With Courage

The battle has already been won,

So my struggle is not in vain.

Uphill against thoughts so dark,

Sword gaining weight each hour;

Still, my heart may be light,

My lips moving in praise.

Worth It

Scattered across the dusty ground,

Scorched in places, torn apart, ribs

Bleached in the merciless sunlight,

Pieces here and there in decay.

Wheeling in the sky lazily,

Vultures calling for my flesh;

Eye sockets fixed upon a point,

For dry bones can not move.

There’s my hand, over there,

And one foot, mangled beyond

Hope of reconnection; I’m done.

Gentle footsteps in the sand

Towards my wreckage, eyes wet

With tears so compassionate;

He stands over me silently.

Then, after gathering the pieces,

He sat and began to reassemble.

How he saw worth, I do not

Know, but he took precious time,

With care so unprecedented

Until broken was made whole.

“You are worth it.” He

Said as I stood up in awe.

“Now follow me, hear my

Words, and live out your life.”

Books: October

I somehow thought that because I'm in England now, I wouldn't be buying as many books, but apparently that was a completely foolish thought. There's a used bookstore here that is utterly amazing. I was literally breathless when I first walked in. It's like a maze of many little rooms, and stairs everywhere and it's a treasure hunt, trying to find as many books for the lowest amount of money. How I'm getting these books home, I'm not quite sure yet, but one thing at a time.

For school, I had to read Alive in Christ and write an essay on it, which was interesting to do. Also, Ender's Game was amazing, with plot twist near the end that made my jaw drop and I definitely yelled for awhile. I'm quite excited to read the sequel for that one. Her Fearful Symmetry had a painful ending as well but it was good, quite a twist. I'm excited to keep reading my new books and I'll try to limit myself on how many I buy, though that may be quite painful.

Read:

1. Selected Poems of Algernon Charles Swinburne

2. Alive in Christ

3. Ender’s Game

4. Outlander

5. Her Fearful Symmetry

Bought/Received:

1. Alive in Christ

2. Ender’s Game

3. Web of Darkness

4. James Herriot Stories

5. Selected Poems of Algernon Charles Swinburne

6. Celtic Fairy Tales

7. The Subtle Knife

8. The House at Riverton

9. The Wind in the Willows

10. Her Fearful Symmetry

11. Speaker for the Dead

12. Thunderball

13. The Spy Who Loved Me

14. For Your Eyes Only

15. Moonraker

16. City of Fallen Angels

17. City of Lost Souls

Best Version

I know you see darkness,

The vile mess that bogs you down,

And in despair, you fall, broken.

I know of your struggles

And the scars you try to hide.

You do not see the beauty

Inside that I know is there.

You fear living in my light,

Lest your rotten heart be revealed.

But while you see the outside,

I see the best version of you,

The perfect sculpture underneath,

One that only I can find.

Let me chip away at your heart

To reveal the glorious plan

That I have for your life.

Wine and Bread

Grapes are sweet, in their way,

Together in community all as one,

None so different from each other.

Solid, well put together without blemish,

Perfection thought to have been reached.

Yet for there to be sweet wine,

Bread broken to feed the others,

Perfection must be crushed beyond any

Recognition, willingly walking into the vat

Where all self will be squeezed

Out to transform sweet into sweeter,

Meshed together, pain bringing change

From the core to the flesh.

Bread must be broken to be eaten,

Laid upon the table of sacrifice,

Emptied time and again but then

Refilled; the beauty of being broken.

The Call of a Knight

 The highest calling, that of a knight, glorious and honorable, a calling to anyone with a heart willing. One of highest standing, noble in deed and title. Yet to be a knight, a strong warrior in the face of a thousand armies, it is a life of tears and sorrows one must follow. Discipline is the greatest foe and friend, a rod to the back to teach what is right.

 Those tears that drench your pillow every night, with every bitter sob, strength and endurance are added, building up an impenetrable armor, though now it seems not so. The pain that grips your heart in a claw so cruel, twisting and squeezing it, breath gone from lungs, that pain is a gift in disguise, building up resistance for darker times to come.

 Not all complete their Quest, eaten by dragons or falling slave to the siren’s call. Yet to be a knight, to serve the King of all the land, that is the highest calling, to be pursued despite all short comings. When all seems hopeless, new strength will be given by a passerby shadowed in mystery.

