glory,

So you have made man 

For that purpose. 

Why then, do you allow us to squander that role?

To play a fool in the court of the King

When we have married the Prince?

You have opened the door 

To your glory and given us an

Invitation to dine at your table. 

Why then, do your children refuse

To dine at the King's table

Where food is plenty?

Or do fools simply 

Ignore what is offered

For their own desires?

For who else refuses to dine 

At the table of the King?

A Heart of Steel

Is it fiery?

It has scorched your soul,

Does it still burn you?

Does the cold freeze?

It stung you, it has touched your face,

Can you still speak?

Is it full of want?

Does it long to caress your face 

Or to hold you in its arms?

Does it comfort you?

Do its words sing sweet or sour notes?

Or does its silvery tongue enrapture you?

A life of worldly pleasure throws your heart into a furnace, turning your heart of gold into scorched steel. 

Are your pleasures and your passions, your lust and your lies, worth a heart of steel? 

Life Worth Living

Why is life such a painful thing? People get hurt, they get sick, and they die. People are abused, shamed, and killed. Why is there such pain? Why can't life be a fairytale, where we live happily ever after?

It's because pain is what makes life meaningful. If we don't know loss, how would we know how to value something? If we don't suffer, how will we know how to thrive? If pain and suffering make lives meaningful, then why do they only seem to destroy?

The answer is simple. We let them. We choose not to learn. To let the pain change us, to embitter, to mold, and to freeze our hearts into people we can't even look at in the mirror. We give into the darkness that is in all of us, and refuse to acknowledge and accept healing from the light.

People who haven't ever suffered haven't lived. No matter your station, your job, your family name, people feel pain. It's an ingrained part of us to ignore the light, because the light challenges us to do something about the pain, and the loss, and the suffering. It demands that we look for healing, for love, for life. And it demands that we set aside our pride, our self esteem, our lives, us. It asks us to give everything to someone else, because if our heart doesn't clench at another's pain, then we haven't suffered enough.

Those that accept the light, they give their pride, their suffering, their success, and their shame. They give it all. They give up their life, their name, their fame, who they are. They cast down that which they idolize and they say "No more!", because they have suffered, and the people they see everyday, those whom they pass in the grocery store, who work at the mall or the car wash, those people they just glimpse in the bookstore, because those people have suffered, and who needs grace more than those who have never known undeserved, voluntary love.

So they give. And the suffering that they found in darkness gave them a purpose. It tore them down, and allowed the light to reach down and pull them up, hand over hand, as they were raised up. The darkness that hardens man's heart does not raise people up. It kills, steals, and destroys. But those deaths, those stolen things, and obliterations, those brought them to their knees. And instead of screaming at the sky and holding on to the comfort of darkness like so many of us love to do, they gave a plea. "Help me. I cannot help myself."

Not a cry of self worthlessness, but of utter humility. They do not make much of who they are. They do not dare. They simply say yes to the light, and to the challenge that awaits. Bad things don't happen to good people. Bad things happen to people shrouded in darkness and in hatred, in self love and in idolization.

Instead of asking yourself "why me!", ask "What can I do with what has been done to me?" Because that will give your life meaning, and the pain meaning. It gives you a life worth living. And that, is the most precious thing of all.

Can You See?

Can you see the wind?

Can you see gravity?

Can you hold love in your hands?

Can you touch loyalty?

Can you measure grace?

Can you taste mercy?

These exist yet are invisible to one thing or another.

You can see their effects.

You can see how they divide,

How they build,

create,

bind,

heal the broken,

give rest to the weary,

help the poor,

give mercy to the merciless,

humble the proud,

and love the unlovable.

But these things are untestable,

unprovable,

inexplicable,

illogical,

They make no sense.

Science can’t explain them,

politics can't explain them,

philosophy can’t explain them,

life can’t explain them.

Many deny their existence.

So they don’t exist.

But they do.

Life is not logical.

Life is not explicable.

Life is incomprehensible to science.

But love does exist,

Just as gravity does.

Love does.

You just have to look.