Behind the Ramparts.

The benefit of pen and paper rests in the fact that it is mostly available at all times. It happens on a regular occasion during the day that I find myself captured by my thoughts, but rarely do I reach for a pen and pad to jot it down.

I probably should start.

Today is Saturday, and it was a great Saturday. John and I took my car to the mechanics and we met up with my parents and little sister for breakfast. Sadly, we are almost never up for the most important meal of the day, and if by some chance we are, the norm is to neglect it due to our fast paced, "I'm running late" schedule.

After breakfast, we went to the bank and then to Barnes and Noble. John immediately snagged a few audio engineering (recording) magazines, and I restlessly browsed about in the fiction section. Book title after book title took me back to many reading assignments from Junior High into High School and even to more recent literature from college. I read a little from Geoffrey Chaucer, TS Elliot, and a few others. It was good to reminisce. I finally settled with a book I'd gotten wind of from a friend and nestled into a creaky chair beside John.

And we read.

We came home and watched a few episodes of Lost (of which I am now addicted to), and then I napped a little while watching a suggested Zombieland. I woke to John playing with my hair, moving it out of my face and whispering that he was ready to grab some late lunch. I smiled and submitted. I wasn't much hungry, but he was very convincing.

It's days like this that form this undeniable battle within me: it's my silver-spoon of a life vs. 2/3 of the world that face the realty of survival at each sunrise.
I read about it and gaze at the pictures oh-so conveniently from my yahoo.news homepage.

Every part of me knows that I am not worthy to live the life that I have. I am a rotten, self-centered person, yet God has given me so much. And I am haunted with the question of "why?" I could have easily been born on the other side of the Ramparts, but I wasn't.

One day, maybe soon... maybe years from now, John and I will take our first step onto the soil that rests outside the walls the American life. And we may never look back. Instead, we will look into the faces of those richer than I have ever seen. We will see into lives filled with pain, hopelessness, false promises, sickness, starvation, abuse, hypocrisy, and lies. The least of these.

And we will sit at their feet and listen and weep. We will walk with them. We will love.

Everyday, I pray this will happen.

Remember.

Worth the Fight.

Today, while daydreaming, I remembered a time in kindergarten when my teacher asked me to say a blessing before we went to lunch. I suppose this was before "they took prayer out of the schools" (which this statement never made sense to me, because who can take away something that happens in the soul?

This memory is special to me now because I can see God gently sweeping me into His story at a fragile age. I hardly ever attended church as a child, but my mom still told me about Jesus and about praying. I even had a bible that my grandma bought me when I was born. Sometimes, mom would read it to me.

I remember that everyday before lunch my teacher would ask someone to pray, and everyday someone would say prayer. It was always a rhyming prayer, almost like a poem, something that was taught in sunday school or something: "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food...." and so on. This was the FIRST time I had ever heard this. I remember thinking, "this must be the right way to pray... I really hope I don't get asked to pray because I don't know how this goes."

Then one day, I was asked to "say the blessing."

I don't remember what I said, but I remember it was not the rhyming prayer. I took a deep breathe...

And prayed.

After the Amen, I looked up and my teacher had tears in her eyes. I don't know why. But she later told my mom how it was the sweetest prayer she had ever heard. (Then my mom wanted me to pray at every family function... I don't think my any of my prayers have ever lived up to that one I prayed in kindergarten.)

I'm not writing this to puff myself up at all, but I just remember this and think of how tender the heart of a child must be. How vulnerable our hearts can be in the days of our childhood... I'm sure at that moment, I was having a conversation with the Almighty... just me and my Daddy.
Yet, my heart saddens at the thought of how fast I ran from Him as I grew a little older.
But how thankful am I that He pursued me and wooed me back to His heart!
A little sappy... but, man, God just didn't let go... and I had no clue that He was fighting for my heart through all the hell that my childhood endured. Oh, what

When I had no daddy... He was holding my heart in his hands.
When I moved from house to house... He was making a home for me in eternity.

He thought I was worth the fight.
And you just can't compete with that kind of love...

Refrain.

Most of the time I refrain. Mostly out of fear, mostly out of self-esteem, mostly out of hind-sight. Sometimes, it is good to refrain. If I were to unleash every thought that came to mind, I'd probably stamp unfortunate destruction in the lives of those so dear to me. Words do cut so deep. But sometimes, it's dull to refrain. Life could be so very boring and "un-indulged". We should never refrain from Love.

I hope for wisdom to know when to refrain and when not to refrain.

But may I never refrain from Love.

Leaky Roof.

The rain always brings a sense of clarity. Everytime it rains, I'm reminded of the leak in our roof. In a very odd way, I love that leaky roof. For John and I, living in an old, crooked, sometimes drafty house only adds to the adventure called marriage.

I love walking in the rain. I feel as if every thing around me is being cleansed. Sometimes the rain makes me feel happy and innocent like a small child.

Other times, the rain makes me feel lonely like a mother whose son is off at war. The rain has a way of keeping everyone inside. I begin to miss people.

But today, I welcome the rain. I embrace it like tears of joy... lifting my face to the heavens, tasting salty rain tears on my cheeks.

