Youth Retreat Reflections

Firstly I want to say that I think I need my own personal blog...so perhaps that will be happening at some point. Keep your eyes pealed. (peeled? does that make any sense at all? the expression doesn't make sense anyway...)

So I stood and shared today during the first service about the "processing" (that seems to be a pet word at our church, not that that's a bad thing) that when on for me after the youth retreat. For those of you not at the first service, I said that after the youth retreat, I was very convicted of my pride in a new and real way. I didn't go into detail, so I will now. Before I came to faith, I really struggled with insecurity. While that is typical during preteen and teenage years, it was something that really got be down. Being fairly quiet then (and still now, to an extent), I never felt like I got much attention. That's what I really wanted - attention, popularity, feeling like I mattered. After I became a Christian, I also became a lot more outgoing. But as I look back over the last two years of my life since I came to faith, I still see the same trend of insecurity: feeling frustrated when I wasn't noticed and trying to acheive that recognition in various ways.

I think I must have reached a subconscious conclusion that I would never equal most people in most ways: personality, academics, attractiveness, athletics, wealth, accomplishments. But there was one thing I could do a lot better than others. I could write. Yes, this was my comfort, my hidden weapon, the thing I reminded myself of when I looked at everyone else and saw
myself fall far short. I could write. Someday, somehow, I would be noticed.

This isn't easy to admit. Even now I cringe when I read what I just said. It certainly wasn't easy to discover in myself, particularly when I thanked God the whole youth retreat that pride wasn't one of my besetting sins. But He is so good to show us our sin and then forgive us. I want to tell people about this becuase I think it is the only way I can truly be humble. Even though I felt insecure, I never wanted people to know that. I wanted to pretend I didn't care that I didn't measure up. But "His power is made perfect in weakness."

Writing for me was a way to be better than the best. I love it, and I loved impressing people with my skill at it. People finally knew who I was when they read my articles in the Reporter! Not even that, they were admiring and complimentary! I defininitely got a lot more respect from peers and adults alike. I secretly patted myself on the back and looked for more opportunities to get my name out there. Part of it was practically, becuase I do want to write and it is important to get published as early and often as possible. But I was, in a sense, intoxicated with success. I didn't want to give up my dream of greatness, even if it meant giving up a call to missions or marriage or a family. None of that mattered if I could write. What I was really saying was that God's will didn't matter for my life if it involved giving up my one chance for recognition.

It's been humbling realizing this, even more humbling sharing this. I know that God will give me the power to overcome this sin. I do feel like a spanked five-year-old write now though. Please pray for me.

I didn't share these specifics during the first service today, but I did want some of you to know the details of my pride, particularly those closest to me. The retreat was great, the girls were awesome, but that's what I really learned and that's what is going to have the most impact on my life at this point. You can pray that God will show me how I can use my talents for His glory. He's been calling me to surrender them to Him for a while and I haven't been listening very well.

So there is my "REFLECTION."

NO-Title

Lea and I never really have titles, so I just thought I would put that as my title today.

The clock ticks away; 9:17

p.m.

I want to write, I want to think
I can write, I can think…
about…
sleep.

The softness of the bed
The way it conforms to my body
Like a drop of water on a still lake.

The dream-like reality of my pillow,
Ethereal as a cloud.

The comforter comforting me like a mother’s hand,
Quieting my soul with its soft fingers of fluff and cotton.

The creaks of my bed-frame singing to me
“Go to sleep”
“Go to sleep”
in a child-like pitch of love and loneliness.

My blanket, rubbing against my face,
like my papa’s stubble
so soothing and so relaxing.

The clock still runs, never stopping for the tired.
9:26, and my bed still far away.
My heart yearns for the beauty of my simple bed,
My feet yearn for a resting place.
Soon it will come, soon my heart will be satisfied.

The moon rises in the night,
My bed is calling and I shall answer.

Sleep

My Turn

My turn to post something...

I like to freewrite sometimes and this is one that I did last spring - it isn't a poem, so to speak, and the stream of consciousness style can be hard to follow - but it's really good to get everything out. Again, I have no title. I'm not really a title person.


This place of crickets churning green lacy leaves they said you breathed here in the red mud that squelched against your Perfectly smooth skin. And I remember? or do I wonder if that is why I can’t remember, I can’t remember where I was born. Sometimes it is in that place in the mud at your feet and the hours chime in birdsong through the heavy, sultry air. Sometimes all I can see is this whirlpool of leaves and sky and clouds and so I wonder but don’t let the pain get me this time, take away the pain this time. I feel it so close it is my heartbeat but maybe it isn’t maybe it is just the echo of my heart and really I am fine. The place I was born, they told me the dawn screamed and fell into the ocean, they told me a whirlpool of watercolors accompanied my beginning chord. And would they lie to me, I ask, like you have? They said watercolors accompanied the concertmasters’ ‘A’. Did you live and die here, in this glorified mud? Or was it all the dream of the creation story that falters across crinkled, ancient papers and whispers in dying ink.

O.k. Time To Get This Blog Back in the Game!

Here's is one of my favorite poems that I have ever written. I had been going through a rough time and I just wanted to lay bare my heart and get out what was weighing so heavily on me. The first stanza is a little rocky, but bear with it, it gets better!!

A tiny soul inside of me
Strives to grow and bloom.
But a problem arises and I can see
That what my soul opens to is a stormy gloom.

This tiny soul inside of me
Is battered in the open sea
For growing, it is to be—
Exposed—in spite of me.

My tiny soul inside of me
Gets lost once it’s outside,
But through its acquaintance from without,
It returns home much refined.

For my tiny soul was never fully grown;
Nor will it ever be.
But it constantly passes through fire full blown,
Leaving dross in the ash and the gold to see.

These journeys that my tiny soul takes
Are full of joy, pain, sorrow and life,
But these journeys only add wisdom and knowledge,
And my sanctified soul emerges through the strife.