These Four Walls

A short story I just wrote.. enjoy -Lui <3

     I wake up. This is the beginning of my life; at least it’s the only beginning I remember for my memory contains nothing before this point. I simply woke up. I should be frightened at what or where I am, but I’m not. I don’t know who I am or what I look like or even what I am. All I know is that I am alive. I am awake. 

     I awoke with a start. I could hardly catch my breath. Slowly I sit up. Stretched out before me covered by a white blanket are my legs. I pull the blanket back to stare at these things my mind tells me to call legs. Two appendages stretch out to feel my legs, a right hand and left hand. I am curious about my hands and stare at them. These hands are lethal and I know it. I begin to scan my confines. There is not much to see, for the room contains nothing but me and the cot on which I sit. The walls are bare and white, as are my clothes.

     My curiosity arises. Something is missing. There should be something more. Why is this room so bare? Why do I feel so incomplete? I do not belong here, in this place. I put one foot on the floor then the other. The white tile is cool beneath my feet but feels quite nice. I take one step. My steps are wobbly at first as though walking were new to me, perhaps it is. I don’t remember ever walking before. I don’t remember it yet I know what it is. How can this be? How can I be? What is my existence? What do I mean?

     I walk all the way across the floor to one of the four walls that bind me in. Gingerly I place my right hand against the wall, then my left. It feels cool too. I walk around and do this to each one of the walls until I am back at my starting position at the first wall. What is behind these walls and how can I get out? I place my left ear against the wall and listen. Silence. I hear silence, then a soft and slow sound like a hum. I find myself mimicking the sound. I hum. I didn’t even know I could do that, that I could make sound, or that I had a voice. I begin to wonder what other sounds can be made.

      I listen again to the wall, pressing myself as close to it as possible. I want to hear sounds for suddenly the silence created by these four walls is maddening and deafening. This time the hum is louder and longer. It is more musical. How my ears ache to hear the sound of the music that I push with all my might against the wall so it might fall, releasing me from my confines. It does not budge, not even a little. Hungry for sound, for music, I press up against the wall to listen once again but the music has gone. I listen for a long time waiting for it to return but it does not. The music has left me.

     I slide down against the wall, burying my head in my hands. Long silky stuff falls into my face which has unnaturally become wet. I ponder these two new mysteries that momentarily distract me from the absence of sound. My wet face I deduce to be from tears, which is actually a natural reaction when one is sad. The silky stuff, however, takes me longer to figure out. I realize there is more of it pulled back away from my face. It is a part of me. I study it, trying to name it. It is hair, I figure out. But there is more to it than that. It is light but not white like everything else. A word comes to me—yellow, no gold, no blonde. I have blonde hair. I use my hair to dry my wet eyes. What more can I discover?

     I lay down with my back against the wall, my knees to my chest. I remember how I hummed, that I can make sounds. I replay the sound of the music in my head, which is also a new ability to me. Softly, softly I make music with my voice. Not words, just music. I make music with my voice until it feels sore. Then I stop for I begin to feel as though something in the room has changed. Cautiously I sit up with my back still against the wall. Studying the room I see nothing has changed, at least not with those three walls. A new emotion stirs inside of me. I don’t know how to name it. I inch forward, just a little, and turn my head slightly to look behind me. My eyes grow big. Startled I jump up. On the wall there is music. Music that I made, I sang it into being. Now my room is no longer silent. It is full of music.

     I can’t contain myself. I run around the room in a graceful manner, expressing myself to the music and humming along to it. As I do this I literally feel the music. I am the music, it becomes one with me. The music courses throughout my being, reverberating itself inside of me. As I make music with my voice and move along to it with my body the music grows stronger until it becomes a symphony. When I grow tired I stop and rest, sitting on my cot. That’s when I notice a little hole on the wall to the right of the musical wall. I am not sure if it has always been there. Perhaps I created it like I created the music.

     I stand and take determined strides to this wall. The hole is just big enough for my eye to peer through it. At first I only see an eye staring back at me. Frightened I jump back. But I am more eager to see what lies behind this wall than I am frightened of the eye. I look into the hole again. This time I realize I am staring into a mirror and the eye is my eye. It is blue. I stare deeper into the eye and see waves, like an ocean. I blink and the eye is gone. I stand back now hungry for more color. The walls of this room are so bare, so white, and so plain. I go to look into the hole again but stop myself upon discovering that where the hole used to be is a little blue circle.

