Thoughts

You only understand how much something affects you when you have the time to sit and ponder it.
A tea set that hasn't been used since your summer tea parties...
A trunk full of memories, where the only ones you know are from the stories she told you...
An odd interest in digging potatoes out of the ground for supper...
And a new song, that just happened to com out when your mind finally had time to process all that had happened.
I miss them and I cannot tell them.

Hope is an anchor and love is a ship, time is the ocean and life is a trip
You don't know where you're going, ‘till you know where you're at
And if you can't read the stars, well you better have a map
A compass and a conscience, so you don’t get lost at sea
Or on some lonely island, where no one wants to be

From the beginning of creation, I think our maker had a plan
For us to leave these shores and sail beyond the sand
And let the good light guide us through the waves and the wind
To the beaches in a world where we have never been
And we'll climb up on a mountain, y'all we'll let our voices ring
Those who've never tried it, they'll be the first to sing

Whoa, my, my
I'll see you on the other side
If I make it
And it might be a long hard ride
But I’m gonna take it
Sometimes it seems that I don’t have a prayer
Let the weather take me anywhere
But I know that I wanna go
Where the streets are gold
‘Cause you'll be there
Oh, my , my

You don’t bring nothing with you here
And you can’t take nothing back
I ain’t never seen a hearse, with a luggage rack
So I've torn my knees up prayin
’Scarred my back from fallin’ down
Spent so much time flying high, till I’m face first in the ground
So if you're up there watchin’ me, would you talk to God and say,
Tell him I might need a hand to see you both someday

Whoa, my, my
So I'll see you on the other side
f I make it
And it might be a long hard ride
But I’m gonna take it
Sometimes it seems that I don’t have a prayer
Let the weather take me anywhere
But I know that I wanna go
Where the streets are gold
‘Cause you'll be there
Oh, my , my
Cause you'll be there
Oh, my ,my

George Strait-You'll Be There

The writing kills me

by Kevin Brusett

The writing kills me. It happens too slowly. Hearing the argument in real time, out in the open space, helps me process the merits more intelligibly.

"Words are like fish traps. Once you catch the fish, you no longer need the trap" (Henri Nouwen)..........so the usefulness comes in the idea that they convey...

So what idea can I leave you with...irrespective of the words...that would reflect this fork in the road? Here's the try.

I'm in love with Jesus.

He's it.

My religion, my family, my school and my job all take their cue from Him.
Sounds a little simplistic to me at times. However, I haven't found a better process yet. And I'm still looking.

Sometimes He gets cloudy...the image fuzzes. Like driving along the coast when the fog rolls in and you try to see the sun...and it breaks through now and then. You know it's there...just not visible all the time...

When I get phone calls that my father is ill...
When church politics steamroll through relationships...
When my heart is heavy with the journey...
It gets foggy........misty........mystical............and yet, I know He's there...
He'll break through...
Just takes time.

Scared

I can't sleep tonight and I am not sure where to go from the place my thoughts have left me. I am realizing just how much the friends I have made over the last year mean to me as I realize how very much I miss having them around.
I hate crying, even in private, but that is where I find myself. Scared because everyone one I know and care about keeps leaving. Usually it is a physical departure but then that tends to end up with both of us checked out of the friendship.
Scared that I found the place, the group, whatever you wish to call it that I fit and I belong but that it is gone unable to be grasped.
Scared that if I am able to keep up with the precious friends I am scared of losing that the friendships I make where I am will forever pale in comparison.
And into this mixture comes a random article. It reminds me of the loss of another precious friend through time and distance. It reminds me of the incessant writing of the friends I fear to lose. And how amazed always am out how prolific their writing is and yet how it is never watered down by the vast quantity written.
I'm scared.

Creativity Refound

So, all you smokers who were being all creative with the writing and stuff this year while I did the whole boring business bit I have found all of my highschool and earlier poetry that I wrote. So guess what, you have to see it now as I find pieces I like.

Daydreams

The breeze blows cool as we sit at the bow
Sailing to a land where we will never dwell
The land of our dreams, that of our fears
Where we can face again those who are no longer near
While conscience we fear all our surroundings
But here we find we are not yet drowning
An escape we have made if but for awhile
A look at ourselves without the denial