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Kyrene0
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Interests: “Live this day as if it will be your last. Remember that you will only find ''tomorrow'' on the calendars of fools. Forget yesterday's defeats and ignore the problems of tomorrow. This is it. Doomsday. All you have. Make it the best day of your year. The saddest words you can ever utter are, ''If I had my life to live over again. ''Take the baton, now. Run with it! This is your day! Beginning today, treat everyone you meet, friend or foe, loved one or stranger, as if they were going to be dead at midnight. Extend to each person, no matter how trivial the contact, all the care and kindness and understanding and love that you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.”
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Member Since:
4/9/2005
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| "We are what we believe we are." - C.S. Lewis
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| 'God, if you don't give me what i want right now, i'm going to hurt your image. I'm going to destroy the closest thing i have to you, which is me.'
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He was crying. He said, 'I don't want to run from the experience of the pain because i would miss what God is trying to teach me through it.' It taught me how to embrace my own pain and be grateful for the pain. And he knew this when he was twenty.
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Much of his pain came from the fact that he saw and felt too much. Most of us can look the other way, turn our attention to something else, and take our minds off of the cries of pain we hear around us. He did not have that ability. As his mother says, 'He could see the pain in other people even before they could see it themselves.'
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He once told me, 'I think everyone who allows themselves to honestly be loved is going to be wounded. Your life is a gift, and out of gratitude to God you should go there and live. And when it's over you're gonna be pretty wounded. And i hope that you're hurt because people have loved you, not because people have used you.'
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The angel says to him, 'Doctor, without your wounds where would your power be? It is your melancholy that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men and women. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children of this earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In love's service only wounded soldiers can serve.
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Tonight, not only do i find this world frightening - i am frightened of myself. I am frightened of the evil that i am capable of. I am frightened of that which You (i believe) would deliver me from, and yet i will not let go. Help me to let go, Lord. "Deliver us from evil..." You taught us to pray. Maybe this fear is part of the lesson. Deliver us from evil - from moral duplicity and weakness, from laziness and spiritual complacency, from those lies we tell ourselves from our fear of facing the truth. I think, Lord, that we're all afraid of werewolves - not afraid of being destroyed by one - afraid of being one.
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| "People want to know God's will for them. In one of his most explicit
statements on the subject, Christ said, 'I come that you might have
life and have it abundantly.' ...What I think He'll be most pleased
with is to see that we truly lived, that we were the person He created
us to be."
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Never forget what Jesus did for you. Never take lightly what it cost
Him. And never assume that if it cost Him His very life, that it won't
also cost you yours.
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| Written last night at a cafe i love dearly:
"Another blank page that waits to be filled.
Does emotion get properly translated into ink?
I've been hesitant to write anything down these last few days because i know there was something key in all that has occurred recently; a key to the core of who i am supposed to become. Clarity, it seems, is accompanied by responsibility - and sacrifice. The secret does have to do with love after all. I was right in a way i did not wish to be. This is the last thing. There is nothing beyond the pinnacle of what is before me now. This, however, is also the hardest thing of all; one of only a handful of chaotic memories caught in the whirlwind that is my mind which can make me reel in bloodless pain, force me to shed a cascade of tears, or evoke enough wrath from my heart that i would do the very things i fight against.
The thought is simple and yet endlessly complex.
Love.
How can a man become who is meant to be without this one thing? How does a person transform when no one believes in them? How can a person do what is necessary when they are not trusted? How can a man become more than a man if there is no one who has faith in him? This is how i feel.
Those that believed in me, trusted me, had faith in me are now all gone. With them has gone a vital portion of my soul; though, i am uncertain that it ever existed to begin with. A piece that told the rest the words that every heart desperately needs to hear; that it is loved. Whether this voice ever really was present i can not say for certain, but at the very least some hallowed illusion of that prime emotion has spoken to me before. It is sad to me in a nearly indescribable way that i have never had a definate answer to this question. That, instead i have always relied on a brief, and faint, series of echoes that speak love and self-worth to my heart.
Why have i done this?
The answer is simple unlike some.
I have never taken the question to the only one who can truly answer it in the way that it was designed to be. I have never asked God if i am loved.
Doesn't this seem like a silly question? Shouldn't we all know the answer to this question?
But some of us do not.
