If I could be but cloaked with perfect grace

I would soar high and show the breadth of love’s true face.

But the words are clumsy and fall heavy from my lips,

Weighed down somehow by old hurt's impure fibs.

I stumble, feeling my way,

Rearranging all these verbs and nouns

(love, want, need, you, I, we).

Imperfect though they are,

And flicked out with a carnal tongue,

The journey they started from

Was born from deep inside

And hope weaved in,

Between spaces of ever rearranging words.

And this I offer with unending faith,

The best of what I can

Till wisdom teaches true freedom,

And love can love with right grace.

Remembering Who I Want to Be

I remember being three. I remember I was Fearless. I remember I was a big, thumping heart running around on little scraped knees. I would play with anyone -- I wasn't picky, I was everyone's friend. I remember my mom would put me in every play or show that came up. I sang and danced at graduations, at church, at parties. I was a flower girl in four weddings because the brides knew I would walk down the aisle without crying. I was never shy or scared. I had no qualms about getting up in front of a large group of adults to sing or give a speech. I wasn't a ham, I wasn't seeking attention, I just loved life and was so happy to play, sing, dance, and be in my own skin while I ran around the playground with whichever new friend I'd made that day. I was quick to hug and to clasp your hand. I was affectionate, because it felt good and right. I remember being three and running as fast I could and laughing. 

I remember being four and learning what it meant to be careful...not everyone was easy and quick to smile like me. I played and ran and sang and jumped, but knew when to be quiet and careful not to upset other people.

I remember being five, and the first day of kindergarten. Little kids clinging to their moms, crying because they would be left behind. I hugged my mom and ran to the teacher to be the line leader. I waved to her as I led the kids into class, and she chuckled and waved back. And that is the last year that I remember really being me.

I remember being six. I remember feeling that I had responsibilities. I remember that I was careful all the time, but would sometimes take a break to go out to play. There were things that happened and things I knew that were sad and troublesome. Things people would put in an after-school special, only this was my life and wasn't going to come to a happy ending in half an hour. But, the important part of that period was that I survived, wholly intact. 

I don't remember being seven. Seven through sixteen, I lived within this other version of myself. Me, but different. I thought that was what I needed to do keep the real me safe.

And then it was safe to be a kid again, not so grown-up with worries and cares to weigh down a little girl. And now I remember what is was to be excited and thrilled to just be me with a child's abandon. Loving and living with joy on a sunny day to go out and play. I remember the absolute unaffected way that I made friends with any lonely kid that needed a playmate. I remember me the way God meant me to be. It's just that all these careful layers are so stubbornly sticky.

I pretend I'll remember this year, 2007. I'll remember I was Fearless. I'll remember I was a big, thumping heart running around on little scraped knees. I would play with anyone -- I wasn't picky, I was everyone's friend.

I never thought that pink, orange and blue went together until I saw the sunset the other day. And now I see they fit beautifully together. Sometimes, you can be so sure of something your little mind thinks it comprehends, until God shows you something bigger and changes the way you see things forever. His paintbrush not only can reveal beauty, but can expand your sight to see truth. Yes, I see colors differently now; but, I also see people, situations and even myself differently. That is what it means for me to have God in my life -- not that the world is changed, but that I see the truth of the world, and the importance of what really matters. He has even painted over my heart to make it anew.

And...Happy Thanksgiving everyone! 

(I've really become sappy beyond a reasonable level at this point )

I believe in soulmates; but, not the way that you mean.
Don't try to complete me, I am whole on my own.
                                                                          ~ CJ

God is the glue in the places where I have been broken. Can you not see the past hurts I have endured and survived, the times I have fallen and been resilient, are the best parts of me? That is where He can be seen the best, along the cracks in my soul, holding the sum of me together, stronger than before. It is easy to love pretty and perfection. But, perhaps if you can look upon my soul and see the beauty in the glue where others only see ugly scars, and I can see the same in yours, that will be the beginning of a love true and blessed.