Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

Riddled

December 16, 2009

Riddled: a poem

i am riddled
riddled by self doubt
my insecurities often
get the best of me
even when i
seek
to leave them
behind behind
this face of mine
is an entanglement
of complexities
that often
reveal
themselves as
liabilities rather than
capabilities
hear me

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A poem: Written 9.2.2001

November 2, 2008

Be still is what You say

And ‘Know that I AM’

And yet, I carry on

With all the things in my head

 

Inside I really know

That if I just kept quiet

I would hear You better

And take solace

 

Please teach me O Lord

To be quiet at Your feet

To rest in Your grace and love

And be humble and meek

 

You have taught me these things before

But my human heart forgets

So please O Lord, remind it

When I start to get distressed

He Gave His Life for Me

November 2, 2008

This is a song that I wrote when I was in 8th grade.  I still remember the melody.

 

He gave His life for me,

But then I didn’t see,

I was up to my neck in sin,

I wanted love, but how,

(no one could shoe me now)

(when all I needed was Him) I didn’t know Him.

 

Now I do

And I love Him with all my heart,

Now I do

He changed my life when I asked Him in my heart (my life He changed when He came in my heart)

Now I do

And I’ll never take advantage of His love,

Now I do

And I’ll love Him forever and ever.

 

I’m so glad He’s my Lord,

My hearts on fire,

How ‘bout you?

Is He your hearts desire?

I challenge you

To make your heart on fire,

For the Lord,

He wants to be your hearts one desire.

 

He gave His life for me

A Book Review: Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

October 8, 2008

I ordered this book because a few peoplehad either referenced it or quoted it in your blogs lately.  I didn’t read any reviews or excerpts other than the quotes in the blogs.  And I have not previously read anything by Anne Lamott though I have heard good things from various people about her writing.  I started reading this book on a rather pensive afternoon while I was still at work.  In my line of work this does not fall into my job description (couldn’t claim continuing education or anything nice like that) but I figured I had a broken toe and I was doing something worth while to be there to answer the phone if it rang.  So I read.  And I was immediately sucked in.  I have read many books in my life.  I have loved to read for as long as I can remember.  Sometimes it is to escape reality.  More often it is to come to grips with it.  I didn’t really have any expectations when I started reading Bird by Bird, but I was more than pleasantly surprised.

I can honestly say I have never read a book that I felt was speaking directly to me.  You know what I’m talking about.  Sort of like when you are sitting in church and the pastor says something and they happen to be looking directly at you when they say something very poignant?  I identified with this book like I have with no other book.  Sure there have been other books that have moved me and challenged my and encouraged me and enlightened me as I sought understanding of myself and understanding of God and understanding of the world in which we live.  But reading the introduction to this book made me feel one with the universe.

Intense?  Yes.  Slightly melodramatic?  Possibly.  But I really identified with what she wrote.  It’s amazing really.  I have written my whole life.  I kept a diary as a kid and wrote awful things that I didn’t want anyone to read but hoped they would.  I have written update letters to friends and family thinking they were short notes only to find out from a friend who printed one out that it was three pages long.  And I have always loved words.  My friend Heather exclaims in joy every once in a while when I take a word like crap and turn it into crapily (i.e., I slept crapily last night.)  I told her tonight, “Words are our playground!”  I told her that because I know she agrees.  We are of one mind in this.  All of this and yet I was so wrapped up in the procurement of perfection and so drunk with my addiction to approval that I never allowed myself to interact with the irreverent. 

But a life that’s perfect isn’t worth living becuase perfection is a lie.  Life is reverent in it’s irreverence.  Life is beautiful in it’s imperfection.

Reading Anne’s book has helped me see that I think I’m finally okay with that.  And so now I can write.  Now I can write because can finally stop telling lies and write what is true.