     I made music. Now I have added color to my room. I want more, I crave more. I close my eyes and sway to the sound of the music. I let it inspire me to create. I hum and as I hum I imagine what color the music is. Eyes still closed I move my arms just so, directing each color where it should go. I let the music guide me in creating my piece of art. Finally when I can no longer contain myself I open my eyes. I need to see the color, to feel it, and to know it.

     I gasp as I take in what I have done. My mind searches for a word to describe it until at last the perfect word forms—beauty. On the formally blank wall there is now a masterpiece of color, of beauty. I am in awe of what color can create that at first I can only stare at it. I am moved by the beauty of it, and the music along with it. Once again I go and sit on my cot, this time so I can stare at my artwork.  As I sit taking it in I begin to hear something soft like a whisper. It is kind of like the music, but not as musical. It is definitely sound, however. Curious I stand to inspect what this new kind of noise is.

     I follow the sound to the wall directly across from my wall of color. I sit down in front of it, crossing my legs, and listen. There’s a whole world on the other side of this wall, a world of words. I use my voice to mimic these words. At first my voice is slow as I am not accustomed to speaking with words outside of my mind. When I find my voice however, I find I like this way of expression. I like my voice. And even more, I like words. I close my eyes as I say words aloud. Some words I know the meaning to, some I do not. But they all sound fascinating. I want more. I want to know, to see, to hear more.

     I open my eyes. There are words written on the wall. I smile a thing I’ve not previously done, least not to my knowledge. I soon realize that I can create stories with the words. I can add words to the music to create a story or use the words to describe the colors. Before I know it more words and more colors and more music fill the room. It’s so delightful. I sing words. I paint more pictures. The room starts to get crowded, all the music and the colors and the words need to get out. I cannot contain them in this small room. It’s nearly overwhelming me.

     I back up against the one remaining blank wall for support. This is my last canvass. I wonder what more there is for me to learn. What other art is there for me to form? I bump into something as I reach the wall. Swiftly I spin around to find the culprit. There are three lines on the wall in the shape of a rectangle. At the left hand side there is black round thing. I tilt my head to the side as I decipher what this new thing is. A door, it is door. Doors lead out. This is my way to let my art out, to let myself out of this room. But how do I get out? I try twisting and turning the knob. I try pulling on it. I even try to yank it off before realizing it is locked. The only key I have is my words.

     I tell the door to open, as I do it cracks open ever so slightly. Delighted I jump up and down. I take a deep breath and push the door open all the way. Outside I see a world of color and music and sound and words. It’s so beautiful and wonderful, and so very terrifying. My art escapes out into the world leaving the walls of my room bare once again. I suppose it’s a good thing for art was never meant to be confined. I step one foot out into this exciting new world. It certainly is loud out here, and very bright. But this is what I wanted. I leave the door to the room open as I decide to take a stroll through this exciting new world.

     I see art all around me. But it is so much. It is too much. I find this place overwhelming. Suddenly I remember everything. I have been here before. Every day I step outside of my security. I always think it is what I want but in the end it always frightens me. My hunger for something more does not win out, it never does. Today, I think, I will stay. I take a step farther than yesterday, it seems I do this every day too—I take an extra step. I stand here looking around. The colors become too bright. The music is too much. The words are too loud. It’s all so loud. I can’t stand it. The fear makes its way inside of me. I long for the safety of my little room.

     I tell myself not to look back, to keep moving forward. But I’m stuck here in this place, unable to go any further. I fight against looking back. In the end I fail. I look over my shoulder; I look into the safe confines of my four walls, the very walls I built. I turn back to this world I’m in and decide I don’t want to be here. I run back to my room, back to where it’s safe, back to where nothing can harm me except for me. I race back to my confinement where I know I’ll be all right.

     I reach my room and close the door behind me. The door disappears. The words, the colors and the music are gone. All the beauty is gone, I let it go. The threat of the world outside is still to near. I jump on to my cot and huddle under the blankets, hoping they will protect me. I squeeze my eyes shut to block everything out because I’m all too aware of the world outside. I can still see it. I can still hear it. Maybe tomorrow I will make the right choice. Maybe tomorrow I will have forgotten it all and will let myself live in the safety of my four walls. I hope tomorrow I won’t remember, for it is all too painful to relive the memory every day, and every day run away. Maybe tomorrow, I wake up.

~peace and cheese~

Dark am I, yet Lovely..

          “ 5Dark am I, yet lovely,

             dark like the tents of Kedar,

             like the tent curtains of Solomon.

