Needing the Weeds

It was a long walk - a very long walk - and a dry walk. The air was dry, the ground was dry, and my throat was dry. I kept my eyes on the ground watching for scurrying animals or, even worse, scorpions. There was tall rustling grass just plagued with ticks, I could feel it, and dry underbrush that was home to some rattlesnake nest I'm sure I was close to trampling.

We walked through the gulley following the very non-descript map we had been given and it was feeling a little eerie. The trees were dead. The grass was dead. That armadillo was dead. Everything, it seemed, had been drained of life and I gave up any hope of seeing something that was thriving in that deserted place.

Then, in the basin of the parched gulley, we came across the weeds. The ground was dry and cracked all around it, and the bright green of the leaves lay in stark contrast to the gray-brown dirt which surrounded them. There was no moisture in the dirt, but somehow these weeds had been able to grow strong, to dig in their roots, and even to multiply. In the middle of such a desperately dry place the weeds took on a unique kind of beauty.

They were life.

Now don't get me wrong, I know they were just weeds. They had no colorful flowers. No long intricate stems. No intoxicating aroma. In any garden they would've been an eyesore, but in the middle of what could otherwise be deemed a wasteland, they were awesomely beautiful. Life had grown out of a dry, cracked riverbed and stood (albeit 1/4 in. off the ground) as a testimony that it was, indeed, fertile ground.

I've had a lot of "dry seasons" that closely resemble the Texas landscape. Parched and cracked and desperately needing refreshment while the proverbial vultures wait on the branches overhead for me to give in. I go through seasons where I just feel empty of all life, and it's hard for me to remember what life even looked like in me.

When was I ever refreshing? When was I ever weighed down by His fruit? When was the last time someone stopped to look at the beauty in my life?

But there are also those weeds that somehow seem to pop up without any nourishment or any warning: an encouraging word from someone, a tearful prayer, a moment of meaningful worship, or sudden clarity about a verse of Scripture. They're nothing fancy - no elaborate spiritual masterpieces. These are just small, simple things that stand as testimony in my life that, however dry or desperate the terrain may be, the Spirit is never done with His work in me.

I'm learning to love the weeds. They let me know I'm still alive.

But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
He will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.
~Jeremiah 17:7-8

Exodus

you've been with me
so long
now I want to know

I want to hear you
say your name
in your voice
tell me who you are
show me what you're like
reveal your heart to me
all the good that's in you

come to me
speak to me
but only pass by me

because I'm afraid
of who you are

And the LORD said, "I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you and I will problaim my name, the LORD, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But," he said, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live."
~Exodus 33:19-20

Alone on a mountaintop Moses pleaded with God to give him some answers. The LORD had shown Himself faithful time after time throughout the entire story, but at this point in Moses' need he just wanted to see God.

God, in all His goodness, holiness, mercy, and compassion chose to reveal Himself, and yet conceal Himself. He gave Moses the glimpse he was asking for, the promise and hope he craved, and the intimacy and presence for which most of us are too timid to ask. At the same time, who He is was too much for Moses, and in His mercy He witheld enough of Himself to spare Moses' life.

This is God in Exodus. This is God as He reveals Himself to His chosen people, fulfilling the promises He made to them in the beginning.

This is the veiled unveiling.

Genesis

"I will"
I said
and you laughed

I reminded you
when you lied
(and stole, and cheated)

I repeated it
when we fought
and you walked away

My words
are yours
to have and hold

not because you're beautiful
but because they're mine

I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.
~Genesis 28:15b

That promise, that hope, that faithfulness that God promised to Jacob when nothing seemed to be working out or making much sense...that is the theme of Genesis. Beginning in the Garden God has been working all things toward completion, and He will not stop until He has kept every last one of His promises.

God promised Abraham and Sarah, and they laughed.
Jacob stole his way into the promise, lied to his father, and cheated his brother. Jacob wrestled with God himself then demanded a blessing.

But no matter what happens (or happened) to merit His rejection, His promise is trustworthy because of who He is and because He is the one who made it.

ramblings of a rusty writer

I haven't written in a while. Well, I have written, but it was more to fill space than anything. I guess I'm just in one of those funks where it's not only hard to find the time to write, but when I do sit down, nothing comes. The following are 3 things that "flowed", for the most part unedited. They're not very good, and they're not intended to be. They are merely my efforts to get myself going again - a jump start, if you will. Please don't judge me (or my writing) based on what you see here. Judge merely my effort to get myself back to doing something I love.

Writer's Block
Searching, pulling, reaching (fishing)
hoping to find something
anything
that reminds me of yester(day)(month)(year)

fingers tracing, pointing (cold)
wishing to grasp
an idea
(not even a masterpiece)

sighs falling from my mouth to the floor
with a thud
longing to be light again
to be full again

sighs that can't seem to find the words.




The Poet
She sits, uninspired
twirling a pen
between her cold fingers

The baby squirms on the floor
reaching for a toy,
finding satisfaction with a sock

There's a fly in the window
*tap tap tap*
trying to find an opening

She cracks the window
the fly escapes (the baby cries)
"Looks like snow"

She scoops up the child
turns out the light
and walks through the dark room

"I hope something inspires me tomorrow."




Confessions of an English Major (and double writing minor)
I was almost a math major. I really don't like Brit Lit. My "ideal evening" does not include settling in with a good book. I still claim that Crime and Punishment is my favorite book even though I haven't read it since that one time in high school. I love poetry, but only from certain eras and certain authors, otherwise I just don't get it. I've never read The Canterbury Tales, even though I took an entire course on Chaucer in college. I rarely ever proofread. I haven't written down most of my "good" ideas because I don't have a long enough attention span to complete them. I have a number of plays in my head that no one will ever know about or see. I don't think I'm a very good writer and I'm very rarely pleased with my work. I hate journaling. I've lost most of the hard copies of everything I wrote before and during college and I never saved my grad school writings, so they perished with my hard drive. I notice every time someone says "I'm doing good" (in case you're not uptight about it like I am, you're not doing good, you're doing well). I like poetic language, so poems or prose that have lines like "her sticky lips pressed / together" irk me (this is also why I don't like country music). I'm really bad at grammar. I studied Old English which, although beautiful, has proven to be completely useless. I don't have the patience to endure most novels. I'm still not completely sure of all of the symbolism and motifs in The Heart of Darkness. I never read The Scarlet Letter because I had the Cliff's Notes for it. In college I claimed that my spiritual gift was B.S. I don't like editing. I'd rather watch the movie than read the book.