some things do not change

Manipulative
Offering no nurture
Torn between love and despise
Her needs outweigh her children's
Encouragement used only to bribe
Rejection

random short stories: part 1

Sometimes I randomly write things, with no preemptive thought or motive. The ideas can be influenced by books I've recently read, or a particularly strong case of ADD that needs to be worked out. Either way, this piece is a detour of descriptions that I've recently created...


She was not a structure of steel and brick, though it had been her adamant profession for many years. He discovered not a solid, fortified structure, but instead course, packed earth, devoid of all the pleasantness of a nurtured plot of land.

Somewhere under all the thick, cumbersome layers, he was willing to believe was a reservoir rich enough to make anyone sweet, but he was stubborn as the ground she was made of, and not a single bead of sweat was worth fighting against her.

Jumping Through Hoops

It's what we do
Saying the obvious, expected things
Avoiding the common threads of conversation we are bound by

It's what we do
Jumping through hoops like trained circus animals
Performing for the audiance, as captivated by our performance
As we are by our chains

What would happen if the big top was lifted
If the greatest show on earth was interrupted by a storm of freedom
With the wild, untamed lands gaping before us

Would we trust our own instinct
Would we break the spell
Would we welcome the opportunity, the call to live in the environment we were created...

Or would we fear our own strength?

It's what we do

The voice that will not be silenced...

There's a book titled, "If you were God, would you choose you?"
I wouldn't choose me... and too often, I find it hard to believe God would either.

There is a constant stream of negative, condescending thought; a constant supply of the filth wrapped around me, of all I have not been and failed to be, of every person I have failed.
I see my lies, my sin, every word so carelessly spoken... every stripe so liberally thrashed down.

At times, the noise in my head is enough to drive... me... mad.
In these moments, I would not choose me. In these moments, I wish for the darkness to swell around, and to envelope the light that exposes my poorly constructed mask of fig leaves.

At the moment I least want to be seen, light pours through the darkness.

In the light, a voice speaks.
Not the voice of one delivering a just sentence, but the voice of a shepherd, seeking the lost lamb. I feel a heart beat within that is not my own, I gasp as my lungs burn with oxygen for the first time. I see all that I that I have been, all that I am, everything I hate and despise flash before me, churning my stomach with nauseating fear...

Until He speaks.

In His voice, I hear all that I long to be, I feel life that is full of passion and desire that has not been broken or tainted or lost to forgotten dreams. I am, in that moment, unstoppable.
My heart beats as the earth sighs, I hear the voices of children crying out for hope, for the chance to be loved as You love them. I see the captive, writhing in the darkness as the enemy preys, and a fire burns that cannot be quenched, a voice Shouts through the thunder, and I realize... I am screaming at the top of my lungs.

In this moment, I would that you choose me, that you forgive me, that you love me- not for what I want to be seen as, but uncovered, transparent, all that I am laid bare once and for all...

For the world to see.

In this moment, I can honestly say, "Here I am, send me"
Not for what I've done, but because, You... First... Loved... me

when you said forever...

Do you recall the moment that began a lifetime
The unveiling when she first stepped into view, and your heart lept?
Oh, to be that person again
Whispering, "forever with you will never be enough"
Subtley, we drift into unspoken routine
Conversation between lovers dissolves into messages we forgot to leave
When did this lingering question begin
This lurching fear that prepares for the end?
We know we don't mean it 98% of the time
Yet the passion we've begun to replace with longevity
Diminshes the illusion of living out a fairy tale dream
Real love is choosing to love, even when life provokes the "worse"
We've ignored so arrogantly
To believe it would never be us
To decieve with the promise to not become them

what is it really?

Faith.
It has been voiced by the ages, credited by countless religions as reason.
We look and it and label with liberality as the stuff of weaklings, or the bread and butter of saints.

Many claim to have it who will never truly believe, while those who remain the greatest skeptics exercise it daily under the banner of reason and philosophy.
It is stronger than any steel cord wrought by man, it is wider than the universe.

Uncounted scores have attributed it's existence as their reason to live when the warm hand of death takes hold, calling them to join the shadow.
Many definitions have been subscribed, but nothing so well defines it as a life living out its substance, a life reverberating with humilty and conviction of those things we cannot see.

breaking

So the chronicle now begins, the long descent into unknown corridors, the grappling sense we may not return. Here in the darkness, there are no pretenses to keep, no facades to maintain. We are our own worst enemy, thrust against an evil that slowly reaches his vice grip into our inner core, like a hook laden with bait, waiting for the moment we tire and turn, to yank out a thick rope of blackness that is our own deciet.

We have set out on a journey with visions of defeat and victory, with hope of finding freedom and setting the captive free, while arrogantly ignoring we ourselves remain captive.

This is our story.