One Beautiful Moment

Five months to the day that I turn eighteen; hard to believe I’ve grown up so quickly. Hard to believe how much I’ve changed, and just in these past three months. Time will tell whether the changes were good or evil; but I trust God to mold me in His hand.
In a flashback I see myself as six-seven-eight years old…I was a stick, all arms and legs and bones. I had the cutest smile ever seen. My hair was always up in a ponytail, and braided. Fuzzy curls framing my face; such sweet innocence.
I remember going to my Grandma’s house, and the funny thing is that all I remember is trying to fall asleep. Against the wall in an old sleeping bag with a red deer pattern on the inside. My baby brother’s crib just above my head; him sticking his arm through the slats and poking me. It would be completely dark except for the moonlight coming in through the single window in the guest room. Occasionally a semi would speed past on the mountain highway, creating a sound I can still hear in my head. There was paneling on the ceiling- long lines. I would count them, raise my arm up and trace them with my finger in the air. I was always careful not to knock the wall, for since it was a trailer house, the sound carried into my grandparent’s closet. Across the room there hung a painting. A mother in her nightgown holding her child; comforting him. I told myself that I would be that mother someday. I just hoped I’d be that pretty. As I think back I get tears in my throat. I’ve done so much that I’d never take back, but I long to return to those moments. Was it really me? Or was it just a dream I dreamt? Memories are beautiful things, but also heart-rending ones.
Maybe I’ll just stay in that memory for awhile. Think about something other than now.

Like waves of the sea and flowers of the field, our lives are brief and seen by few. Yet each one is a beautiful moment… -Julie Ackerman Link

Only one life, so live it well,
And keep your candle trimmed and bright;
Eternity, not time, will tell
The radius of that candle’s light.
-Miller

The Walking Dead

I don’t know how I ever slept that night, but nevertheless I must have, for I awoke to a beautiful spring day. The dawn was just peeping over the moors and the early morning fog was gently rising in the stillness. All was silent, but it was a peaceful silence; like that of flowers nodding in their sleep and a nectar-laden wind whispering endearments to the trees. I was curled up on my side, my curls draped softly around my face. I thought, pleasantly that that horrid night had only been a dream. Just a dream- there was nothing to fear. But I was wrong. As I combed my hair I noticed what looked to be a tear in the lace of my nightgown. I was positive it had not been there the day before. Becoming worried I proceeded to examine my throat in the mirror, and to my astonishment and terror, the very faint outline of hands around my throat, and faint purplish-blue bruises were forming on my neck.
No, but my attempted murder had not been a dream. Not in the least.

Murder

A searing heat hit the back of my throat and seemed to burn deep into my lungs; my chest constricted and I became aware of a pressing weight upon my neck, small hands- but deathly strong wringing my neck- squeezing the life from my lungs. I opened my eyes and stared into the clinging darkness- there was nothing there- I could not see the faintest flicker of light or even shadow. All there was was a nothingness too close but too far away. It was swallowing me. I reached frantically for the hands grasping my throat- to pull them away from me, but I felt only my own neck against my cold fingers. And suddenly, as silently as my murderer came, it was gone.
I lay there gasping and shaking from the apparent attack. Was my mind playing tricks on me- or was this attempt just another of my phantom ghost? The floorboards outside my door creaked, telling of a midnight visitor. The doorknob rattled; I was frozen in my bed. Rigid- staring into the engulfing darkness. The footsteps slowly died away- fainter and fainter as they descended the stairs. The heavy front door scraped shut. I had not heard it open.

The Glass

As if I had stepped into my dreams, her fingers reached for the glass, cautiously, as if she was not sure whether it would burn her or not. Her finger barely tested the glass, and then she touched it, as if if she tried to reach through it she could break the barrier existing there. But as soon as she realized it wouldn't burn her, and it wouldn't move, she had no concern with it. Her deep green eyes startled me and their flashing depths cooled to a slow simmer. They flung the firelight  back into my own calm brown eyes, and the heat burned them.
I had never seen her so calm before- so sure and sorrowful. Her dark hair fell in gentle curls over her shoulders. Her face was almost peace, her visage almost free of the torment that so often twisted its features- she looked the part of a wounded dove.
Her lips parted to speak, but no words would come, a tear slipped from her eye as she gazed into my soul.
But yet! She was moving away- her feet were carrying her backward. A deep darkness had seeped up from the ground- like a fog of spilled ink it pooled around her ankles and then drew over her shoulders and around her arms, taking her backwards.
The peace and the sanity slipped from her face as the darkness grew deeper. It's arm slipped around her waist and drew her, struggling, away. Her lips parted in panic- her hand left the glass with a jerk- yet she reached out to me- pleading for me to save her from the darkness, but I couldn't; the glass, you see, it held me back.

Thankfulness

"Blessed be the Lord!
For He has heard the voice of my pleas for mercy.
The Lord is my strength and my shield;
in Him my heart trusts, and I am helped;
my heart exults,
and with my song I give thanks to Him.
The Lord is the strength of His people;
He is the saving refuge of his anointed.
Oh, save Your people and bless Your heritage!
Be their shepherd and carry them forever."

