Thursday, March 6, 2014

another journal post channel surfing thing [enjoy...or don't]

Let me begin by saying this post will have a bit of a channel surfing quality to it. Just to warn you ahead of time.

Now I shall borrow from Inigo Montoya: "Let me esplain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up"
I began this blog to help me learn to speak. Learn to communicate better. To be honest with at least myself, if not with anyone else. I told myself I wasn't going to care if anyone read this or not. Commented or not. I wanted to be up front with the idea that I am not perfect. That I am broken. So, in case... well, in case you read it I wanted a "heads up" for you: "This is a flawed person you are reading about." I was kind of hoping to have a "devil may care" attitude about this. It was a nice thought. Turns out I did care whether anyone read it. For a while it was kind of disappointing that there were no comments.
I didn't want to let those things be the driving force behind my writing.
For me at least,
"Writing is the healthiest way to bleed."
Writing is my therapy. It unlocks the prison I locked myself in.
So with much of this in mind I decided to call this thing, this "adventure" Bought "as is".
At the time my thought was: "If I ever got a tattoo of words on my body, that would be it. Because you should know "up front" that I am damaged goods. However, as I journeyed with this. Sat with those three words. I realized that Jesus bought me, knowing full well, that "there was something wrong". So it began to be changed. As I wrote it became freeing. At times confessing. This journey has lead me to this point where I'm going to try to talk about an event many of us know about. The difference is... I'm going to tell you my thoughts on it. Which might require some understanding of where I was when some of the thoughts occurred. This will be the tricky part.

Now for some things from my journal.
Striped Hat [revisited]
we come
at last
to the
striped hat
and the wounded
beneath it
she could still
fly free
she just needs
to heal her wings
little bird
hide no more
soar free
share your
broken wing story
sing it
on the wind
that it might
with strangers
so more
will come out of hiding
and join the chorus
adding their own
to a grand
ongoing story
of redemption
[and how possible it is]
b.e. noll
[1 of many poems written while reading Purpose for the Pain, by Renee Yohe]

[entry yesterday]
...I think that those who have experienced deep pain have been taken to a place where they see the world from a very rare, unique vantage point. They [we?] can help the world to see itself in a way, from a perspective, that it cannot see otherwise. We have to find a way to out live the darkness that threatens to keep us outside the world. Trapped inside ourselves by the enemy of us all. We need to unite against him with the architect of all that is.
We CAN out live the enemy.

The Middle
I sit here in the middle
of wonderful forward movements
I need them all
Yet I stumble & fall
into "park"
my breaks put on
when all I want to do
is keep rolling forward
give up
I will keep struggling forward
I will get back to "having"
so I can give
I want to give again
I'm gonna
I'm going to live
     -to thrive again
and this time NOTHING
will take it from me
am a fighter
a survivor
I survived abuse
horrible abuse
I      will      live      well
THIS story
will not end in dust!
I will leave
this middle ground
and climb higher
higher than thorns
to your garden

b.e. noll

Eugene Peterson spoke of story. How we begin a book knowing it will have an end. We look forward to the resolution of the story. We believe that even if the middle of the book seems hopelessly lost, the resolution will be satisfying. As he spoke he made me think of the times I wanted to die. To end my story myself.
"...The last chapter, we are confident, will demonstrate the meaning that was continuous through the novel. We believe that the story will satisfyingly end, not arbitrarily stop."
I just am stuck on this statement. I'm glad I didn't cause my story to "arbitrarily stop". It's a bit sobering to type that. Yet, I'm glad I can. It is good to see light at the end of the tunnel.
a "suite" of songs about being you
 Englishman in New York - Sting
She's too good for me - Sting
Nothing 'bout me - Sting

Annnnnnd now I don't know how to stop this train & get off.

May His grace drip from your fingers,

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