Waves

I did not think I could be knocked down again

But time and again now I have found

Myself near edge of being drowned

Taught this well, re-instructed and blessed

Learn-ed by life’s patient fists.

I keep my face above the waves

Just barely, by effort of prayer and strain

Like sand through an hourglass.

Someday my buoyancy won’t last.

Trastorno

Fear is

The unwillingness to cut my fingernails

Lest I be without a weapon.

Expecting everyone to hurt me

With every passing second.

Trauma is

Unbridled rage when someone is flippant about the two ton metal monster they command with the twist of a wheel.

Catastrophic thought is

The absolute assurance that someone is dead

When they don’t pick up the phone.

PTSD is not

Being careless with emotions; immature and loud

Over-sensitivity because of insecurity

Or disliking certain sounds

Post traumatic stress is

Sweating through your decaying dreams

Waking to silent, dehydrated screams

Covered in despair, certain the lives in your sleep would still be out there

If not for your own failure.

It’s

The inability to face that room

The panic that comes over you

When a movement doesn’t belong; someone’s behavior is jarring or

Wrong.

It’s bracing for blows that may never come

After so many years of not being ready and getting knocked down

You can’t bear the possibility

Of another blindside,

so you

Expect pain

And torment, crime

And death

And blood and fear and trauma

All. The. Time.

there is now a song

it sings in tones of spider-thread

it wanders up and down the Pain…

The song is caught in a timeless place,

where the hurting worsened ’til it grew a face;

and the face is blank and its eyes are dead;

& wilted blossoms frame the head;

beautiful, but also gone.

just like us.

i wrote us a song.

Jealous love

I miss your love, your kindness

Gentleness

And Peace

I miss the way you cared for me

The softness with which you treated me

It hurts like knives in my stomach to let go

I have to trust that God is just

That he wants for me what I cannot

Even

Fathom

I know He is jealous for me…

And will hold me as I weep

Love conquers a multitude of sins

Once there was a boy. He was alright. He thought he knew what he wanted in life, but for some reason, everything just left him empty. Over time, things got worse. He was hurt many times by many people, even his own family.

The boy became very broken.

There was also a girl. She was alright. Death came for her a few times, but she lived. She thrived, and God placed his blessing on her. She was favored. But favor doesn’t mean everything is easy. The girl suffered a lot. She faced many trials. God never left her. And he allowed the suffering to leave its mark- as its mark was the shadow left behind by all the times she had been delivered. No suffering, no miracle.

So she was very broken too.

The boy and the girl met. They fell in love. Against many odds they built something, and it was mostly good. They treated each other well. They sacrificed for each other. They wanted to see the best and the most beautiful of each other.

The girl sought to help heal the boy, and the boy sought to help heal the girl.

But darkness from the past wasn’t done with the girl or the boy. It showed up many times, in many ways. It was a complicated and painful relationship from the beginning. They faced many trials. And they grew through many trials. And many trials were faced together that would have been near impossible alone.

And however much, their faith grew.

Time passed and the growing slowed. It even began to crumble. It was no longer a place of healing. The girl and the boy were not quite strong enough to give their best to each other. Pain and distrust and panic were destroying the goodness they’d built.

So, tears flooding freely, all other escapes exhausted, they said goodbye…

And God said this was crucial for the boy’s faith. The girl, still in agony, tried to be comforted by this. He told the girl not to fear the giants in life.

He told the girl to remember his promise- that he always finishes what he starts.

So the girl is praying and waiting and hoping. She knows it will get better, and the crippling-pain will cease, and the agonizing emptiness clawing a nest inside her will be chased away one day. She is stubbornly and insistently praising the Creator, remembering his promise:

I will finish what I started in you.

The girl knows that God isn’t done with the boy, either.

The giants will fall.