 Squires so young, yet eager and yearning to learn their craft. Weak made strong by trial and ordeal, held in waters deep till lungs nearly burst but not quite, and crawling onto the shore breathing in sweet air, it’s hard to see the good it has done. Yet the next time, and the next, things will be just a fraction different and growth of self will have occurred.

 The Quest is the greatest one any adventurer could ever embark upon, with the greatest reward waiting at the end. To drink the cup of healing and eternal joy from the chalice of hope, to finally lay down the sword and sit at the banquet table, laughing and singing, giving thanks to the host, the King. 

By Faith

It could be there will

Be no healing, not here,

And the shadow of death

May always haunt my steps

And perhaps the sunshine

Will always be hidden away,

And still, by Faith, I

Will keep going forward,

Broken step by tired step.

Perhaps my heart may always

Ache with the weight of

A thousand, burning tears,

My uncontrollable thoughts betraying

My fragile, broken heart,

And perhaps I won’t see,

Not here, in the darkness.

But one day, light will

Reveal the greatest plan

And in fields of joy

Where the sun shines forever,

You’ll wipe away the last

Tear from my weary eyes

And make my heart whole.

Greater things are coming,

And I will keep focused

On my final resting place,

Where I will hear Your

Sweet voice of Love.

A Taste of Heaven

All without cares or calling

Troubles, together as one person,

We present an entire scale

Sweetly sounding in a higher

Plane, pure in our cause.

One dream, a single desire

Just then, in that moment.

Knees fallen in humble awe

Or constant motion of feet,

Folded hands low in offering

Or raised, reaching for things

Unseen, yet felt by the soul.

Moved by the same force,

So powerful, tears of joy,

Overwhelmed by awesome love so

Encompassing, accepting in all kinds.

One of many, unique yet

Vital in one entire ensemble.

This small space out of

Time, a sweet and lovely

Taste of heaven, holy ground,

Giving pure praise to God. 

Revival

I see the weak apathetic

Armies clothed in flesh once

More, marked for matters great,

Going out among the darkness

To destroy, then rebuild hope

For those hopeless in ashes.

Swords of light lashing against

Creatures cold and calling for

Souls so dear, precious, lost

And alone in the lies.

I see dry bones battling

Against the drenching weariness

Of weak will and timidity, so

Hearts of lambs will roar

And darkness will flee among

The cracks of mighty mountains.

I see hell’s gates torn open,

invaded with loving peace

And the light of truth,

Chains broken and free souls

Soaring to join the great cause.

With Him

I died with Him

As he suffered, and

I lay in the tomb

Where hope had fled

And I rose back

To life most glorious

When He won the

battle against death

and took my hand,

shining in triumph. 

What's In A Name

(This poem is based on the meaning's of my first, middle and last name)

Struggling always up the hill,

Soul shielded by sweet Truth

And Light the weapon in hand,

Constantly waging war against pain

And the call to self-pity.

Little warrior, be of courage,

For though at times all

Seems lost and utterly hopeless,

Remember that the battle has

Already been won by the

Great commander of our plight.

Shining light beating so gently,

Robed in linen, snow white

And lips speaking kind words,

Soft touch, crystalline clarity,

Clean skin, eyes cast downward

In humble grace in the

Holy, encompassing throne room.

A deer-like beauty, purity

Within a heart of silver,

Dross burned away long ago.

Most desperate, lowly broken one,

Huddled on the cobblestones

While the rains fall harshly

And hair stings across flesh.

Yet the king stopped in procession,

Stepped down into the muck

And held out a kind hand,

Brought the wretch to the palace

And redeemed what was lost,

For He is most gracious.

Skyscape of Reflection

I used to think that

The world was black and white,

Wrong and right so clear,

Clear vision of who was friend

And foe, dressed in deception,

They were, interchanging, breaking

But then growing up again.

I used to think that

My plot was as any other,

Other than that of the step

Sisters unhappy ending, no, my

Ending would be beautiful, but

No, my end came in the middle,

Mid-sentence before the page

Paused to drink some tea.

I used to think that

Summer and winter never met,

Yet maybe there is still a chance

For change before all leaves

Fall upon the lifeless ground,

And yet, should sweet spring

Be left out in the cold?

I used to think that

Hunger was for meal times,

Between times, but often times

Time changed all of that

So that kind was a lie

That lay forgotten underneath

Creeping, still dark waters.