            Do not stare at me because I am dark,

            because I am darkened by the sun.

            6My mother’s sons were angry with me

            and made me take care of the vineyards,

            my own vineyard I have neglected. ”               Song of Songs 1:5-6

      I’ve always liked the phrase dark yet lovely, and been drawn to the verse, when I finally understood it that is, well when I say understand you know what I mean… I’m always trying to understand it.

      Dark yet lovely has become that thing I need to hear to pull me up from the mire. It’s my special verse. It’s my reminder that God wants my weak yet sincere love. In fact, it assures me that He doesn’t look at the weak part of my love but the sincerity in my heart. He looks past my darkness to call me lovely. Now, as many times as I’ve quoted it or read through Song of Solomon I never really paid attention to how verse 5 and verse 6 follow after each other, kind of going hand in hand… And now I understand. Or I understand more why I am so drawn to this verse, and that is because of verse 6.

     For so many years—half my life really—I’ve been tending to other people’s vineyards, caring for other people’s gardens. I have been so busy looking out for everyone else’s heart that I forgot my own. My own vineyard I have neglected, up until recently that is. I still find myself in other people’s gardens and locked outside my own at times but I’m getting better at that, I hope so anyway.

     This past year has been me pulling out weeds, cleaning up and taking out the trash that’s accumulated itself in my garden. Though at the same time I’ve been growing… Now I hear the keeper of my vineyard say it’s time to plant seeds in my heart once again, for the time of singing has come. Those seeds will grow and turn into love. I’ll never stop growing, which is a very good thing. And one day when my garden is in full bloom its fragrance will spread, beckoning my beloved.

     But I can’t do this on my own. Lord, I need you. I need you to cultivate me. I need your Son and your Reign. I need both the south wind and the north wind. Lord, simply I need your love. So I devote my heart to you. My garden is yours, come and delight in me. I know you took delight in my vineyard even when it was black and full of weeds, but how much more will you enjoy my love now that I am in love with you.

 

     Thank you for calling me lovely while I was dark. Thank you that you see differently. Thank you for your mercy, and for showing me how to cultivate my garden. Thank you for planting the seed of love in my heart and for helping it to grow. Lord thank you for your patience with me. Most of all thank you for desiring my weak yet sincere love.

           

                          The sanctification process, its goes on and on.

I Still Trust You.

            I still trust you. My burden is less.

   Proverbs 3:5  “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

^That is leaning.

     Trusting in the Lord with all your heart. Abandoning sanity, not giving way to your own understanding. It’s simply agreeing with your weakness and saying,” You are God, I am man.” I trust what You are doing in my life. I trust You as the Good Shepherd of my soul, that You are leading me. It is saying, “You lead God, I will lean.”

      Besides… We can’t make it through the valleys or come up from the wilderness except when He is leading us, which implies that we must be fully and faithfully leaning.

     Agree with His leadership. Love Him as your leader, as the good, good shepherd. He doesn’t just lead you away from or out of the hardships, He also leads you to sit under the apple tree, to rest beside the streams of living waters. If you can’t trust Him when life is tough, how will you trust Him and more importantly remember to thank Him in the season of blessing?

 

     Leaning. It is being fully dependent. It is confessing that your life is not your own, that you belong to the one who is greater, who is completely other than. To say no to the leaning is to say no to God. It’s like saying, “My way is better than yours,” or, “I just don’t trust you, so I’m going my own way.” – What way is better than Gods way??? I mean He knows everything. He’s had the plan for redemption before He ever said, ‘Let there be…’ He’s already written your story, so why not go His way? But in the end, its up to you.

     Because He loves you, He lets leaning be a choice. It’s a choice you must make. And He respects your no. That’s just the way He is. He’ll lead you on amazing adventures, but ultimately it’s up to you to follow after Him. When He said to come, follow me, we have to make the decision to go after Him. To run together. (Sound a little like Song of Solomon? Yeah… I get it.) And saying yes, is saying yes to His leadership, which is saying yes to leaning. Figured I’d just state that again.

      “Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Blow on my garden, that it’s fragrance may spread abroad…” Song. 4:6

     Whichever way the wind blows, whichever way You choose to go Jesus, I will follow after You. I say yes to the invitation. I say yes to the leaning. I say yes to your leadership. I commit to following You—Let us run together! I confess that Your leadership is perfect. That I can do nothing without You. Lord, my heart is not my own, it’s Yours. I am Your garden. So come blow upon Your garden, and delight Yourself in me. My life belongs to You. And so, today I chose to lean. I lean into You, my beloved. Lead me. I will follow. I will lean. Teach me Your ways, that I may become more like You.

