Reverberate

“…He’s dead.”

Everything in me was about to come undone at the seams.

Everything that I am—obliterated.

Wiped out like the dust of a chalkboard.

Shattered and thrown out, never to be considered again.

Every part of me, 

every fiber of my being rendered void – invalid – NONEXISTENT – untrue – WITHOUT VALUE.

All in just a moment.

A moment that would undo all that I am and all that I do and all that I have.

Like a vapor. Gone.

If You were truly dead.

She needed truth.

I needed truth.

Every particle in the atmosphere, seen and unseen, needed to hear the Truth, 

lest it all melt away and cease to exist.

After all, it, too, would be meaningless.

Purposeless.

And what can exist without purpose?

What has been placed here, given, and done without purpose from God above, God within, God all around?

Maybe she made a mistake.

Maybe she would realize she slipped in her words.

That, yes, You walked the earth, but You do not fit in the category with those who remain in the grave.

“Jesus is ALIVE.”

Her eyes avoided mine.

Her agile words became the hurdles her now leaded tongue staggered over.

Suffocating. Heavy laden. Fattened and starved. 

All she had to hold was her candy-coated demise. 

She did not know. She did not see. Her heart did not understand.

Deliver those who are 
drawn toward death,

and hold back those 
stumbling to the slaughter.

Proverbs 24:11

Choice Specs

She hid behind rose-tinted glasses.

They served perfectly as curtains that hid panic and diverted betrayal. She wore them well, but with more dependence than proud ownership.

People used her to get ahead, and, to keep the scars quiet, she convinced herself she was doing a good thing, being useful and gaining value. Despite her efforts, though, their own truth bled through. 

Scars talk. Wounds ramble on. And blood cries out. 

She quit fighting and let them dress her in their massive, crusty cloak. Nothing quite fit, but it's all she had been offered. 

At the corner of “No One Knows” and “Nobody Cares,” she walked around with the blood of innocents dripping from her fingertips. Each drop fell like tears from that seemingly-vacant world outside her own, leaving crater-sized marks in history.

Sliding an oversized sleeve over her arm, she raised a hand to her face and pushed her glasses up snugly...

One came and saw her through a pair of crimson lenses. The Father asked, “When will she know, when will someone tell her? She is covered in the Blood of Love.”

You are covered in the Blood of Love.

Taleé

All she wanted was to be someone she can love, someone she can accept.

But when she looked at her life to see what it was, 

all she saw was what it’s not. 

She looked to see what she had achieved, but all that was in front of her 

was what she'd not.

And when she thought upon the place where He is, 

a shrewd voice told her, 

“That’s where you’re not.”

She looked in the mirror and feelings of disapproval and rejection 

slapped her gaze away from the very sight she once saw as 

radiant and complete.

Disquieting was this voice she did not know, 

but she listened anyway.

“Don't forget these things: what would've... could've... 

what should have been...”

“Am I a man,” 

she heard in a whisper more powerful than the screams,

“that I would leave you to

check out other options, or want something 

bigger and better, 

something newer and greater? 

I see you, 

and I'm keeping you. 

I know your end from your beginning.

Do stay, My fair one; 

remain in My 

Love.”

“Someday,” 

she said to herself, 
“I will see clearly,

beyond the dust

of this familiar mirror,

and see myself for the first time 

again.”

May Be So

What if being stuck is part of the process 

to learning the sounds of silence

Maybe there would be more sitting and 

less squandering 

more reaching and less running away

What if learning is 

a matter of the heart 

instead of the mind

Maybe sleep would be more sound 

and 

the questions left alone

What if the nothing

that is being done

really is 

as worthless as it feels

What if 

it’s not?

Sensibility

She opened her window to let the sweet smell of rain fill the room. 

She didn’t mind hearing the drops hit the trees before they fell to the ground, because it reminded her of an audience clapping after a performance at the symphony. Maybe this time is was the minstrels themselves applauding their long hours of work and celebrating the fruits of their labor.

Without realizing, she soon tuned out the jubilation and drifted into mindless activity. Then, just as suddenly, a bright flash shone across the sky. Following was its boisterous companion, which announced its attendance and commanded her attention once again. The hairs of her neck rose to see what all the fuss was about while her heart remained the only moving muscle in her body.

She breathed in deeply and exhaled consciously, growing in disappointment as she made her way to undo what she thought was a lovely idea just minutes before. She hopped to her feet, shut that shutter and locked it twice, moving swiftly to avoid another jolt. 

In spite of her haste, another part of her slowed down. And in those slow-motion moments, the world around her began to match the pace and peace of the voice coming from the depths of her self. 

He spoke to every part of her reality with just a few words…

You want the scent, but are you willing to hear, too? 

It may be surprising, and sometimes you won’t want to hear it, 

but will you shut it out all at once? 

Will you also shut your eyes from the light? 

Or will you let Me remove scales with beauty so bright? 

When I rain down, will you hide from Me? 

Or will you embrace Me and all I have to pour out? 

Know the scents. Know the sounds. Discern and listen.

Taste... See... It’s true: I am very good.

So will you shut the window, or will you take in what I am giving out?