The One with the Epic Ending

How do you like your box, God?

I speak the words every day that keep you limited,

safe and sound in my mind, in my boundaries.

Trust me God, I know what’s best.

I know what I need, what I want.

You should just give me what I ask.

No, no, don’t strain yourself.

I know you said in your Word that you have good plans for me.

But look at these good plans I have for me.

If you don’t give me what I ask,

I’m just going to turn it around on you

and let the whole world know that you don’t keep your promises.

No matter that it was never one of your promises

to cater to my every desire

and make me happy.

No matter that my desires

are temporary and flawed and most mornings

I can barely even decide what I want to eat for breakfast.

I still know what’s best in the long run.

Maybe if you slap me in the face with some form of hard matter [Like a chair. Or one of those ancient, hippo-sized televisions.] that will do me good in the long run?  Yeah, I’m pretty sure that would help.

Looking Forward

My lips burn as acid tears swell around them on every side,

drilling moats into the skin that landscapes my face.

Why, my soul cries out, must the dark grope for my hand at every hour?

Why does the Enemy exhibit persistence, such that my greatest efforts

appear to be merely the product of a bored child?

My mind is crippled in my head, rolling from side to side,

never stopping to imagine that the fluid encasing it is chains.

Rain falls so blessedly from the sky as my body shakes with the thought—

strike me down, take me away, save me from the torrent that overwhelms!

Every corner is a death trap, seeking my life, desperately trying to suck out

the very breath that the Creator pushes with his hands into my lank body.

This trembling form that finds itself so weak of mind and heart,

always captive to the very thoughts it wishes to be free of,

so idiotic that it overlooks the source of freedom.

I am the source—my Creator says—and one day you will see,

with new and bright eyes,

the radiance you have been missing since the day that I made you,

with all your flaws and desires and imperfections, so perfectly the way I wanted;

you will see the full splendor of my love, my grace, my joy (which is greater than 
you ever thought you had coming) on that day when your clouds part and

the rain stops and the wounds which were bare and bleeding are removed without

even the trace of a metallic scar.

This is home.

Because this earthly world, according to the holy and true word of God, is not and will never be my home, my homeland is the Heavenly kingdom which day by day is drawing nearer to becoming a reality.  And every day that I see my sin and the pain and the loneliness and the utter, complete brokenness of this earth, my heart nearly bursts at the thought of reaching a place so much better.  Like Narnia come to life, with my land and my Creator being so much greater than the beautiful words of CS Lewis could ever dare to paint.  My depravity is complete, as is my dependence on God even when I don’t acknowledge that daily.  My feelings do not change the absolute fact that my life is tied to the very hand of God.  Should I take another breath, then let me bring praise and glory to the one who deserves it.  Should I go to sleep never to wake up again, then praise upon praise be given to the Creator (for a time without measure and with no end).  For to live is Christ, and to die is gain.

Alphabet Soup

Learning to trust you

is more difficult than

I would expect, seeing

as trusting you should

be easier than trusting

anyone else.  Should is

the key word there.  It

should be easy.  It

should feel right.  It

should be like breathing.

But trust is a funny

thing.  I find that no

matter how hard I

want to, I cannot make

myself stir up feelings

of trust.  I cannot

force my mind to be

still and accept the

obvious conclusion

that of anyone in this

universe, it is most

logical to put my

trust in you.  And

I can say the word

over and over—

trust trust trust trust—

but no matter; my mind

is still as stubborn as

ever.  But why?  What

makes the concept of trust

so impossible to grasp?

Vulnerability? If I

give myself to you

in this way, it means

that I am putting all

logic on hold and

regardless of circumstance

or emotion, I’m banking

on my indisputable

belief that you are always

right in what you tell me.

I’m giving up the one

faint, broken, flawed

grasp that I have on

my own life.  And while

your perfect and true is

no doubt better than

my faint and jacked up,

the jacked up is mine.

How do I let go of mine

and become sold out

to yours?  I need yours.

I need to be completely

enslaved and captivated

by yours, but actually

getting from point A

to point B isn’t simple.

Maybe I’d be better

off looking at it as if I’m

traveling from point

A to point Z?  And

step by step you are

working on coaxing me

along.  Don’t focus on

Z right now—just make

the step to B.  Now C.

Good, just one more

right now, step to D.

My finding a real and

unbreakable trust in

you is more than turning

on a switch in my brain

that will allow me to

be wholly confident in

you, and you alone.  If

that's what trust really

is, then I could flip

the switch on someone

every day and become

indisputably confident in

and vulnerable to them.

When has any relationship

ever been built like that?

What is the worth of a

relationship that costs me

no time or effort to

cultivate?  Trusting you

with everything that is

in me hasn’t happened

yet.  But you will build up

trust in me bit by bit

as you carry me along

the way.  And one day,

I’ll take a look around

and it will strike me

as being real and true

that you have tugged

and changed me, and I

have finally stepped

from Y to Z.