Time is Ticking

The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty’ yes’ to your adventure. –Joseph Campbell



Yikes. I honestly don't know. I want to. Desperately. But I still lack courage. Still am paralyzingly afraid.


All I know is that I'm still sitting here, going through the monotony of life, and time is ticking.

I think my clock might be broken.

Step of Faith

I really need to do this.

Sliced My Skin

He was the only one
who saw right through me,
the only one who sliced my skin
to the specimen beneath;
his little crystal catastrophe.
My heart pumped in place,
squirting blood through my body,
crimson threads watched carefully
through translucent sliding doors.
He saw what no one cared to see;
no one dared to dance so close.
He broke me open,
a puzzle of a thousand pieces,
each assembly never quite
fitting as before;
his lopsided lover.

When the morning moans
in waking limbs,
he will fly on metal wings
away from me.
His carry-on carries my confidence,
my fractured figments he could not
fit inside the baggage so
carefully folded and checked.
A porcelain tear traps
my frozen face;
even ice statues stain scarlet.



Yesterday, I brewed my own coffee. On Monday night, I went to Caribou Coffee and bought a Mocha Java blend. In the morning I used my little coffee maker an old co-worker gave me when she left. I measured out the blend, added water to the maker, and pushed the "on" button. Soon enough, I had a delicious smelling aroma filling my cubicle. I poured myself a cup, added some creamer, whipped cream and caramel, and away I went. But I wasn't sure if it was good coffee. I usually go for the lattes and mochas, the stuff with milk and sugar and flavor, so I wasn't sure how coffee was really supposed to taste. So I asked my co-worker Bev if she wanted any, and I poured her a cup. She tried it out and said it was good, and that I had gotten the hang of it.

Success!! I'm very proud of myself in so many ways- for not stopping at Starbucks, for brewing my own, and turning out a decent pot of coffee, at that. I read something on my Compassion International newsletter that struck me- that if I cut down on one latte purchase, I could use that money to donate to charity, to donate to a worthy cause and help someone who really needs that money. I'm going to try and do that- if I cut down on my Starbucks even a few times a week, that money will pile up and I can give to one of the groups Compassion helps with. I'm going to try. So far, I've cut back twice in the past two days. That's already practically $10 I've saved, $10 that will help someone waiting to be heard and helped.


Now It's Day 2 of my coffee making adventure, and I still made a good pot! So, unless it's a 2 day fluke, I can brew a mean cup'a joe. I'm still really, really proud of myself, as stupid as it sounds. I don't know why I'm so excited about this. I really don't. But I haven't gotten excited about anything in a very long time so I'm going to take this newfound emotion and run with it :)

Bold

I sketched his smile into the sky.
Whenever I looked into the
early evening atmosphere,
I saw him dancing with
the lullaby of dusk,
and I would sway along.


Great is my boldness of speech toward You, great is my glorifying of You; I am exceedingly joyful in all our tribulation.
-2 Corinthians 7:4

This couples everything I have been reading and hearing about these past 2 days. It fits perfectly and might as well be my verse for the year. And then my verse today is Hebrews 4:16, which tells us to boldly step to the throne of grace.

Bold. This is something I am not. But scripture clearly tells me to be. I may be bold because of Christ. I don't know much, but I know that God is God. He is faithful. He is strong. He will make good on His promises. I know He's got it all figured out. But I still must go confidently before Him to find out what He has in store for me.

Lord God, grant me strength.

Sea of White

We woke up early in the morning
that December 18th,
drove out to Hatter's Field to
welcome in the sun's arrival.
The ice was thick over our windshield,
bunching branches and our hope.
Against the atmosphere our lips blew
shapes onto transparent canvas;
we couldn't form a word.
Seven weeks we danced around
the cloud that took our breath.
Your whiskers snared in sunlight
as we watched colors crescendo,
my eyes lay swimming in the
sea of white beneath our feet.
Frigid highs met frigid lies;
we searched for signs in
sliding predawn to keep our
promises warm.




Because I needed to post something.


I saw this on a neon flashing sign of a church I drive by every day:

Epiphany: have you had your awakening?


New year. New opportunities.