I used to think that

My thoughts saved me from

Falling into the crevice that

Quickly appeared every time I

Closed my eyes, but no, my

Mental power weakly falls with

Words spoken softly in the dark.

I used to think that

Ashes were the end, lifelessly

Lying underfoot, yet green can

Come from the grey nothingness,

New life peeking into power,

After patiently waiting in warmth.

I used to think that

A watches’ pieces placed worth,

Yet not the past, but the

Beautiful Now, knowing pure hope

Is heaven’s holy gift, given

Generously to the fallen leaves.

And so, I now know, not

Think, that I am not the

Pieces of my submerging past.

Books: September

After this, I'll be living in England for six months, so I don't know how much reading and book shopping will get done. It really pains me, leaving all my books behind, but I'm excited to read them when I get back in March! I completed a few series this month, including Harry Potter and Mary Stewart's "Merlin" series. My grandparents took me out book shopping as our last hang out time before I leave. It was such fun!

Read:

1. Lies

2. Plague

3. Appointment With Death

4. Fear

5. Light

6. Passenger to Frankfurt
7. Peril at End House
8. Anne of Avonlea
9. The A.B.C. Murders
10. Your Captivating Heart
11. The Moving Finger
12. Choosing to SEE
13. The Mysterious Mr. Quin

Bought/Received:
1. The A.B.C. Murders
2. The Message Bible
3. Emily of New Moon
4. The Innocent Man

5.Hickory Dickory Dock

6.The Regatta Mystery

7.There is a Tide

8.The Secret Adversary

9.Murder in Three Acts

10. Parker Pyne Investigates

11.The Pale Horse

12.Cards on the Table

13. The Clocks

14.Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

15. Anne of Ingleside

16. Specials

17. The Iron Scepter

18. The Bobbsey Twins’ Adventure in Washington

19. The Bobbsey Twins On Blueberry Island

20. The Bobbsey Twins The Secret at the Seashore

21. The Lord of the Rings Complete Trilogy

22. The Hippopotamus Pool

23. Seeing A Large Cat

24. Ravens of Avalon

25. Rainbow Valley

26. A Game of Thrones

27. Emily Climbs

28. Emily’s Quest

29. Goldfinger

30. The Prince and the Pilgrim

Katherine

 I look in the mirror’s reflection, at times, and though it’s only my own face I see, I wonder if I’m seeing yours as well. Eyes that have seen too much and not enough, are they also your eyes? Mouth that turns so quickly from a frown to a smile, is it yours? Sometimes, I reach out, and if it weren’t for the glass that stands between us, then I know I would touch you, fingertips identical.

 Once, we were two, making up one. What choice, then, was it? Did fate gamble and it could just as easily have been me now residing in heaven? Or were you just not strong enough to have faced this cruel, cold world? Why, why was it you, and not me? I had no special power, and I certainly wasn’t stronger, for the world’s cold did cut through to my bones.

 You would have been beautiful, the soft gentle side that I so obviously lack. Loud spoken, but not in a grating way; no, the way that draws people in. Is it so strange that I can sit here by the window as the cold rain drips down, and see that other universe where you are here, below, and not above? But you are not here and I, I am one! Against every fiber that weaves me together, I am one, not two.

 In every clear lake, mirror and windowpane, you look back at me, watching from the other side. You gave to me your burden, the burden of the first born, and at times, I know I’ve failed. Yet I am here, and so I will complete the task meant for two. And one day, there won’t be any glass between us, and when you reach out your hand to me, we will touch once more. I can almost hear it now, in fields of green with the eternal sun watching over me; “Sister, come play with me! Come see!”

Burning Bush

(Inspired by our Sunday sermon about Moses)

In the wasteland where no life should grow

Sat a single, thirsty bush, roots weak in the dry soil.

Rain was only a burden, a crushing flood of sorrows

And so, brought no relief to the fragile, lonely bush.

The desert sands roughly scathed the frail, thin branches

And no one sought protection from the sun there.

But not water, or calm days nor new grass was the answer.

Inconceivably, the thing to make the bush grow was fire,

Relentlessly hungry, consuming passionately all in its path,

And so it came upon the bush in a raging fury.

And yet, though burning brightly, the bush was not consumed.

The fire grew brighter as though fueled, but the bush was whole,

Standing firm and unharmed by the powerful flame.

But it certainly was affected, simply not on the outside;

Inside, the sap ran and bubbled, spawning new life within.

Growth was only then achieved by the fierce scalding,

The destruction of every irrelevant, outside influence.

