I filled a jar for you, for me, and for the dreamers.

It is a jar filled. Filled with not so finely folded papers. Tiny, little papers. Not large sheets one would write a letter on. Just scraps. Pieces that had no meaning until the ink of the pen landed upon them. With the meeting of ink to paper, prayers form. Prayers of hope, hope for the future. The prayers of pain, the pain of yesterday, of heartbreak; the fear of tomorrow. Prayers of loss, confusion, uncertainty. Those tiny, once unused pieces of paper now hold the prayers of the young and old; the hopeful and the heartbroken.

They are prayers collected. Written, spoken, read in the body language of the sweet souls that have sat across the table from me. From the people I have encountered; the friendships that have been molded.
Collected.
Then nestled in the chair, I pull out each prayer. One by one. And pray for you.

Remember that time we talked, with the coffee stained table between us, cups of tea warming our winter worn hands. You told me about your fears and dreams. 
I wrote them down. Each one. Because prayers are not a one person deal. Those little things you told me with a smile spread across your face, those bigs things you whispered to me with a voice shaken by confusion. I wrote them down.

I filled a jar for you. For me. For the loss souls, the broken hearted. And for the young dreamers.

What I have been learning.

It begins with a rocking chair and tea.

Tea in a cup, hand crafted by the humble hands of a human. A human broken in a broken world. Unending pain, anger, confusion. Yet even amongst the broken, shattered pieces of this world joy is found. Joy is found while shaping a vessel of clay. A cup is shaped, which holds the fine perfection of tea. Tea that is sipped by me as I contemplate life from a rocking chair.

Five things to think on. Five things to comtemplate as I look out at big sky country. The mountain range of perfection. Why am I here? Why has God placed me here? In it I must be gentle, humble, and quiet. Listening is the key to the art of quietness. Here in this place I listen. I approach with gentleness and desire to hear. To hear the stories of broken people. I too listen for the voice of the Creator who shaped each triangle, each misshaped mountain. Among it all I pray for peace, discernment, for time. I pray among people. I pray alone. Praying for the brokenness of the Rez, the people I've encountered. And selfishly I pray for me, for my brokenness. I seek. Oh how I seek. In patience, I have received. And I've found peace in my quietness. Last, I remember that the shadow proves the sunshine. The trials of the beginning weeks. The baggage, the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty. How those trials have illuminated the greatness of the Creator. To go to the mountains, to seek our Creator. How I've grown. I find myself broken as all humans are. But I find hope in a Creator who has shaped the sky, the mountains, and me.

The best book of poetry begins with "In the beginning..."

Poetry is a powerful form of language... of writing... of art. An honest poem can cause a reader to burst out in pure laughter; it can cause them to weep tears of sorrow and pain. A raw, real, all natural poem pulls at the heartstrings of the reader. They connect. 

Poetry is powerful. It is writings of one observer, read by another. A poet is a creator, and the best poet is our Creator. And the best book of poetry begins with "In the beginning..".

This idea of the Bible as one giant work of poetry has come about in the past. Past sermons I've listened too, talks I've heard, discussions I've been a part of; needless to say I've heard this idea before. But it did not come to full reality until I attend a conference this past April. The focus of the conference: connecting arts to the heart of God.

Over the course of the two day conference I witnessed the lyrical songs of Josh Garrels, attended workshops on the sacred art of listening, creative writing as a spiritual disciple, and the many purposes of song.

The discussion, the seed planting idea of the Bible as poetry was brought forth in one the main sessions. When Tim Mackie read the piece below from Isaiah 30: 9-18. It was during his reading that I become head over heels for the poetry of our Creator.

THIS is what sold me, convinced me...
[Bring out the inner poet within you as you read this aloud]:

For these are rebellious people, deceitful children,
     children unwilling to listen to the Lord's instruction.
They say to the seers,
     "See no more visions!"
and to the prophets,
     "Give us no more visions of what is right!
Tell us pleasant things,
     prophesy illusions.
Leave this way, get off this path,
     and stop confronting us
  with the Holy One of Israel!"
Therefore this is what the Holy One of Israel says:
     "Because you have rejected this message,
          relied on oppression
          and depended on deceit,
     this sin will become for you
          like a high wall, cracked and bulging,
          that collapses suddenly, in an instant.
     It will break in pieces like pottery,
          shattered so mercilessly
     that among its pieces not a fragment will be found
          for taking coals from a hearth
          or scooping water out of a cistern."
This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says:
     "In repentance and rest is your salvation,
          in quietness and trust is your strength,
          but you would have none of it.
     You said, 'No, we will flee on horses.'
          Therefore you will flee!
     You said, 'We will ride off on swift horses.'
          Therefore your pursuers will be swift!
     A thousand will flee
          at the threat of one
     at the threat of five
          you will all flee away,
      till you are left
          like a flagstaff on a mountaintop,
          like a banner on a hill."
     Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
          therefore he will rise up to show you compassion.
     For the Lord is a God of justice.
          Blessed are all who wait for him! [Isaiah 30: 9-18]

Words are powerful... they shape futures, they change lives. Poems are words. The words of the best book of poetry can shape futures and change lives.