(Psalm 28:6-9 ESV)

Gentle Breath

I've never really loved the rain, but as I sit here beside the open window and listen to the gentle, almost indistinguishable pop-pop-popping of the raindrops, I’m falling in love. Rain has always meant grey skies and slow days and cold arms and frizzy hair, but not now. It has become liquid peace, soothing my bruised soul with a symphony you can only hear if you listen very closely. The fresh air gently touching my face is almost sharp, but barely cold- and it smells like rain under my nose. My heart is peaceful tonight. There is love in my heart tonight. I know I’m forgiven and I know I’m free. I’m not quite happy and I know I’m not sad. It’s the rain you see, so imperceptible, it’s putting me to sleep.

Grey Mists

A foreign bitterness, like a thick darkness, has settled upon this soul. I’m just a little girl, lost, struggling to fight back the tears. The tears, and the choking despair that has just flooded over me. I’m being bombarded with lies that I I convince myself are true, and I know without a doubt that not all are lies. I've fallen so far, I’ve stumbled so badly. I can’t find the strength to pick myself up this time. So I’ll fall asleep in this sadness, I’ll let the raging storm rock me to sleep; the howling wind will be my lullaby. I’m so alone. I’m so afraid.

Broken Mirrors

She stooped down and looked at her reflection glistening on the water. It was someone she had never seen before. It wasn't her face, it couldn't be. They weren't her eyes- they were too dull. The evening sun caught the luster in her hazelnut hair and flung it out over the water, and the clear depths sang of a life not inhibited by sorrow. That sparkling image, that clear visage could not belong to her- she would not believe it- yet she could not look away. She knew of the blackness of her heart, she knew of the pain that dwelt in it’s depths, and that face staring back at her showed none of what she really was; it could not be her. It was not her.
And a tear, which the reflection failed to see, dropped, and the glass was shattered.

Blind, Tears

I feel so lonely, so absurdly lonely. I hate this feeling. I hate being needy, I hate being sad. I hate feeling like I’m all alone in the world. I want someone to cherish me for my soul and never ever let me go. But it’s an illusion- this is a dream. How can I ever do what God has called me to do if I’m focused on pitying myself? Conflicting emotions are warring within me tonight. I hate the injustice of this world- it crushes my sense of love and peace and just makes me angry inside. I’m tired- oh, so tired. I don’t know what to do. All I can do is sit here and cry; try to think about nothing but the bird songs I’m imagining outside the window pane. My name calls me beloved, but am I? My name reassures me that I am God’s, but why can’t I feel Him? I feel like a fool asking why- I feel like a fool when I get dragged down by all this mess, but I just can’t bear it sometimes. I’ll again yield this burden, but I still feel like crying. Sometimes all I want to do is die. Or just simply forget.

Thirsty

"As a deer pants for flowing streams,
so pants my soul for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God,
for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my food
day and night,
while they say to me all the day long,
'Where is your God?'
These things I remember,
as I pour out my soul:
how I would go with the throng
and lead them in procession to the house of God
with glad shouts and songs of praise,
a multitude keeping festival.
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God.
My soul is cast down within me;
therefore I remember you
from the land of Jordan and of Hermon,
from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep
at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves
have gone over me.
By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,
and at night his song is with me,
a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God, my rock:
'Why have you forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning
because of the oppression of the enemy?'
As with a deadly wound in my bones,
my adversaries taunt me,
while they say to me all the day long,
'Where is your God?'
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God."

(Psalm 42:1-11 ESV)

Bittersweet Tears

Some days I’m just so full of words- so full of a mournfully melancholy orchestra; like trees swaying in the breeze, the leaves gently rustling and, as night falls, the steady chirping of the crickets. I want to say so many things- but they all flow together and mix into a jumbled mess. I’m so thankful for what He has done for me, and yet I still feel like crying. The weight of all I've done wrong is tied to my feet and it’s pulling me under. Choking me and sinking me deeper into this bog of despair. I need to keep my eyes on the goal set for me- the prize awaiting me- the cross that looms over history- the cross of Calvary. I cry because of this pain I've caused- I cry because of the days I've wasted- but I also cry because I’m so happy I’m free. Free and forgiven, safely wrapped in the arms of Christ. Jesus. King.
I don’t wanna waste any more of these days; I never know when the last will come.

Wooed by a Breeze

Spring is my lover, and the breeze my beau. The quiet of spring and the newly-sprung flowers all call softly to me of sweet old memories gone by. Their sweetness- their love. The laughter and the friends all come back to me now. With each ebb of the breeze another sweet melody washes over me. Days full of light and joy- dreams come true and endless possibilities bloom. No fears, no strings, no baggage to claim or to carry. Blue skies, yellow roses, faded. The sweet scent of mountain air awakening from a cold, hard winter. So many mistakes I've made since then- so many paths I've crossed and recrossed in my mind. Faces burned and branded into my memory. No more lazy days; no more young innocence. All that is left to remind me of those days is a sweet, gentle breeze through the open window. Curling my hair around its finger, grazing my cheek with its hand, brushing my lips with a kiss.