When I Was A Lioness

I was such a different creature
When I was a lioness and
Locked up in a prison and
Pacing for the people.
I was so cruel.

I was never good at keeping
Up with all the "oughts" and "should nots".
I did a lot of damage.
I was fearsome with my roaring.
I was just scared.

There I sat lonely and so very tired.
I was so tired.

On the day I was set free
My father came and cut me out of
All the skin and fur and
Teeth that were not mine.
And I cried for joy.

There I sat naked and so very raw
And they gave me a letter
The colour of scarlet.
There I sat naked and so very raw
And was given a letter
The colour of scarlet.
Just call me Scarlet.
Just call me Scarlet.
I'll let you see my scars.
I'll let you see my scars.

I was such a different creature.
I was such a different person.
When I was a lioness.
When I was a lioness.

Anger

It is getting the best of me these days.

I find that I lose my temper at the smallest of things. Well not things. That brings up pictures in my mind of me glaring at a ladybug or screeching at a dust mite.

I mean situations. Circumstances. People. Something rather insignificant happens and I'm off and running towards having a conniption.

Great.

The lighting in here is all wrong. I need someone to come and light this heart of mine with softer colours. Right now everything is far too harsh.

Gossamer

Picture this
In the dark,
The tiniest of sparks.
Gossamer mercy wings,
A holy moment made.
And that shame,
When called out for covering,
Did go, fleeing,
At the mention of His name.

Imagine this,
In the night,
A ray of solid grace.
Gossamer mercy wings,
A touch upon the face.
And that pain,
When called out for a sign of some kind,
Did go, quickly,
At the whisper of His name.

Carry this,
In the light,
The bread of His words.
Gossamer mercy wings,
The cleansing of His blood.
And that heart,
When called out from hiding by Him,
Did go, flying,
At the singing of His name.

I'm a temporal being filled with longing for Your ever after.
I'm a fleeting moment yet still you've chosen to hold me in Your presence.

29

My life is speeding up.

Today I turn 29.

How is this possible?

29 used to be so OLD.

And yet I still fumble for words and feel silly talking 99.999% of the time, I still get scared of the dark and check behind the shower curtain when I have to use the bathroom. I still look for faces in random places, (everywhere really, in the patterns of leaves, in the plaster on the ceiling, in the people passing...), I still get excited about ice cream in a cone, and feel remarkably happy when going through an automated car wash.

What a remarkable thing to realise that I will never cease to be myself. Just a slightly wiser version.

Slightly.

May I just say that Zack Arias is the most amazing man ever?

He flew my best friend in from Vancouver for my birthday AND gave me an iPod for my birthday AND he's throwing me a party at his studio, and so much more.

I'm not used to feeling so cared for. I'm not used to having someone be so extravagant towards me.

I'm so blessed.

If I Could Tell You

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Heaven help me I am so very tired.

Rainboots.

I want a pair.

I want to be eight years old again, up in a tree, my mother calling me in for dinner.

I am not sad anymore. I used to be so very sad.

However, I am very tired. So much so that my sleep is like that of someone starved for food, I clutch and claw at it, and still it's gone before I realise it and I'm left wanting more.

It's exhausting being this tired.

How I love to worship the Lord.

I panic at the end of leading worship, when I "supposed" to pray a prayer. I don't pray like other people pray. I have to remember that I'm leading others and so therefore need to make the prayer more accessible. But then I think, Why? I'm not praying to THEM. I'm praying to Him. And he gets me.

Jeepers.

I think too much.

"Teach me to pray", I said, "I've forgotten how. I can't find peace of mind when I'm this numb inside. Oh it's you I'm dying for."

"Help me to live", I said, "I've forgotten how. I'm tired of waiting for something more when it's you I'm dying for."

I gave you all I could, I thought.
I gave you just a part.
I gave you what I could live without
I gave you not enough, and now I'm falling through myself again.

You have redeemed me.

I am a 28 year old strong, scared, hopeful, worried, beautiful, somewhat insecure motherless mother who wishes I had it a bit more together.

Five of Us

I grew up
in a house with no room
for much of anything
that one could call a childhood.
Our spare living room
with nothing much to sit upon
All we had were bookshelves with
books that we could live in,
books that we could dive into,
books that we could hide in.