Then, in the empty desert, dross removed, the bush flourished,

Consumed within and without with passionate, burning life.

What was once nothing is now a representation of hope.

Hold Me

The rain falls hard upon the ground

And though I try, you are not found.

I’m on my knees, heart crying out!

Please, I beg you, fend off my doubt.

The sky above is clouded grey,

So darkness surrounds me on my way.

“Here I am!” My deepest cry.

Hold me up, don’t let me die.

Alone, my failures will return,

And every night my eyes will burn.

Blindly reaching out to you;

Other friends are now so few.

And in the storm you shall appear,

Advancing upon my every fear.

You take my hand and wipe my face

And present before me living Grace.

And though the rain still soaks the land,

Together we walk, hand in strong hand.

We Knew

In all the happy times, there we were,
your laughing eyes and honey sweet smile
a constant as we traveled through life.
But the sun can't always shine above,
and ghosts thrive in the stormy nights.
Still, though my heart lay bare and cracked,
you didn't leave me as I thought you would.
Though I entered a world of darkness,
you knelt down beside me, arms out
to keep me standing against the gale.
When blood ran in rivulets on the stones
from my wracked and ruined body,
you were not appalled, said nothing,
simply waited for the ghosts to fade away.
Your patient, silent rock steady hope
enveloped my haunted mind to protect me.
And, rewarded, the ghosts finally did fade,
and hand in hand, we walked on.

Stain of Scarlet

The stain of scarlet blood
began at the hands and
spread as time went by.
Blemishing forgotten beauty,
leaving the ink stain sign,
a symbol of the inner
darkness that each of us had.
Red so blazingly bright,
so all would see it
and be ashamed to be seen,
for a mask only lasts
till the light shines through
to reveal the collection of lies.
Scarlet skin permanently stained,
turning more red with every
rough brushed scrubbing attempt.
Yet there is one way
for the stain to be scoured,
but not by desperate trying
and a constant washing.
Simply by raising those hands,
letting go of every desire,
and then you will be white
as the snow of winter.

Child-Like

Father, let me be a child,
my arms and heart open,
soul calling out to you.
Lead me to fields of green
to dance and laugh with you,
singing among flowers bright.
Let my heart hear you,
with always a "here I am"
resting upon my lips.
Show me your creation anew,
fresh with dew and hope.
Teach me the song that
every creature longs to sing,
born to life with you.
Break my old, cold heart
and remold it, soft clay,
imprinted words buried within,
a solid, strong foundation.
Hold me in your arms,
and give me sweet peace
in my young, child's soul.

Walking Wounded

(This is inspired by one of my lectures)

We are the walking wounded,
hidden behind our perfect shadows
with half hearted smiles
and wearily worn glamour.
Shambling stubbornly through reality,
bones creaking like timber,
rags rotting, dreams all forgotten
and hope for anything better
fallen beneath our treading feet.
Chained to the fear of failure,
pain of being left behind,
loss of unconditional love
and scars too many to count.
We are alone, yet together
and though we are different,
our broken hearts hold the
same mournful cry for healing.
Lifeless eyes plead in silence,
seeking to be filled inside
to wipe away the hollow.
We are the walking wounded,
pain so overwhelmingly cruel,
and all that we long for
is an understanding Healer.

Dear Child

Come walk with me,
my dear sweet child,
and share with me
your thoughts and dreams.
Come walk with me
when the sun is shining
and the birds sing brightly.
Come walk with me
on the darkest day
and if you stumble,
I will carry you.
Come walk with me,
delight of my heart
and begin to know me,
for you are mine.

Soar

High above in the sea of blue,
soaring with wings finally unchained,
my soul is free to travel the world.
The smoke and ruins lie behind me
and at last, freedom is in my heart.
Blessed is the Author of life,
the writer of this glorious story;
in all of creation I see His hands.
He whispers hope on the wind
and brings joy with every sunbeam.
I'm flying to meet you, my Father;
the world has no hold of me.

Hold On

I don't want to fall, Father,
but the waves are so fearful
and my bones are so frail.
Fear is paralyzing to my heart
and I can barely move forward,
tossed about like a ragdoll.
Will you help me stand,
and hold my heart above
the violent waves of sorrow?
I've been stripped of everything,
soul bare for all to see
and so all that remains
is my broken, weary trust.
I will reach out to you
and hold onto your promises.