Where, in all the world, IS God?

"I’ve curled up in bed, pulled the covers over my head, and tried to pray to a God I felt I’d left behind on another continent." -Shaun Groves, in a blog on the vast experiences of re-entry.

A couple months ago, my eyes read those words then almost began the next sentence; but didn't. After one second of ingesting that statement, I began to sob. But not the kind where you're wailing loudly for the neighbors to hear. It was a silent sob--where you exhale strongly and seem to be caught there for 10 seconds, as the tears flood your eyes. You hyperventilate, choking on air as your chest jolts a few times. tears stream down your face. I continued in this state for a good 5 minutes, intensely whispering, where are you God?? Jesus, I need you! Where are you?? 

top spinning

 

 

Spinning Top

Spinning like a top
where I sat still and calm
just yesterday.
Resting in the assurance
that taking a risk
will help me find my footing.
May even help me fly.
But You only know
what the straight path looks like.
In silence I wait,
I worry, tremble at every step.
Where can I go from your presence?
Any road is fine
I step into boat, on uneasy surface,
to make the journey to the other side.
Aim and row, let the wind take me
It’s at my back.
Calm, now
another light shines;
waves come with force
Throw me off course
Rowing is of no use
so I wait
for the wave-calmerthis is not for confusion’s sake
maybe not even for Pete’s
but for his, I wish I could see
Your heart
it's about transformation and glory
Waves don’t come steady
as a wave pool
out in these open seas
We follow into the boat
only to be swamped--
It’s the perfect storm
These waves would have died
yesterday
But today is here
spinning, dizzy as
A top; in a whirlpool.

 

Dengue Remembered

At this time last year, I was recovering from a tropical, mosquito-borne disease on the opposite side of the world. It was not a pretty or fun couple weeks of being sick, but God's grace was all over it. I've never wanted to complain about this experience, and I am not starting now. I was, however, compelled to document it as I recalled the experience in recent days. I was inspired to write a bit of unconventional poetry...well, I think it explains itself.
 

 

Dengue Remembered

              Nausea
              get sick
                rest
              get sick
           head imploding                
                                                          eyes stab like a shish-ka-bob
    joints aching             
                  bones breaking     
                                              heat rises
                   sweat falls
                                      delirium
                     “HAVE FAITH IN GOD” sticks                             
                                                                              like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth.
                                                           arrozcaldo
                                       in the cauldron
             liquids in, liquids out                         
         pills popping
                                            friends stopping
                                                  faces like a whack-a-mole
                                                                         cool rag to the skin
                      and muscle-kneading
(needed more than they know)
           a rocky road to become the specimen.                                                   

Sit.
Up.
short, small breaths
heart racing in my chest
room spins
head hangs, light
try to force a little bite
Open.Wide.
Swallow.
Hard.
‘nother ride, to the ward.
                                                  needles pricking, sticking
                                           into my veins
                  chair glides
    I slide
 in and out of sleep                               
pills popping                                                                 
friends stopping                                                                                       
faces like a whack-a-mole                                         
joints aching                         
bones breaking   
thirst-slaking all day long.
Night has come.
Rear is numb
from bed-inhabiting.
strange sounds from the tube invade my ears;
Attempt to prevent my brain to hear.
awake once again--                                                                     
what hour on the clock?
                                                                                      a pump, a prick, bandage applied.
     always waking,
waking to a nurse by my side.                                                           

--a surge of angst whirls—PEOPLE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD.
daylight comes; type out an email.
sleep
stir
turn
gaze
out my window, a beautiful day.
Forced nutrition:
crackers,
soup;
Sip and nibble
just to please...
liquids in, liquids out.
Rising is slow; steady now, steady.
for all I’m not eating, my body is heavy.
friends become family--measuring liquid gold.
measure, discard.
measure, discard.
days and nights
meld together;
stream of people,
ebb and flow.


moment of calm--
Jesus speaks through a father’s placid voice
He walks on the water, He calms the sea.
tears escape, push their way through
the veil that’s been closed too tight to undo.


