If we believe these stories...

I was sitting in church the first time I followed that thought: "If we believe these stories..." And my black pen met my black book because I liked the sound of those words and I wanted to inspect their truth later. It has been a month or two or three since (not more than three though) and I still like them.

The sermon was on Psalm 105 and it asked us "why do we focus on the one thing that God has not done and ignore all that he has done?" Verse 14 talks about how God has moved kings for his small group of sojourners. It was good to be sure, but I think the most I got out of it was this phrase that would follow me..."if we believe these stories..."

I look at my Bible and I tell the world that I believe the words written in it. I promise to live by them and, perhaps, to die by them. But I forget.

Tonight is heavy. It doesn't have to be, but there are forces and people beyond my control making decisions, and they do not care that I am wrapped up in their story. They do not grasp the depth of their own significance, especially when one names them family...and that is ok. It is not good; but, quite simply, it is not the point. It is a symptom, not the problem itself. And so, tonight is heavy because I am waiting and hurting and trying to guess at the end. And because I am human. A woman living on a planet under a curse.

And I want to know what to do. I want to know how long this will last. I want to catalog all of my complaints and deliver them to heaven with a final request of answers in the same orderly fashion. Most of all, I want a promise that life wont always be this way, because, quite honestly, it has been just this for such a long time.

So I am sitting again, this time, weeks later, in my room. And just like that, I am holding that black book and looking at my Bible and hearing those words, "if we believe these stories..." Then what? At the time, the first time, I wrote: "If believe these stories...we should realize that we do not stand upon the shoulders of giants only, as the saying goes. But we stand and fall by the breath of God. A God of ancient goodness. We should have fallen a long time ago; but we forget our frailness and think ourselves invincible."

I wont get all of my answers delivered to me in bullet point form--that's hardly a way to live. But I get what I most want. It's truth. And it's a promise that life wont always be this. I forget what has been done and I get so afraid of something I know is not true. "There is a time for everything, for every activity under the sun." "Hope that is seen is not hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?"

If I believe these stories, it changes everything. There are hundreds of people in that book who have fought their way through living. It is not a plan in black and white with diagrams, but it takes care of the bigger issues. It makes itself useful to all people in all places at all times...and it answers my fear and my humanity. It gives me just enough.

tealish blue

Could you point me in the direction of Up?

No? What about Down?

North? South?

Anywhere solid where I may sit awhile...

Because I feel that I have lost them all.

Forces like magnetic poles and gravity have all been wiped clear.

My directions are empty

And my map is a paralyzing white.

I am sure that, next,

I will forget how to breathe.

I have been falling far too long.

Twisting. Dropping. Struggling.

I am always hurtling toward something

And I feel that you must know

Something I do not

Like how to stop.

if soup had a single color

I make you worry and I know it,

sometimes,

at least.

What I mean to say is,

I love you.

I think.

I do not mean to cause such worry.

It is uncharacteristic of me,

really.

And I do love you...

it's just

not enough.

But do not think that

it could ever be

your fault.

I'm just so unpracticed

and so pathetic

and weak.

I suppose that is why you worry,

even though

you shouldn't.

But you love me, so you will.

I just don't quite

understand.

I guess I need you

to keep loving

until I do.

vivid auburn

Judgment? Accountability?

I'm not sure anymore how to draw lines around those two words that can be agreed upon by those who matter most in my life. I do not know how to appease my conscience either. But mostly, I do not know how to help people around me.

I am no longer naive enough to believe that I can fix people and make them better. I have been there, and it is somewhere I hope to never be again when I am most honest. It costs too much for no lasting benefit to anyone involved. Yet, I am not ready to pack up and announce that it is every man for himself.

I will not do more than the person is willing to do for themselves...but we can do so much more with the help of those around us.

