Strong Tower

I guess I confess that I’ve let stress press upon my chest feeling stretched beyond regress, but beyond regrets be the pauses when He uses all the STUFF for His accomplishments, or presents using the present to present to them, an encouragement serving courage for discouraged men, ensuring them that He is surely purging all concerning His servants in this mission that isn’t ever a mimic of gimmicks, but a limerick to penetrate the penitent hearts, so I’m prostrate before the King whose remarks re-spark the weak heart and make it strong, colliding with the violent and rewriting their songs, I’m residing in the private where His whispers are psalms that minister calms even storms can’t wake, so I contemplate in this space where I seek more than just His grace, but His face.

To know Him, Jesus, Father, Creator, Author and Finisher of what I would like to call my faith. King of all kings, Lord of all lords, who rightly and will always hold that place. Yahweh, Jehovah, known through His covenant with His people… Good Shepherd, Redeemer, knowing his sheep and seeking out that which was once lost.

And this cost that He paid takes the profane and changes its nature to something of grace. In Him I am forgiven, chosen, redeemed, called for His purposes, child of God… As I seek Him for who He is, I find more of who I am. And the stress I confess puts life back in context, overcoming each contest to win each battle, because His peace is enough for the hassle. Grabbing as deep as I am willing, He pulls out bricks, that only He can use for this building.

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Meant for more than we are living. Bent for grace… not for limping. Carrying this unfilled void… Numbing pills silence the noise, but also require of the resigning of your voice. It all has a cost, this subtle settling, settlements we allow ourselves to sign-off on, memories of initials etched on pages that we regretfully scribed despite the pit in our stomach, knowing this just isn’t what we wanted… hoping it won’t plummet, but the eyes are prevalent and somehow this summit influences our actions more than the inner voice inside we wish we could still hear… I feel like I need to vomit, escaping into a sonnet or some form of expression, because this silence is killing what once was felt, like Your presence.

Here, is where we must remember who we are. There is a war engaged to rob you of yourself, stop you from knowing your strength inside, what is made in and for you to more than fight, but reside despite any storm or war waged, aiming to erase and bring a blank to the page where once was placed pictures, scriptures inking inspiration for the faces that gazed upon their embrace, warmly holding this space, because that is how we were made, created at the hands of a loving God, in His image we were grafted into His nature, and where we weren’t able to accomplish, He made a way, provided a grace to fill the gaps, so that we wouldn’t have to be good enough, strong enough, able or stable in tough times where all seems to only erupt, He made a way… and right now, He is making a way, because we… are. Here, present, alive, given this life to allow others to see how beautiful our reflections are, showing His glory, displaying strokes of Heart, so in the midst of the costs that provoke us to see all as lost, it is all dross that burns away in the fire of who you are.  Exodus 3:14

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Why is it that I get to this place where I can’t move? Stuck . . . frozen, hearing “let it go,” but it’s so high on this pedestal that I can’t reach in this position of wishing to be not zoned on my reaction, but to have an open heart. I get stuck in this pausing… distance is its causing, nodding my head stopping any true resonating, glazed eyes just bent on waiting, for my chance to withdraw…

to run off and have that space of control, catch my breath, fetch the air to return to my chest, so wrapped up by this tension, escape is the only means of retention, maintenance, coping, dealing… not healing… that is found in the place where it all began… returning to conflict, learning to face what I have only endured and receded back into judgments, assumptions causing resentment, and intentions based on defensive strategies and self-protection as opposed to intentional relating, rather than aiding and abetting the abating of strength in my family and close loved ones… somehow these things grow alongside of the fruit, but it doesn’t undo the root… I look back to the places where hurt was introduced and it never seems to be as strong in reality as it does in the rear view… when it all began a new… when I chose to leave and get away and not stay.

Would you stay? The question to me asking the heart to override the wounds, and be honest. It was never too much to handle, truly. It was just my chance to return the gavel and pass judgement in my own way, returning pain for pain, justifying my stain upon the grain shown through the slicing, its so enticing, inviting you to return hurt for hurt, but you hurt yourself, denying the intimacy that is attained by intentionally staying in conflict, allowing yourself to be hittable, versus slipping away to a perch where your distance only snipes the peace from “them” whoever they may be, withdrawal is a nasty thing that can cut deep. Wrapped in a victim’s receipt, affirming and confirming the lies we believe when we justify our defensive behavior, protecting ourselves from our neighbors rather than allowing God to be God, in the regular day in and day out as well as in the not, overcome light? Darkness has not. But we must allow God to use the hot, temperature increased moments, to stop our retreating and perfect in His honing, our trust of Him to be our protector. Empowered to live new lives dictated by His call, and not regrets, wishing and hoping we could undo what is now missing by our withdrawal. VISTO.