-MP

"May he come down like rain upon the mown grass, Like showers that water the earth."
Psalm 72:6

Play. Fast forward... slow motion.

There are moments in my life I wish I could fast forward. All the petty things, like showering, red-lights, facebook, making the bed, laundry, taking the dog out, driving (there are exceptions however), typing, giving the dog a bath, cooking... you get my drift. There are so many daily routines that take up so much time, time that I can not get back. Time I'd rather spend elsewhere.

And then there are moments when I wish I could hit the slow mo button. Moments that I could make last forever, if I could. Like the moment when I first saw John as I walked down the aisle... I could bask in that feeling for hours. Or the moment I first felt God's love for me... I still revisit this one often.

And then there are conversations that I would stop and replay over and over again. Like some of the conversations that mom, aunt b, and joy and I have in the kitchen-- they always end up in laughter. Or the conversations that John and I sometimes have about music or God or the first time we met... those leave me wishing for more hours in the day. And the conversations I have with Maria at work, about life and our differences and our similarities and how much we appreciate the other.

Other times, I wish I could hit the pause button, so I could stop for a moment and process the decisions I need to make. The pause button would have come in handy the time Ashley and I decided to hike Raven Cliff Falls. I would have taken a better look at the map and the distance and noticed the time and the weather before I chose the hardest hiking trail.

And admiring the scars on my knees and elbows proves as a child a pause option would have saved many boo-boos.

I do most of my thinking in the shower. It's always been that way. Growing up with three brothers and two sisters, the shower is about the only place you can achieve some privacy. However, that too is not necessarily promised. But tonight, I thought about how time is forever moving, for us anyhow. We are captive by it. I sometimes think about how time is fleeting fast. My life here will be complete before I realize it. I do not want to waste a second. My biggest fear has always been not accomplishing all that I could accomplish. So many things I want to taste and indulge in. I want to simmer in life. To do what others so dear to me did not get to do. I want to take not a breath for granted.

The life God gives is precious and rich in bounty. There is much to be gained and much to be spent. I pray that I will live fully, learn humbly, love much, and do plenty.

-MP

The Muse.

There are words that stay with me forever. Some words I capture like fireflies and keep them in a jar, pulling them out ever-so-often to stand amazed at their illuminating wisdom. Others are like a deep stain that is impossible to remove despite how hard I scrub. In fact, the harder I try to remove the words, the deeper they bury into my heart.

As I write in this blog and even with paper and pen at home, I sometimes notice that I try to filter God out as a character. It is hard to do because whether I admit it or not, He has his hand in everything that goes on in my life. But today, I am struggling with why I do this.

Once I had a talk with my uncle. He is not a believer, but I believe God is pursuing him diligently. I believe this because he is so curious to what I believe, and he constantly asks me questions about the Bible and Jesus.
Although he is not a follower of Jesus, he is very smart and intelligent and most giving. But one day he told me these words in a conversation we were having: "I do believe that Christianity is for those who are coward and weak. They use it as a crutch, especially if they've had a rough life."

I was taken back. Was he calling me weak and coward? I mean, I've had a rough life, but I don't think that I am weak. I took offense.

So, unfortunately, I have tried to write in an edited fashion. Leaving God out sometimes. I didn't want to use God as a crutch. I never want to be called "weak" or "coward". Who does?

But, in my pride-- I dismissed my one Beautiful Muse. He is the Muse for all I do: writing, singing, breathing, living, loving, going, coming, playing, dancing, eating, drawing, listening, talking, helping, being helped, running, walking, ect. Everything is because of Him.

I love my uncle. I pray for him with an intense love, hoping for God to turn something in his heart that would open his eyes to the things unseen.

And I know those words- "weak" and "coward" will always be there, confronting me like little daggers being thrown by the Enemy. Especially in difficult times.
But, in my natural state, I suppose I am weak and coward. We all are born to be that way. Hense, we put our hope in sin. We realize our weakness and we coward to sin in order to survive. But we are dead. Christ brings life. He is our source of strength and courage. Without Him, we have no muse. We have no strength. We have nothing. He is not our crutch, but He is our Everything. Our Hope.

He is our Muse.

-MP

Pack Your Bags... we're headed [east].

In June, my husband and I will be going to Hoima, Uganda (Africa). I will be returning for my second time. I do not know what this journey will hold, but something within me feels that this will be the beginning of something unfathomable.

I can only think to pray, asking God to give us faith, to give us courage, to give us clarity. Words even escape me now. My head is filled with images of a family that I have there. The smiles and the laughter that coat the pain and poverty that echoes down every dirt road. I feel so unworthy, but they say that I bring encouragement. I don't see how that is so. If anything, I only bring the residue of a spoiled society.

Love. I'm learning to love. I'm learning to love as a wife, to love as a friend, to love as a mentor, to love as a leader, to love as a sister, to love as a daughter, and mostly, to love as a servant. I have a long way to go, but I am being refined.

Jesus. Jesus is love. He is life. He is God. Jesus. If my life echoes nothing more... let it echo Jesus.
-MP