Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Summer Sky

Summer Sky, what's up with you?  You cast a spell with cerulean hue, suffuse the soul in firefly wonder, draw the gaze to aerie color, romance this woman-child to dream again. 
With breath-taking beauty you woo.  White clouds plume a never-ending blaze through warm shades of sangria.  Alizerin gem burns in the rise, and my eyes glisten with glory.  I catch my breath at you.
Even your twilight rubs golden the skin.  Two feet skirt shadows, tread lightly the damp--bare earth kissing earth.  Two hearts listen, bridge the gap, like heaven and earth--long to  converge, explode in renaissance.
And I collide with faith born of laughter, rush to dip the toes and go head first into streams unseen--the wild blue yonder.  Thoughts run there too.  Full stretch and bold beyond the burning dome, they rest and wait.
Symphony surrounds.  An epiphany in clouds.
And the wind slinks soft against my skin, arousing.  A songster's sweet warble--morning litany.  Lids close to soak the sun.  I breathe, feel the coming and going of substance unseen, unsung, hear silvery-green the rush of oak leaves, the rhythmic sway of ancient trees.

With ethereal delight I rest on wings, stretch and soar.  And oh, the rush of Spirit infusing spirit, lifting in the updraft with more than I could ever imagine, causing my breath to catch again in wonder.  Awe. 
Summer Sky, I am yours.
This dance of Deep touching deep underneath a canopy of color--this romance in the hidden places--transports me heavenward to where my Lover sits. 
Marigold sun warms the realm from which I come and I fly, earth-skin tattooed divine--His name written on heart and lips.  Listening, my head in the clouds, I hear His whisper:
I am Love, and you, My Love, are a Summer Sky.

In what way is God romancing you?
I'm sharing with Emily and friends my "Imperfect Prose."  Come join us?


Photo Credit:  flickr - leolintang

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Hope Floats

Fueled by disappointment and lonely regret, my heart wrestles. 
Teeth clenched, I plunge, gasping for breath.  Unable to go beyond what has been, I hold pain like porcelain, all fragile, gilded edges scratched, the smooth worn with cracks.
Petals faded, three years short of fifty.  How can you still love me?
I dive again, and reach with both hands from the breast, each stroke an attempt to soothe soul-anguish.
Clutching tight the pieces, blaming him--the one who's eyes I refuse to see--my thoughts bleed ugly.

Couldn't you have made me better? Beautiful for the world to see?

He hands ice cream dripping from a cone, wild berries picked in the heat, husband-lips on my cheek, love whispered.

I hold onto me, can't bear to see what he sees.  Pieces broken, sharp.  My silence drives him away.

I knew he would leave...eventually.
Like clay hard-baked in a fire, my soul aches, a basin cut full of need.

My children see me only as weak.  Why can't I be one who sails through life effortlessly?  Gloriously?

In the water I weep.  The need--so deep--heaves its way to the surface.  Hands and feet scissor through the wet--mirror of sun.  I am blinded.

Lids closed, I glide, as one with the coolness.  Teeth ungrit.  Peace saturates my skin and the wind--like his kiss--caresses my face with whisper, reminds me to breathe.

To let go.  I float, looking up to see as I am seen.  The sky overwhelms, clouds stretched feathery, two wings out and touching overhead.  A sanctuary. 
A bird sings from its nest.

And in the shadow a husband returns, waits, smiling hope and wrapping warmth with a towel.

Celebrating who we are with Jen and friends today at Soli Deo Gloria.  Come join us!

Photo Courtesy:  Fraz Ismat - flickr

Friday, July 15, 2011

Exultation is the Going

Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,
Past the houses—past the headlands—
Into deep Eternity—

Bred as we, among the mountains
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?