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Exhale…. I’m practicing being more productive. Waking early and making fully the use of the time that is mine, like money, learning to budget the tics and the tock rather than just a list that I talk about, I hope to take steps to walk it out and watch how I can be a better steward of my days. My time. Taking ownership of what I see as mine, but my seeing doesn’t make it mine, it stays defined not by my perspective but by what it is, not mine, but given as a gift, so it’s still mine but it’s all His.

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Cliff Diver

Im just not interested in pausing at the moment… feet leaving cliffs and the calling is the ocean, or motion in the waves that I aim at, hoping… leading to pages or lessons making next seasons in my moments.. called to submission. Fully independent or in-dependence of God’s intuition, given through faith in His Son. All I face in the midst of the sums life gives, feeling detracted and divided, while His passion only multiplies within the recession, creating life, denying the depression, so I question if it has to remain.

For I know that His name will call knees to lower frames, provoking all to come- face to face with the reality, so hidden in the midst of this race, still it is there, and will be clear, but we have only right now, here… So I stare out gazing upon a sea of eyes, I speak to them, to rize, awake from your sighs and find the edge where you aren’t willing to leap from.

That cliff, is where I speak from, restrung are guitar strings broken because I was fearful to re-strum what I had sabotaged in the face of rejection, pacing from the questions that only led me back to that ledge with good intentions, but a lack of action to my pledges. Soon time passes and the only feet nearing movement is this feat of fear that’s not moving from this deep, dark… pit of my stomach, so I retreat and my heart goes with it. Many years have passed and this place has lost its same gasp-for-air feeling of your breath being taken, now when I visit, it only seems to be a remnant of what was, or what could have been… it’s then, that I wish I could go back, awakening feet to leap from cliffs to find waves to crash face first into…

“It’s still in you…” He speaks, the Author and needless to say finisher who speaks best… And He’s right…

It never left. But what did is my willingness to let it which still exists be free to be what it was created for; however, my alternative is to stay on the cliff and watch it die before my eyes…

Don’t settle for the view. CLIFF DIVER.

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Because of, due to the fact that, based on this reality, you are, this is, act accordingly…

I look at the many “therefore” occurrences in and out of my life that floated like clouds lower than the altitude natural to fog my vision, spoken like incisions, intravenously clogging decisions diluting intentions subtly serving others and solely surviving to be “mentions”, suggestions rather than statements; indented parts of a book that stand out… Washed out were parts of my existence because I lived according to therefore statements that subdued my walk and silenced my living.

Yet there is this reason, that still is breathing in every story where life hasn’t been all that was potential, despite its lack, it’s back, like a recurring plan of attack, it will have its way in our life, because the very meaning of life requires this essential.

Therefore you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.

I look to define what it means to be a son- called and loved, adopted in and one who is accepted, admitted, permitted and with intention, you have been brought from out of to within the family. Therefore you are: accepted, covered, protected and promised. In place of the broken versions of each of these spoken notions, the reality of the truth seems to sow them in moments where you are proven and provoked to decide upon the “so what” of this therefore…

To return to the clouds of doubt and denial of such love, or acceptance of such kindness leading to repentance from what once was to now is- the essence of transformation, being sought out because we are heirs with a call and plan, hand crafted or carefully shaped in His hand, therefore we can live accordingly, with faith found through digging down, to know what He told us when we first found home on rock, His love, therefore…

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Trust Walk

Real quick I gotta speak it, been a minute since I’ve seen it, but He’s always in the scenes with or without our perceiving, seems like my volume has left the quiet season and all I hear is not His breathing, whispering to direct my steps, I’m on a trust walk somehow I must walk on my own so I’m stuck with what’s left or a pit just under my chest reminding me to slow down and rest in the fact that I can’t see it all, that He leads me not to fall, picking us up through it all, to lead us to a destination we couldn’t believe, beautiful and serene, stumbling through each means to another end, but it means more than we meant when we thought it was all about an end, He sent His Son for more than just the final quarter or the after party, this walk asks for a parting with the ways we see life to be walked out, or talked about, its different… it costed more for us to have what we have than the reverence that we show for what we have… its not cheap, its priceless, so let’s not live a lifeless expression of His life in us. It must shine bright, because that is its nature, birds must fly and water must bring life, to all within this nature… pointing to our Maker, quaking and quivering as I behold the stature, bringing me to a new mature-ity, refining purity and relining the surety that His hand rests on those who cry out for Him in the midst of their blind walking… Trust walk.

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