Pills still popping
friends still stopping in to say hi,
raise a prayer.
Joints release aching
fever breaking
spots appear
claw at the surface
for what’s deep within;
looks like the circus
is under my skin.

Platelets dropped; need some extra.
people talk
come and go;
faces like a whack-a-mole
here’s the bag
white liquid first.
feels cold;
--my wrist could burst!
long smooth strokes
repeat and knead.
drifting off--
what slurred speech??

Another sun
cold food on a tray.
Red meat I can’t eat
nor do I want.
doc says good, it’s going up.
I’m ready to bathe
it’s been ten days.
I’m flaky
shaky
as we ride,                 
I’ll close my eyes.                                                
sun burns bright                                                                                     
steps falter, I grasp any arm I can find.                                                                                     

Weeks pass and hours are filled with words on pages,
shows on TV I haven’t seen for ages.
coffee-smoothies, mango, ice cream.
second family was formed, thankful prayers are said.
Savory dishes, dogs, bed.
Rest and repeat.


but please,
don’t repeat.

Wrecked: Part II

Thank you for your overwhelming support and kindness to me after my last post, my dear cyber supporters (and those of you I actually get to see face-to-face, too!) ;)

I have been affirmed time and time again for posting that. It's a conscious decision of letting yourself be seen by anyone and everyone by posting something like that and NO, I am not sorry I did, nor ashamed that people know that about me now. It's actually quite freeing.

Look, I know that to some it may have been a shock, and to others, a sigh of relief: she IS real. Yes. I am human. I do struggle with doubts, fears, insecurities, just like everyone else. And sometimes I need to remind myself of the last part of that sentence, "just like everyone else." My friend Amber said it really well yesterday:

Wrecked

**This post is long, yes, and it's raw. I didn't go back and take out the ugly things, the not-so-put-together things. I am not looking for pity. Prayers, yes. But mostly, I feel like I need to just get real with the world. No more hiding. Read if you dare. if you care to.**

Nowadays, the term wrecked is used to denote many types of situations--a sweater that has a large stain in the center, a car smashed into a pole, a person that sees traumatic, emotionally damaging scenes and is left emotionally distraught (with empathy.)

I'm sure at some point I've seen the first two, whether in person or on the news. And I've definitely been in the position of the latter description. I've been to developing countries, seen a lack of hope, and my heart has cried for those people.

But today, I find myself in a different "wrecked" situation. In my case, "wrecked" is a person emotionally distraught with self-pity.

Tears of This Saint

Two days ago, I saw God's fingerprints everywhere. He was like a sloppy Santa Claus who forgot to wear gloves, and left evidence of his presence (and presents?) everywhere he went.

Two days ago I was reminded of the importance of carving out time just to be with people I love and to have conversations that mean something. I was reminded what it's like to cry with them. I know that sounds odd, but crying is something I do pretty often, just because I am a person who feels a lot. I generally cry in movies that are touching or sad. I typically cry when my friends are hurting or really joyful. I typically cry when God moves in an awesome way; when I'm reminded of how incredible His love is for me; when I am having a rough week;when I am drained and wearied; when I feel lonely. All of these things could typically make me cry.

Yet this past month or so, almost all of those things had occurred but still I had not been able to cry.

At first I attributed it to the fact that I was really excited about certain things happening in my life right now, and thought I was, in a sense, "on an emotional high." But then it began to bother me. I felt really low for a couple days but felt as though I could not properly or fully process or deal with what was going on. I thought maybe if I cried, I would be able to feel the emotions more strongly and identify what was going on. So I began to pray that God would allow me to cry.

Nope.

This whole thing had been going on for over a month and I thought, as a girl, that doesn't seem right. my cycle usually makes it easier for me to cry(pardon my frankness)--but not even that did anything this time. Not until I sat in the car with my best friend sharing her heart with me did my eyes even well up. It was then that I saw her frustration and sadness, and I began to break for her. tears came out of my eyes that very minute, trickling down.

I still don't understand fully why God withheld those tears from me for so long. But I know now more than before how beneficial my tears are to processing my emotions. Thank you Lord, for tears. May we never be ashamed to display our emotion, whether sadness or great joy.