The last year especially has really tested where I stand when I have to put flesh on all of these thoughts and go about living in a less than idealistic world. Once having decided that it is still good, despite the abuses of people in the past, where do you go? Mainly, what does one do when the rules suddenly change? When people begin talking out of both sides of their mouths...asking you to help them be 'better' and then dismissing your every attempt and intervention as caustic judgment, which apparently is akin to betrayal on a most fundamental level...what then?

Do you listen to who they were when they first asked for accountability?

Do you listen to them when they elaborate on your close-mindedness and faulty judgments?

Do you get any points for trying?

I think I will fall back on my usual "do what you can...and then let go because you aren't responsible for what you can't do."

Betty

I met you, and you asked for money. I'm not the sort of citizen to fall for that. I offered lunch, and you showed me your ratty clothes and told me of the cold. I wasn't blind. I could see all of that and more. And I know all of the things I should do. I am practiced at looking out for myself. As you know, no one is going to do it for you.

But you knew what you needed and you knew I had the money to spare, relatively speaking at least. I gave you $7 and asked your name. Betty.

And then you hugged me.

And I don't really know what to do with that. Not because I was offended or even that surprised. Maybe a little surprised.

You didn't merely cut through my defenses. You stole them.

It has been two days, and I still haven't found them. I suppose you've taken them to line your coat and keep you warm. I can tell you right now, they don't keep the wind out.

Maybe I am better off without them.

Actually, I know I am. But it's hard to get used to the lightness that comes with vulnerability. It's hard to remember that I care about all the things I used to, but I haven't done as much caring as I have talking. And even the talking lately has been little, if that is any indication of the other.

I hope to see you again, Betty. I will look for you. And though I expect to find you, I know I never will. I'm still not one to believe that the world works that way. Still, all my love and prayers and thanks.

swimming pool blue

I have a paper due for a class and an apartment to clean, but I do not feel tonight what I think I should. So I am trying to work myself into a pensive mood that might produce something, that might let me know that I am still alive the way a human should be. Or at least what I imagine a healthy human being to be.

I wrote some very profound things the other day on a piece of paper that I cannot seem to find. I do not suspect that I will. All my art seems to fall into a void these days. I think my muse is starving because I broke the cycle. One must create in order to be inspired, or did you not know? I did not. If I had, maybe I would not be here filling this virtual space with more letters, as if we needed more words and more messages.

Truth is out there, but it is buried with each breath and word and picture forward. It is overwhelming. I think that is where I dwell now, overwhelmed. It is an accomplishment if I can shake off most of the lies and overtly propagandized messages that adhere themselves to me by the end of the day. I think this is why depression and cynicism and skepticism have such deep roots in our society. We do not know what to believe.

But maybe we don't have to have all of our beliefs lined up. Maybe we wouldn't give up if we didn't feel that pressure. Maybe life would be worth living if we weren't striving so hard after a goal we will never touch. I keep hoping life is about more than the striving. I think that it is, but I am afraid to call it knowledge. Cheese-filled as it is, life is about the love we pour into this cracked and wavering planet. And you cannot love with a goal or it becomes a very selfish kind of love. We do not need any more of that.

deepest green

We all smile and pretend to know of something that has lasted forever. I do not know why because it makes us all liars and we know it. But we want to believe so very badly,

so we do.

Against the rules, against logic, against experience, against every guiding agent we have ever known, we believe. It is more foolish than a mere fool's hope

and we know that too.

But we have resigned ourselves to this because we do not want to live in a world without some sort of enduring reality. And we suspect, that we alone have nothing that will last. We cannot stand being alone. Not one, but two jealous eyes, fall upon everything and everyone who might have it better than us. We feel returned jealousy and become terrified that they will find out everything we have has been lost.

This is the fear that is becoming us.

It leaves so little room for anything else. We are equals who sell our equality for insecurity.

But our world is not big enough, or did you not hear? There is so much out there that does not make sense, and it does not speak a word about our value. It is beautiful and not. It is a lot of things, especially more than any of us.