You, you with your humility...

My someday child I picture you with your head resting upon the pink hued pillow, curls filling the empty void of space around your sweet face. Lips perfectly lined as you dream sweet dreams, counting sheep as they dance along in your mind.  

As I stand alongside your bed, watching you sleep, I let these thoughts fill my mind. Words of prayer being whispered into the still room. Child, remain humble. Hold tight to the humility you posses at the young age you are. Clench it in your fist and never let go. Have the patience of calm. When you face the trials of busy, of exhaustion, of failure hold tight to the ship flying the flag of patience. 

credit to Elizabeth Blank Photography

Be kind. Be gentle. Hold fast to gentleness. Do not let the winds of this world pull gentleness and grace from you. In your humility, patience, kindness, gentleness... love. Love those who need love; love all for we all need love. Find the little, the small, and love on it. Love in weakness, in loss, in beauty.  

Be the light on the hill. Shine for your Creator; the one who has crafted the being of you. Shine! Shine your light around the world. In the being of you be what you are called to be. Even in the darkness of uncertainty, in fear. Step out on the edge and try. Try, fail. Fail and learn. Try, try again, and conquer. Conquer the world with love.  

My someday child with your soft curls, your porcelain skin fill yourself with humility, patience, kindness, gentleness, and love.

Searching for your story

When you are stuck, you desire a place of creative inspiration. A place filled with overwhelming creativity. A desk overlooking a garden filled with bright colored poppies. A quaint coffee shop on the corner between Central and Eighth. A room where rustic wood lines the walls, covered in vintage black and white photographs.

Photographs of stories. The wrinkled hands of a Navajo woman. The portrait of a flapper girl from the twenties. A "in the moment" snapshot of a young girl wrapped in the beauty of the ocean, searching.
How often we search. We search for meaning, words, stories, lives. We search for people, spouses, children. We search for meaning greater than our own. For faith.
We search.
Now I search for the words to type because I am stuck. I am stuck without words. My writing has halted, stalled.

In one month I will search for adventure. I will wander the mountains, the open field, the mighty big sky. I will search the sky for faith. I will stand arms open. Listening.
Listening for the words I seek. Standing in the purple field of love, from the handiwork of a Creator who loves me. Even in the weeks I fail to bow my head and whisper up a silent prayer. The days I fail to acknowledge a might greater than mine. He loves me.

I am tired of searching. Aren't we all. We see the photographs lining the wall and think they won in their search. Yet the Navajo woman searched for a place to call home as her land was swept out from beneath her. As her culture, her language was torn away from her in rooms boarded with rules. Searching for HER story in the midst of it all. The twenties flapper searched for beauty, for love. She threw herself at the word, searching for acceptance. The young girl at the ocean searched for a stone, a shell. For a smile and a hope.

Add your photograph to the wall. Will you be bent over a typewriter searching for a story. Huddled over a cup of tea searching for the words to say. The life to live. Here is a hint: stop searching for your story and start living it.

To those who taught

You sit at the table, carved down by the gnarled hands of a man whose spot now sits empty. You were young, the day that spot opened up, left for dust to collect on, but felt the pain. You lost a gentle hand to carry you through.
It has been years now since that spot was filled with the warmth of a body. Yet each day you head to the barn, cling to the wheel of the tractor, and feel the spot where his hands once held tight. You run your hand over the spot on the seat worn thin from Wrangler jeans.
So this day you will remember a man who taught you to work hard and never stop. To love through action, through silent words.

*A few months back I stumbled on this blog by Hannah Brencher through Good Women Project, and whoa! What a grand read. I was inspired, caught up in each word I read. She has the art of writing finely perfected. She knows how to pull your heart strings, and the ones connected to thought. She gets you thinking. That is what blogs are for, as much as they are for selfish pleasure of pouring thought into reader, it is as much a place for thought creation.
My hope, my wish is that one day my blog will become so finely tuned, that my words will have the impact of Hannah's; that I can provoke thought and create dreams.
So that is why todays piece is written as it is. It is a piece written to honor those who served, who loved, and who taught. On this Memorial Day take time to remember the people, like the grandfather above, who taught us to work hard and never stop loving through action. Oh and do not forget to check out Hannah's blog.

Five things to think on

First, to provoke thought:
why does God have me where I am?

A question I ask myself often, but a good one to think on. God is using us in every moment of every day. Be happy with where you are now, even if you'd rather be in a different place.

Second, to strive to be:
humble, gentle, and quiet

"Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight." -1 Peter 3: 4

Third, to do more of:
PRAY

Prayer is strong. A friend recently shared a story of prayer with me, her experience brought me to tears. Prayer is powerful. Prayer is not limited to before each meal; be in constant communication with God. 

Fourth, to remember:
when you seek, you receive

"You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." -Jeremiah 29: 13

Fifth, to know:
that the shadow proves the sunshine

The trials of life illuminate the greatness of God's love and grace. We have to climb the mountain in order to enjoy the view from the top.