         Come, blow upon Your garden. I’m leaning, whichever way the wind blows. Amen.

Besides, that’s the end of the story… Leaning.

Glory Divine... Perspective.

(Some thoughts on Phil. 2 and Isaiah 52 and 53)

  Jesus, Glory Divine. God became a man.

Whoa. That just messes me up. It baffles me beyond explanation.

               God became flesh. The Word became flesh.

What?!?! What other god would do that? None. But God did. He lowered Himself to the point of no reputation. He was a baby. A baby!! His mother laid Him in a manger, a simple feeding trough. The majestic King of Kings slept in a place where animals ate.

       You who were rich became poor. He gave it all away to become a man that which He created.

He had no beauty, no majesty. He was just like any other man, just an average kind of guy. There was nothing in His appearance that would attract us to Him. He being the very nature of God did not assume equality with God, but made Himself nothing.

             Becoming the very image of a servant—The Servant of all!

He humbled himself. He came to serve. And He was obedient, obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross. He took on the law and became a curse. Carrying our sins, our transgressions, all our filth and ugliness, He took on the wrath of God so that we would be forgiven. He was the perfect guilt offering. He offered Himself in obedience like a lamb lead to the slaughter and became the fragrant sacrifice.

              It was the joy set before Him, the very day of gladness in His heart. He carried our sorrows with all fullness of joy.

They beat Him and mocked Him. It was our sin that marred Him. He was crushed for our iniquities. His appearance was so disfigured, it was beyond that of any man. That’s what our sin did to Him, but He took it on in obedience to the Father with joy in His heart to do so. He gave away His beauty, taking on our punishment in its place. He did it without complaint. He could have proved His power, but he kept his mouth shut. It was the Lords will to crush Him and cause Him to suffer, and through the Lord make His life a guilt offering. For He bore the sins of many and made intercession for transgressors. He obeyed His Father and showed us the true meaning of love. As a servant He acted wisely.

               Therefore God will exalt Him to the highest place and give Him the name above every name.

God raised Him and lifted Him up. God made Him highly exalted. That at His name, the name of Jesus every knee shall bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. He did it all for the glory of the Father.  So He will sprinkle many nations.

      It just gets me. It sets something going inside of me that I simply cannot contain. I literally feel like I’m going to burst with love—that He did this for me, that He did this for love. He knew then and He knows now how weak I am. He knows my weakness so well. He knows I’m needy but He chose to do all that anyway. He chose to love me anyway.

     That was merely the proposal, His betrothal to His bride. And though it amazes and astounds me, I said yes to Him. Because there is no greater love. When I think about Him on that cross with His arms stretched out worshipping His Father, I think about how He loves. He was proclaiming His love without even saying a word. With arms open wide He called out in silence, “I love YOU this much—and more!” This act is by no means small, it’s huge. It was an invitation.

                                       He gave all of Himself.

     He sacrificed Himself for our purity, for our sanctification. He did it to save us, to redeem us. He gave up His life so that we could be with Him in paradise. He was saying, “Come. Follow me. Come to my Father’s house. Come be my bride, forever.” He was telling us He loves us, but more than telling He was showing us. He gave everything, EVERYTHING, away for us. And He’s waiting. Patiently He waits for us to say yes. To come and marry Him. He’s waiting for us to lay down our lives the way He did His, to give up everything and follow Him. He gave everything for love. How can we not do the same? Tell me, how?

     He loves so well. He waits so patiently, continually interceding, always pouring out mercy. He’s so humble. He only asks one thing of us—our heart. I don’t know about you but when I think about all He did, it moves me. I am moved by so great a love. If He wants my heart He can have it. I give it to Him freely. He can have all of me. I want Him to come and wash my feet so I can learn from His humility and so that I can be with Him. I just want to be fully in love.

     Oh and here’s some food for thought…

In no other religion, in no other god will you find such compassion, such love and mercy. It is only found in the One true living God, the maker of heaven and earth. Only God who created the world would be willing to send His son as a sacrifice to save it. Only God the Son would be so obedient to the point of death to reconcile us to the Father that we may know how much He loves. The gods of wood and stone can’t do that. Knowledge can’t do that. Nothing can do that. Only God can do that. And He did it so scripture would be fulfilled. He did it for His glory.