We never stayed
in one place for too long as
Father was a minstrel
looking for his lost song.
I made up
fancy things in my own mind
to keep me occupied
from the monsters outside,
from the monsters outside me,
and from the monsters inside.

Five of us,
making do,
when all we had
left with you.
Five of us,
pushing through,
all these years
without you.

The prophet, he said,
that five was the number of grace.
That prophet, he said,
that he saw your beautiful face.
He spelled out my name
and made them all cry
but you still died.

Insomnia

It's 6:26am. I am watching the light tentatively poke its head around my curtains, and am now currently ignoring the way it clears its throat; the manner in which it does so is rather annoying. It's far too cheerful, if the clearing of throats by an ephemeral moment of fancy can be considered cheerful.

Why can't I sleep like normal people?

Why must my brain be forever on the march? On the move? On the veritable carousel?

Maybe the wind blew harder than most other days.
Perhaps the nightingale was humming her song (under her wing)
She did not hear me calling you.
You left before I was ready to let go of you.

Maybe the rooster crowed too late in the afternoon.
Perhaps the old church bells were biding their time (under their eaves)
They did not see me search for you.
You left before I was ready to let go of you.

June.

Heat.

Sticky.

Weird tan lines.

The forever sense of thirst.

I am a girl who can never get enough.

Jesus is the only man man enough for me. When He draws up the bucket, that bucket so full, I could swim forever in the ladle He offers.

How quickly I forget. I reach for the everything else.

Is it because I am afraid of drowning?

Think of it again, girl. Try it another way and drowning becomes a sort of baptism.

Baptize me in that life water.
Keep me low under, till all my old is torn asunder with the kindest of tearing.
It's a sweet sort of violence,
He brings to my flesh,
Pulling back the layers to allow my spirit to breathe.

My son, my Nix, took a picture of me shortly before he went to bed. So, here I am in all my p.j.s and no make-up glory.

Or lack thereof.

When I was very little my mother told me I had my Grandfather's chin. I was horrified to think that he was now no longer in possession of one. I have since learned that he still is. ;-) My penchant for taking things literally was blooming even then.

6:48am.

Jeepers.

Nothing cures insomnia like the realisation that it's time to get up.

A bit o' nothing.

out of the frying pan,
into the fire,
you'd best close your eyes,
love we're going higher.
he's got a shelter
made out of wings,
and mercy,
and beauty,
and other things.
i trip too lightly,
i skip too hard,
circle and circle
my wonderment marred.
that one has greatness,
this one has has truth,
somehow i am the one
chosen to choose.
i stand in my desert
looking for bread,
knowing you chose
to stand in my stead.
i gather up whispers
of moments,
of dreams,
and cling to memories
of times i have seen.
i need some air now,
i need to see,
that no matter what
you'll still adore me.

My Magical Front Porch

It's 12:13 am.

My fingers are sore,
but only on one hand,
tired of coaxing music from a worn guitar.
Sitting on the porch,
automobiles creating a soundtrack of inconsistent rhythm.

God and I hang out here on my front porch. I sing Him songs and He listens and holds my hand and looks at me pointedly when I apologise for playing a chord badly.

Catch me if you can. Catch, catch, catch.

I feel in some ways, that I have stumbled back into leading worship, a weird sort of Blindman's Bluff.

"Hey everybody! I'm blindfolded, I've no idea where we are, I THINK I can hear the Lord over this way...follow me!"

And now I'm on fire, and now I am running, and now I am so close to Him, and I hear my heart in my ears and I just to want to be near to Him. And now the 30 minutes are up, the clock on the wall telling me it's time to wrap it up. Wrap it up, Meg.

I don't know if I'll ever figure out the balance of the church service with the desire to worship with abandon. So I have my own times, He and I, here on the porch, and by the time I'm done

My fingers are sore,
but only on one hand,
tired of coaxing music from a worn guitar.
Sitting on the porch,
automobiles creating a soundtrack of inconsistent rhythm.

I have a whole lot of crying stored up in me and nowhere to put it.

A various sundry of moments...

...that I, if I had the time, would write extensively about.

This is where I shall attempt, in as succinct way possible, what is going on in my head and heart when it comes to the world, the church and our place in it.

You know, your typical standard light reading.

I shall return when it isn't nearing one o'clock in the morning. Which is what it will be in about two minutes.