time – Accepting This

Nine Months One Week

nine months, one week
I can’t help but to mark my life by
the days that pass by without you here
tonight I cooked dinner
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve cooked dinner since you left
I used to love to cook,
I’d research recipes for hours
I’d cook new things every week
I’d listen to music and sing while I
chopped onions, listen to stories and
sermons while I sautéed
And when you left, I stopped really
not intentionally
It just kind of happened

In the months right after
I gave away nearly all of my stuff
sold my home
started out on what I tried to claim as
adventure, wanted to fully live in every
moment, yet for so many of those
moments, I didn’t want to live at all
After a slew of events both good
and very bad
I am here
in our new apartment
and I cooked dinner
on my own, while I listened to voices
that encouraged me
to both hold on and to let go
The skin on my hands grew tight from
the butternut squash,
my senses grew alive from the scent
of cayenne and turmeric
The vegetable broth splashed on my
striped shirt
and still, I cooked

The apartment is mostly empty
since I sold all of our shelving
and we don’t have a dresser yet
for our clothes
This all feels like a sort of
starting over, beginning again
yet I feel so old
exhausted and worn down but
alive somehow
I want to keep going
and I want to keep cooking
I want to be like these many
windows that let the November light in
There is such great sadness in
the people that I love and within myself
and it is in many of those I’ve
come to know
I want to believe that it is not
stealing life, that it is actually making
all things more meaningful
I have found that when I place it
in the hands of God I can see it
differently, it doesn’t make me feel it
any less but I can watch as it takes
shape into something
The days stack up and fall apart again
the work gets hard then wears thin
the seasons change then the weather stays the same
winter sun on bare branches
I am raw like them until I get leaves again
until I cook again
until I become full again

Three Months

Three months since the day that he left
and I am sitting in
the home that I bought
nearly eight months ago
and now this home is empty,
literally,
almost bare
It never really felt right to begin with
and when he left it was
like I formed a physical repulsion
towards stuff, any stuff that did
not have meaning or purpose
or bring joy
And this home just became a house
the walls too thick,
the weight too much

When he left, I could not
do anything about it
I could only sit in the
sorrow like hot glue
and begin to pick up my
limbs, felt like a fly
stuck on paper
felt like an imposter
felt like my smiles were
painted on and at night
I’d feel them wash off
as the sobbing overwhelmed
my body, as the grief
filled out every part of me
and then there were days
where I was light all of a sudden
and the laughter felt real again
but then it felt wrong
and I’d have to convince myself
it was right

It is right to feel joy
even when you know pain
It is right to find relief
even when it will hurt again
It is right to slow down
and it is right to speed up
It is a balance between all things
it is a convincing that we are enough

In the moments where I could not stand to
breathe, I began to let go
and this letting go brought relief
this tangible giving up of things
feels like inching towards new life

When he left, it was like all
the boundaries of time were
removed and emphasized simultaneously
I wanted out, yet I wanted in
In on a life of full intentionality
out of the prison of my own recycled thoughts
in on an existence that does not depend on conformity
yes out of the pain, but I know by now that
the only way to go
is through it
So I have decided to feel,
to be present
I am taking solace in the saying that
all we have is now
because now I can be
And although now is not
always good, or even bearable
It is here

So I breathe, I let go,
I dig deep, I sow,
I wander, I think, I laugh,
I dance, I weep, I eat,
I sleep, I love, I learn,
I watch, I listen, I observe,
I read, I sing, I work
I am, here now
Let me just be
here now
Let me know deeply
that You are also
here now
and that although
he is not here now,
he is full now

To Be Yours

It’s a desire to be in more than one place at a time
not a fear of missing out, but a fear of time
The quickness of it, and the thought of am I doing enough?
being enough, loving well enough?
Never enough and that’s the core of it all
My actions don’t satisfy my debts, my words
don’t earn your approval
My life could decrease in works and increase in mess
and you’d love me all the same

I would make it work the other way, if I were God
I don’t have thoughts on my own that are anything like yours
My thoughts are like dark roads covered in black ice
waiting for a chance to sneak in and crash up the movement of sanctification
If I were God, I’d say
the better you do, the better you are
and that would be more comfortable, knowing that my merit is earned
but I am not God, thank God

Instead, you give freely
and I come up short
you meet me

I am most at peace when given the opportunity to sit on the couch
with books and your word, and a hot cup of coffee
and I also feel anguish in those moments with the knowledge that I can’t
stay in this place for as long as I want
and among the peace there is also torment
the wrestling of my flesh, I just want to be more like you
I am not a savior though, I am simply saved

Simple in the sense that your blood is real and covers it all,
I long for your truth and the shaking off of my hindered perspective

My perspective that is hindered by the daily anxieties that I hate that I have
when I admit the things that truly worry me I am ashamed
Uneasiness rises within me at the sole thought of moving from one place to another
travel, food, sleep, furniture, finance, any ounce of change
I’m embarrassed by the concern that causes my chest to tighten,
I hold my breath when you’ve given me reason to breathe

When conviction runs rampant in my anxious heart,
I am left feeling defeated and undone
I crave to get every single idea and event inscribed on my internal calendar
and carried out into eternity but I fail
I fail to accomplish the simple things, and I have always been
compelled by the complex

This is an admittance of guilt for things that I should rightly feel guilty for,
but you told me that to set my mind on the flesh is death,
and to set my mind on the Spirit is life and peace
and I want to live

I want to live in utter admiration of your character,
letting this knowledge of you lead me away from darkness
the shadows of my heart and the way it sets my mind up for failure
Let compassion be an enabling emotion, leading me to
serve you out of freedom and genuine care for others
Let each day be counted as good because of your work
already finished
And in my lacking let your fullness be
illuminated

Slow my internal discourse, my outward speech
make a symphony out of my discomposure
and let me hear your voice above it all
saying

“Child, you are mine and that is enough.”

Wading

Listen to this while reading

My words are like honey,
they stick to my teeth, to my fingertips
They sink to the bottom of a glass,
get gulped up in the quickness of drinking
the speed of everything

I don’t want to wait to do something better,
don’t want to hang in time and comfort like
I am unaware of reality

I’m getting to know winter in a new kind of way,
not so sorrowful anymore, not so heavy
My depression has become nostalgic in a way,
hints of it rise up when something reminds me of it
I told him the other day that I feel guilty for being content,
and then I remember when contentment was my most frequent emotion to envy

Constantly peeling off my human tendencies, my tendency to feel unworthy
to feel anxious, to feel unwanted, to be self-destructive, to be abrasive
My tendency to slink into fear, to become irritable, to distrust and to complain

I’ve made a sincere attempt to maintain happiness, but I can promise you any bit of joy I know is divine intervention

I’m developing a theory surrounding hardship,
one that is often spoken of but hardly acknowledged
Something like each moment of pain makes you more relatable, if you let it
each broken up circumstance makes you more glad in the whole parts
but only if you hand them all over, the pains and the breaks, and the inexplicable times

I wish that we would speak of our imperfections more often,
but not in the effort to receive pity
not in that self-deprecating kind of way,
no… maybe we could just speak of the ways we are lacking
to realize that we truly are
and to be open to the possibility that we will never be perfected
despite our trials and triumphs
And in this imperfection I rest,
because there You are in my weakness

I want to no longer want
I want my desires to vanish and reappear as selflessness
For my longings to dissolve and to be aware of
real, true needs
To be aware of each person as a soul, a body and a mind
to allow my convictions to settle like dust on my organs
brushing against me so I do not forget

Do not forget that these days are fading
that these times are fleeting
that these thoughts are washing and wading back
into an ocean of your being