Amen.

The Growing Season: A Lovely Journey

           The Growing Season: A Lovely Journey

     This year has been huge. Huge. I’ve grown a lot. A whole lot. I won’t say I’ve grown up, but rather I’ve grown in. I know I still I have a lot of growing up to do. And I think when someone goes around proclaiming they’ve grown up (ie -I’m grown up so treat me like I am), that shows how much you aren’t grown up. Actions speak volumes louder than words. It’s true. Need I spell out the work of the cross for you? That’s the loudest declaration of love I’ve ever heard He didn’t use words, ‘…for he was lead like a lamb to the slaughter.’

     Now. Where was I? Oh, yes…

     Growing in, or growing into. You know how when you were little and you would get a new coat for the winter, though in many cases it was only new to you because it had previously belonged to big sister or big brother? The coat usually didn’t fit, it was too big or too baggy, right? And mom always said, “Oh, you’ll grow into it.” But often times it never really did fit properly. Anyways that’s what I mean by growing in. I’ve been wearing coats that didn’t fit right, mostly because they didn’t belong to me. But now I think I found one that fit.

     Ok. Ok. I didn’t literally grow in to a coat this year. I grew into or rather am growing into who I am. What do you mean by growing into who you are, you might ask. Well, it is exactly how it sounds. I am growing into who God created me to be—ME.  No more false pretenses and no more pretending to be someone I’m not in order to fit the mold of today’s standards. He made me unique. I am and was a creative dream in His heart. God has a plan, a purpose, a destiny for me. And I’m beginning –finally—to walk in that.

     I wasn’t who I am (if that makes since) for a long time. I was scared to be me. I see things differently and have been ridiculed for it and never told that it was ok. I thought that because I’m different it must be wrong. I look at something and I see a story around how it came to be. I see what no else dares or cares to see. And I know now there is nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. BECAUSE that’s exactly how He wanted me to be, for reasons unbeknownst to me but I look forward to discovering.

     I have a story that was perfectly written, though at the same time is still in the process of being written. My story is my own, and I’m the heroine of it. But it is connected to a whole network of stories all entwined together to one story in particular (A very wise and good friend told me this). I think you know what story I speak of… but just in case, I am referring Jesus. Oh and hey if you’re reading this, then my story and yours is probably somehow connected, just a thought.

     As my story is written out—before I was even born, God decided who I would become and where I would go. He said, “She’ll face those difficulties and hardships, not to make her stronger, but so she’ll understand.” Firstly to understand, in my weakness I am strong. Secondly, so that I would understand brokenness in order to help and love those who are broken. He allowed me sorrow and suffering, to set me free and bring me joy, all for His glory. He gave me beauty, well because that’s just what He does.

   Is. 61 – “The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted… to bestow them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil gladness instead of morning, and a garment of praise instead of despair.”

     When I was little, like Amy Carmichael, I wanted blue eyes. I also wanted to be tan, blonde, and thin like all the pretty little girls. Although I can color my hair blonde, for a time anyway, my eyes still aren’t blue, I’m paler than a snowman and some days I don’t look the way I want to but I can say with confidence that I am one of the pretty girls. I don’t know why I was born with dark hair; perhaps I’ll be sent to a nation where I’ll need it to blend in with the natives. My eyes are sort of olive green, sometimes hazel brown. They change colors. I know why my eyes are the color they are, but that’s between me and God.

     So since I lead you on this journey and we are nearing the end, I suppose you’ll want to know who it is exactly that I am growing in to be. I don’t know. I haven’t the slightest clue, ok maybe I do but the big picture is still a ways off in the distance. And that’s fine with me. It’s a process. I’m still learning and growing, after all.

     The journey is long, the path is narrow. Not many can travel it. But I’ve made up my mind to take this path and see it through to the end, because at times I don’t really know where it is I belong or who I am, yet here on this journey I know it’s where I’m meant to be and I’ll become who I am. There are rough days, for sure and those days I must say are more than a few. It’s those days where I learn the true meaning of dark yet lovely, weak yet sincere. It’s all learning and leaning. I know when I reach the journeys end I’ll find my way home to my beloved. I’ll be with Jesus, and we’ll look back over how far I came and I’ll tell him it was all worth it.

     I know the end of the story, though I’m still making my way through it. That’s why even now I can call it a lovely journey amidst my growing.

~dark.yet.lovely.~