Already Done

If Heaven has Internet

If their Internet has blogs

and if Jesus has a blog

I want to read it

(three minutes later)

I almost published only that. But I stopped. I feel like He's already written it. Is writing it. And speaking it to my heart. Intertwining all the thoughts I'm longing to hear in everything around me, everything His wind touches and causes to sway to the rhythm of His breath that He breathes out as He sings to me.

So disregard the above attempt at being deep; the satisfaction to that wanting is profoundly deeper than I could have expected.

The Artist

061409

There's a spray artist on the streets of Waikiki. He's a big, built, white guy, who wears a gas mask, probably attempting to protect his body from the toxic sprays he could potentially breathe in for the hours he is sharing his talent.

After the B-Boys, the hilarious Popolo comedic/basketball act, Tabol, Lynn and I just happened to catch the artist spraying his last painting of the night. We watched with our mouths open as he sprayed, newspapered, sprayed, stenciled, sprayed, exacto-knifed, sprayed...

and I was lost. I never knew what exactly he was doing with one shape or shade of paint until maybe two or three more things were added to it. As things he kept spraying in more things, the picture became more and more alive: the circle he rubbed with newspaper was now a moon with defined craters and shadows; the white things he spread with his knife were now little mountains harboring the huge window into his black and white galaxy, accented with a rainbow. It was mesmerizing.

I started drawing the obvious analogy that "God is the Ultimate Artist". I wanted to be beautifully crafted like this man's artwork. I wanted someone to look at me, at the end of His work and have the same look on their faces, gaping in awe of what beauty His creation holds.

Why couldn't I? Why couldn't I be this beautiful? Why couldn't I look like these paintings?

And then I got it: the painting never fights back.

This artist lays his paper down and starts his work. The paper doesn't fight back. The paper doesn't protest being his canvas, and this is why the painting comes out the way it does.

But I, I fight back. I lift my corners from the edges of the piece of wood I'm laid on. I attempt to flip myself off of the work area, because I don't like being worked on. I have the greatest Worker of Masterpieces ready and willing and WANTING to create more beauty in me, but I move. I protest. I don't stay still long enough for Him to finish what He started.

All in all, most of the time, I don't trust my Creator.

But I still wanna be that beautiful. So I'm gonna try my hardest to not try my hardest anymore. To lay on my Creator's canvas in total, utter submission, and let Him make me beautiful. Let Him mold, and make me beautiful. Let Him press and knead, and make me beautiful. Let Him refine, heal, love, carve, crucify, ressurect

and make

me

beautiful.

061009

No.

I won't.

I won't say it.

Why should I say it?

What does it matter if I say it?

It doesn't change anything.

I know I am what you say I am

because you are Truth

my Truth

the only Truth I have to hold onto right now

and your Truth is absolute, but

No.

I won't say it.

Why should I say it?

What does it matter if I say it?

It doesn't change anything

I know I am what you say I am

because you are Truth

my Truth

the only Truth I have to hold onto

and your Truth is absolute

and I know

I know

I know I can trust it

You're telling me to trust it

and I want to

but it doesn't make sense.

No. I won't say it.

No!

I won't say it!

Why should I say it!

What does it matter if I say it!

It doesn't change ANYTHING

NOTHING CHANGES THIS

NOTHING CHANGES WHAT I DID

It's too big. Too big for you to erase.

You don't want to erase this

You don't want this to break your heart

You don't

YOU DON'T WANT THIS

I DON'T WANT YOU TO TAKE IT AWAY

LEAVE me here.

Leave.

You are too good to be in this mess with me

This dirty, filthy, double-minded, heart-breaking mess with me

You deserve so much more

than I can even begin to muster up with my hands

But YOU

YOU want me to say it

You want me to trust your words

to trust your Love that I refuse to feel

trust the authority you have

over my life

You want me to say that I..

I..

I'm..

Redeemed.

Forgiven.

From the moment my heart turned to you

in it's shattered pieces

and I cried that I was sorry

That I just wanted you

Just you

You just

took me in

took my sin

as I hid

and still hide

in the shadow your wings provide

and you whisper Life

into me

Breathe out into my body

as I take in fresh air

my whole being shaking

rejecting it

because I still think with Satan's pretenses

that I

am not able

to Live again

But you

You just

keep

breathing Life

in my hiding place

as I cry to you

You, never leaving my side

keeping both your eyes set on mine

to make sure I see

the fire that burns for me

the only reason I'm staying

is because You say

I belong here

I'm redeemed

I'm forgiven

I belong here

I don't feel it yet

but I'll say it

because I hear it from You

I'm redeemed

I'm forgiven

I belong here

I'm redeemed

I'm forgiven

I belong here

I'm redeemed

I'm forgiven

I belong

Here.

In Everything Now

061109

You're not just in my down times.

You're in everything now.

Everywhere I turn

Everything I hear

Everything I see

I hear You whisper to me

'I Love You'

In the breeze: 'I Love You'

Waking up from a nap: 'I Love You'

My car starts: 'I Love You'

I Breathe..

'I Love You'

You won't be silent this time. You aren't holding out. You need me to know this. You need this to be enough. I need this to be enough.

'I Love You' needs to fill my every movement. Every flick of my hair. Every blink of my eyes. Every single thought, until I'm in over my head. I need this to be my everything, to fill me up from the bottom of my feet till you spill out of my eyes and my mouth and my fingertips. I need your majesty to manifest. Manifest your majesty in me. Manifest your heavenly destiny you have sealed for me. Be. My. Everything.

What It Comes Down To

060809

Something is stopping me.  I have these thoughts in my head.  Good thoughts.  To do good things.  And I like them.  So I let them run forward.  In my mind.  Then there's this huge concrete wall that they smash into.  Full speed.  And they're gone.  Like they never even existed.  No residue.  No remnants.  Just the wall.  At the end of the alley.  Just the wall that everything is running into.  Just the wall.  The. Dead. End. That. Nothing. Gets. Past. 

Nothing is getting past the Wall.

Nothing

is getting past

me.