We go to church,
sing some songs,
and try not to cuss.
Whether you verbalize it yet or not...we all know something's wrong."
Francis Chan
Monday, April 25, 2011
Crazy Love
We go to church,
sing some songs,
and try not to cuss.
Whether you verbalize it yet or not...we all know something's wrong."
Francis Chan
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Wonderful
You know that quote that says something about when you look back on your life you wont regret the things you did, but the things you did not do? Whoever first said that isn't coming to my mind at the moment, but I really do believe it. I don't think I will every regret having an out going moment, but I will regret moments where I did not act and I did not take advantage of the night. You get to experience things that you normally wouldn't and you get to be in fellowship with people who you otherwise wouldn't get the chance to. Taking leaps feels wonderful. Really, simply, wonderful.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Nevertheless, I am continually with You; You hold my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel, and afterward You will receive me to glory.
Whom have I in Heaven but You?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion
forever.
Psalm 73:23-26
You guide me with your counsel, and afterward You will receive me to glory.
Whom have I in Heaven but You?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion
forever.
Psalm 73:23-26
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Don't call this an art project. This is science, this is progress.
And don't pretend these are heartfelt words, we are children dressed as surgeons but disturbed by the sight of our scars.
And now we carry scalpels to trace the scarring resting somewhere on the line between my house, your heart and into your home.
Where you lay sleeping like a ceiling fan in winter, gently turning as the wind reaches its fingers through the window
just to hold you, like I held you.
Pressed like a rose between my fingers or like stones I keep in pockets meant to weigh me underwater. These scars will fade away but never disappear, my dear.
We'll raise our fists like lightning rods to God and if he strikes us down,
then he strikes us down.
but first, let him hear us speak:
We are like the legacy of thunderstorms we watched and swore in doorways,
"we will never be the same again."
I can feel you healing and I hate it,
(like a harpist without hands you only bang the strings you used to love to touch so much)
To hear the dissonance drain violently and then dissolve like all the songs I sang but never once could make you smile.
My God, I would kill to make you smile. And reach out to my hands, soft and frail,
to make good on the love that you swear still exists, and still thrives
though we've buried our bodies in blood (and old lies, like, "I'm fine" and "you look so much better than him"
but don't trust the surgeon with your heart, she's drunk and sips from poison cups,
and don't you trust the scientist,
he says "life-is-like-a-wineglass" as he spills his drink like secrets all across your dress and says:
"my dear, I must confess, I never thought you ever knew what love was like for real.
I never thought you needed me."
-La Dispute
And don't pretend these are heartfelt words, we are children dressed as surgeons but disturbed by the sight of our scars.
And now we carry scalpels to trace the scarring resting somewhere on the line between my house, your heart and into your home.
Where you lay sleeping like a ceiling fan in winter, gently turning as the wind reaches its fingers through the window
just to hold you, like I held you.
Pressed like a rose between my fingers or like stones I keep in pockets meant to weigh me underwater. These scars will fade away but never disappear, my dear.
We'll raise our fists like lightning rods to God and if he strikes us down,
then he strikes us down.
but first, let him hear us speak:
We are like the legacy of thunderstorms we watched and swore in doorways,
"we will never be the same again."
I can feel you healing and I hate it,
(like a harpist without hands you only bang the strings you used to love to touch so much)
To hear the dissonance drain violently and then dissolve like all the songs I sang but never once could make you smile.
My God, I would kill to make you smile. And reach out to my hands, soft and frail,
to make good on the love that you swear still exists, and still thrives
though we've buried our bodies in blood (and old lies, like, "I'm fine" and "you look so much better than him"
but don't trust the surgeon with your heart, she's drunk and sips from poison cups,
and don't you trust the scientist,
he says "life-is-like-a-wineglass" as he spills his drink like secrets all across your dress and says:
"my dear, I must confess, I never thought you ever knew what love was like for real.
I never thought you needed me."
-La Dispute
Friday, April 15, 2011
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