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.
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.
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…
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…
Like Im’a clone quotes from pistols toted so as to stretch that bullet they’re evoking, barrels smoking smoldering it’s contents, emboldening a flavor that I see u savor, which tempts me… to labor for my neighbor. Impressing them like pens leaving marks on paper, only to linger for moments, but away it’s floating… like vapors, reminding me that I can’t live to be an entertainer, because I’ll be chasing after the wind instead of chasing… it’s Maker.
I guess I grew up thinking that I had control over the morale of the team like a peacemaker. This charge had me selling every piece so I could keep it afloat, not knowing my very gift was being sold… for scraps, pawned off for temporary caps over cemetery stones. Now I see that this behavior had been hereditarily honed, like a clone replicating it’s host, there’s something wrong with this picture, I can feel it the most.
But I guess if you are good, then I’m not supposed, to show discontent… It’s rude and only breeds disruption to the happiness we are all feeling. So just fight that feeling, and write us appealing rhymes that rise the eyebrows through reading and oh’s the mouth is revealing, that we yearn for something more. Despite where we are we know in our core that we were meant to soar higher than before. And higher is in store, or rather stored within our pores, its ingrained in who we are to be drawn…. closer.
Closer to the One who causes us to be moved, who pauses with us when we lie consumed, by this world’s cares, feeling compelled by dont’s and do’s, He shows the truth, that there is freedom, not needing to compose, only to cling to His words because they bring life to those, that hear them and do them. I’m trusting, He’s using, all of my past and my living for approval to realize that He is the only one that I need to please. Peace… comes from laying down a burden you were never intended to carry. Redirecting your concern to the purpose for which you were birthed to be baring. It’s in this moment that you’ve got to ignore the eyes on the side glaring, staring, hoping to grab your attention, asking for you to tarry and hesitate from stepping into your mission.
Speak your heart, follow your passion, let THAT lead your decision and ask yourself, when the world is gong one way, and you know it is the wrong direction, will you stand despite all who stand to question, and be that voice… of dissension?
For Galatians 1:10 says
“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”
I’m convinced that every time I take a moment to scribe my thoughts, potential is tugged on like that dog that’s been waiting for you to take him out for that walk, and found in this talk are dormant thoughts not stopping at, but more than just emotion, meaning for the motions, steaming from the potent power of our day’s encounters aimed to grind us down to a burnout bow or something of the kind that isn’t much kind, yet thus is life and even more thus is the pieces we are given; however, missing is our appraisal of the ability to act in agility responding with resiliency often found in the humility of the deep wells we call our souls. As a Christian, I still forget that these deep waters are more than I can stand in – half way in and half way out “catching my breath,” hoping it will help in my depths when I finally embrace them – but there is a reason that it states that the deep cries out to the deep in He, knowing that in my living beneath, I can rest in His ability to help me breathe and be my means to accomplish all, that now, is His working. One sitting, and it sits in me, a reminder to allow Him to work in me… not a striving or justifying, just defying the disguising that I am accustom to trying, His hands won’t pry, but point at sighs that I exhale because I am sore from the time spent at a pointless position…. And each moment, He prompts me to begin, in Him, a resting and allowing His pressing to move through impressions left in my chest to present His presence through thoughts in each sentence meant to cause a collection of thinking in the listener who reads them and perceives a relation to whats clicking and clinking in them… seeking to send one more person on a one-sitting session to write what is pressing deep in the tension they are feeling. One Sitting.
Where do I live? In my pain or in my God? Breathing the same stains that remind me of my falls or in the purity of the One who can cause all things to stall, pause in an instance, stopping to witness this God and His infinite ability to bring about all humility in an instance… His presence, bringing about a reverence that causes me to rest in each sentence I write in reflection bringing about a remembrance to all that I hold dear, He causes more than I care to spare time to pay attention to, my own needs, yet He reads chapters in my life He already wrote and holds my hands and arms up through times I can’t hold hope, so I know that in all of my striving He is patient for my attention, all the while I am missing His mission and praising my position as higher than He, desired to be the one thing that succeeds to steal my focus, instead of trusting in the midst of pain, allowing His hands to keep molding, shaping, smoothing and making, a perfect completion to His vessel, producing a patience that is rooted in being, transformed by the broken pieces at the hands of the master, sculpting out of what was intended for disaster making master pieces out of what was rejected and thrown, following the chief cornerstone, so the next time I am asked, “where do you live?” I will tell you, “in His hands.” That is where I make my home.