—Emily Dickinson

Who will soar the sea with me, go beyond ancient boundary-- all looming shadow--launch into the deep eternity, see what only angels see?
Who will listen to Spirit-beckon:  Come lose the self in wonder, plumb heights and depths for treasure, unfurl frail wings untethered, set sail the soul in Mystery?
Who will run abandoned into the waves unseen, throw off heavy bonds like string to the Wind, casting silver nets on the other side of impossibility?  Who will go with me?
Who will drink full liberty, a remnant--scattered seeds, divinely intoxicated, breaking free to see fair, glorious King at the head?
Who will live the life exulting--be holy as He is holy, open ancient gates of glory, ride crashing swells adoring?
Who will bring the increase--nets breaking full of Father's blessing, sons and daughters laughing love, countless as the grains of sand?
Who will become one with the One whose love possesses me, majestically?
For I must go.  I must know as I am known.  No more captivity!  I live to behold chaotic beauty, be soothed with ancient symphony,  metamorphose sons of Glory--I too, am mystery.
Into Depths I plunge, fearing death, fully trusting only me.  Grabbing hold the Messenger, One who knows me well, we wrestle.  I fight, relentless for a blessing, must lose myself...this false identity.  I speak my name...
Death comes, not as I imagined, but in the glorious give and take of life.  Weak, I lay to rest in the swells, fearless and replete, child-like fully, overcome by Divinity.  The God-Man wins.
Joy climbs blush with the morning--sun bursts crimson on the crests, exposing earthy reality.  This house, no more divided, is open for all to see.  Transparency.  In the mountains and valleys, across the heavens only Love covers me. 
A new name flows like honey from his lips, sweet water from the Rock.  A honeybee, I sip nectar of a Prince.  I am His.
I an an ocean blessed, Wind-driven ebb and flow of God.  Love reveals Himself in me, quenches thirst and stirs afresh delight, inflaming soul--a wick, now saturated in the wet, oil of His gaze. 
New day breaks.  I see His face and rise as light wakes golden the grains of sand.  Promised glory glistens among the shadows, disappearing, and I limp barefoot across the dunes, washed, clean, free.
What sets your soul soaring?

Photo:  Cardigan Bay, Wales - flickr - BuildArk

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

I'm Goin'a Sing When the Spirit Says Sing

Beautiful things are birthed from places of brokenness and suffering. Seed-planted dirt, we thirst for heaven's rain. Until the light of day we wrestle giants for a blessing. 
Barren wombs, shattered dreams, wounded hearts--all threaten, make believe we are who we aren't.  False identity, given cruelly, blinding at birth, rejects and accuses, whispers lies and twisted truths.
Oh, bittersweet the mercy of God when He opposes the one we aren't.  Pressing hard He does not crush; knocking down He does not destroy, but ever so gently draws the soul to see beyond all seen and known and behold who we have always been.
Little seeds, they break.  Hard shells disintegrate.  From within great weakness yields great strength and beauty!  Somehow in the letting go of all we cannot keep, we find ourselves free to touch, holding all Divinity. 
Somewhere in the dying we see the Face of God.  And live.
One speaks our name and we are changed.  Day breaks.  Love rises.  We rise too, and limp, Word-made-flesh.  We are as Jesus in this world.  No longer afraid, the earth blooms color, splashes freedom until even our enemies shine.
Such is the story of a people who have yet to see the glory of their suffering.
For several days I have been listening in my spirit to the sound of a 40-years-old memory, child-like voice joined in song--the heart words of an Negro Spiritual:
I'm goin'a sing when the Spirit says sing.
I'm goin'a sing when the Spirit says sing.
I'm goin'a sing when the Spirit says sing.
And obey the Spirit of the Lord.

In the dark I wrestle to remember.  I am a sunflower soaking sun, dark, yet lovely.  Do I speak the lie that condemns me, "You will never be free!"?  Or do I sing the song of liberty?
Thoughts reflect on a nation held captive and dance across my own struggle to be free.  These thoughts.  This people.  My identity.  We claim One nation under God, indivisible.  Yet we are scattered in pieces, little seeds. 
A house divided is destined to fall--a man can serve only one Master.  Which master will it be?
For whether we choose willingly or go kicking and screaming, aren't we all slaves to something...or someone?  A thought?  A system?  A false identity?
I choose to let go of me and sing when the Spirit says sing.  I will be one with the One who inspires a spiritual testimony, the heart cry of a beautiful people who persevere in spite of cruelest hardship. 
I will listen to the Wind blow and sing this song--the sound of freedom--and dare to believe it can be on earth as it is in heaven.
Slaves given names by earthly masters and forced to be a people they were not knew in spirit true identity--sons and daughters, kings and queens, highly loved and favored children born and created by God.
We, too, are kings and queens whatever the color of our skin.  The cost of our freedom has been paid with the blood of a Lamb, a Jewish carpenter, a Son, One who walked freely and fully full of God.
Beauty rises from deepest suffering.  In death we discover resurrection power.  So in Christ, we shall rise, singing, because our eyes have seen the Face of God who lives to be in who we are.
That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.  ~ 2 Corinthians 4:16-28 NLT
Won't you sing--beautiful things--with me?

Photo Credit:   Robert Pernett - flickr