Some of us have been wounded so heavily that it makes us doubt the answer in such a way that keeps the most vital piece of all reality from impacting our very souls. This is the greatest tragedy of them all. That a person could wonder in a way that leaves a gap in their very existence if other people, or even if the God that made them, loves them and believes, trusts, and places faith in them. This tragedy is the central theme of my whole life on this Earth. I have never asked because i have always gripped to the absurd fear that the answer might be No. That some part of me that i attempt to conceal makes me unlovable; that the cancer of my heart might somehow disqualify me from this.
How can knowledge of all these things not change the estate of my heart?
Without the answer to this question i will remain forever paralyzed. Without an answer from an everlasting and all-loving God and not from an iconic television, image oriented family, disillusioned and misguided friends, a valueless society, or anything or anyone else that i would take the question to i will remain apathetic and without passion until the moment i die. Everything in my life hinges on this last thing. My past and my future collide here, now, to form the current affair of my heart. It is all that stands between me and awakening to a totally different way of life.
Since the question has not even been asked yet, nor the will achieved to wake from this fake substitute for real life, every moment i live builds in me the very things i hate. Each time a harsh word is spoken, a criticism blindly offered, greediness unleashed, lust provoked, fear reveled in, hope extinguished, boldness reviled, purity laughed at, love beaten and discarded, or i am prodded by the careless, or selfish, or ignorant natures of people it makes me want to scream at them. It makes me want to yell and pound on steel, or cement, or flesh until it is reduced to dust. It makes me want to recall all the atrocities that have been committed against me and upon breathless conclusion scorn the listener for their part at the whip.
Equally silly and disturbing reasons such as this are why some days i must not interact with another soul; because i need to think and not let my vulnerable heart be tampered with. Tonight though i am done. Not because i have run out of things to say, but because nothing more should be said of this until the question that fuels everything else in my universe of self is dealt with."
What i wrote tonight:
I just finished spending the whole day warring against myself. Usually, this does not end up turning out so well for me as you might suspect. It literally is like two people inside my mind fighting. Each time a mental blow is taken i am physically weakened; each time i am hurt i lose strength, or get a headache, or feel real pain. As you can imagine days like today are not "fun". They are necessary are though. I used to not even be able to fight against the darker side of me. It used to win easily whenever it wanted. This is how it was for years. Sometimes, i beat it, but most days when an actual confrontation occurs inside me spiritually i lose. Today was different. Something changed. It was equally matched for the first time in my whole life. I can't make something that exists only in my mind and heart make much sense to you, but the imagery for you that is very much real to me is helpful. It is a paradox of reality that is fueled by all sorts of external factors.
Lust for instance is detrimental to the good side of me, like a poison, but touch is healing and gives me great strength.
As i drove home tonight i rode along and thought to myself, "This isn't right. None of this is right. This isn't the way it is supposed to be." When i looked around the world and at the events in my own life it felt like i was living in a painting or in a matrix; a world covering over another world. Is this why things get jumbled inside my memory? Is this why things are so distorted, like flickering images of a world that is being birthed in world covered over by this present reality? Then i heard these words in a song i had long since forgotten.
Made like a mirror to reflect his glory
But the glass got smashed, bought a counterfeit story
We gave into pride
Sacrificed life, on that day we died inside
Outside we ignited a rebellion
An infectious disease that labels us felons
Cold and alone, ever wandering in search of a home
Hearts breaking, hands shaking
In time with our hearts vibrating
We say bridges to yesterday are burned
Seasons over, all those leaves have turned
But we cannot look down
We can never keep our gaze locked on the ground
And we stand with wide wide eyes
As our world comes crashing down
Who am I to say I'm right?
Who am I to say you're wrong?
Play judge, look you in the eye
Who am I to throw the stones?
I remember when trust went for free
Sold for a smile on the face of a fantasy
Truth found her home in the pages of fairy tales
Decadent words formed the phrases for dreams that failed
Now trust is a costly commodity
Giving it away is the mark of absurdity
And truth is a homeless traveler
Hoping in the night to be found
Every one of these lines is relevant and important and steeped heavily in my past, present, and future. I smiled. There is always something to smile about.
Soon. Soon...
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| "No one can be the hero of your story except you."
When the image we have created of our own souls dies and is replaced by the Origin of love, then, and only then, can we enter into what God has in store for our lives.
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