A Consession

Traces and signs and blessings from God may offer full proof of his existence. And they do, to me. But, "The vestiges of God aren't God." A friend told me. Seeing a fingerprint is surely one thing - but feeling a hand brushed against one's forehead is quite another. Are the vestiges supposed to be enough? Even the blessings only quench the thirst for a little while. There must be a better way to interact with the Truth. A stronger way to love. I believe I could collect a library of bird artifacts, but not until I had an actual canary in my closet, could I ever hear it's song.

What remains.

Beauty remains.

Hope remains.

Joy in this grey day.

Giddy sips of warm coffee.

Cozy resilience, making little efforts.

I can listen to Miss Marie Andrews, and 

know that true beauty will ascend struggle.

A fire burns away, leaving white ash, concealing sculpted glass,

That drips still a bit... 

I don't feel I see God in every moment, but sometimes, there are glimpses, and when they come, I will thank Him. The Truth is never tied up with threads of despair. Unravel my parts, and make sturdy spools of the things that will remain. 

Immature Post

There are some things that must be said of several recent occurrences...

I just have to record this, because it's the weirdest thing ever and it's never happened to me before. Yesterday I ate a sandwhich, and then I blew my nose, and I BLEW OUT A HUNK OF BREAD. What the heck?! I didn't even feel it go into my nose, I just looked at this big booger in my tissue, and realized, upon closer inspection, that it was actually not a booger, and in 

fact bread. What is this life!?!

Secondly, earlier in the week, I went to an allergist, where they pricked my back, and after a careful study of it, proclaimed that I was, amongst other things, most severely allergic to dust-mite-poop. This was sad news, as the little devils are most hard to escape unless you sleep on a sheet of aluminum, so I've spent yesterday and today undustifying my cabin. This included getting an allergy mattress cover, and pillowcases, washing everything in hot water and getting rid of oodles of hanging fabrics and excess crap, oh and vacuuming for the first time since January (I usually just sweep my carpet - ok, that sounds way grosser now that I've written it). But the whole point of recording all of this, is that I can report after all of it, that my room is a much nicer place to be. Simplifying to the things we actually really want and like makes us feel more connected to each little thing, because it's made the cut. My mind excels in order and aesthetics and sentimentality. So, now I have these things, and sneeze-free too!

Lastly, I was babysitting today, a little bundle of angry-bovine infected cuteness. (She has hand, foot and mouth disease - but I call it mad-cow) She totally was a mad cow today too, but that's besides the point. She was emotionally all over the place, and didn't know WHAT she wanted. Gosh, the things we can finally see in ourselves when we look into others. But that is also besides the point. The POINT is that some house cleaners came over. One was the sweetest,  w i d e s t,  friendliest, toothless Mexican mama, and was along with her husband, and teenage daughter. The woman was so sweet, and an essential cooing, cheek-pinching abuella with little Zoe, she just had that touch. At one point, she even made her stop crying (because I wouldn't let her keep eating cat-food - I know, I'm cruel).  Well, when the house-cleaners left, I went inside and found this beautifully type-written note card that had a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote on it:

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year."

I literally gasped and such a great cloud of sunset-colored hope filled me up. Some words, and some placements, and some people have a way of hitting you so hard, just right. I don't know if this was left by the cleaners, or if they found it tidying up, but either way, it was purposely placed, and my ladies and my gentlemen, it got me right in the pot-bellied mad-cow bull's-eye!

Of all the prayers to answer, GOD, LET. THIS. BE. TRUE!!!!!!!!!

Song

You said you had a song to play me. I was both nervous and excited. You said it was the truest one you'd ever written. You strummed a little -  and I could tell it would be sad, weighted with heartbreak and discomfort... But while also ringing with lovely bells of truth. You said, don't be sad, not completely, because at the end of it, it turns into "The Universe" by Gregory Alan Isakov.

A mean old church lady said we had to get out of the sanctuary, and find somewhere else to play. She led me to a room off to the side, and you said you would follow. I waited there a long time. With each passing minute I grew more anxious, fearful you would never come. At this moment, too, I started to feel the morning reach inside my dream, trying to wake me. But I fought to stay asleep, to hear you. I placed my ear against the wall, hoping you were somewhere out there, playing it and I could hear it's faint echo. Slowly, the morning light was too strong, and poured in on my face, and I couldn't stay asleep anymore. I woke up.

I know it was just a dream, 

but somehow this morning, 

I'm waiting still to hear it.

In not being defeated.

There is a pendulum, 

Swaying from corner to corner,

on one pass it hisses: "You are nothing",

but after "believe in great things"

Knowing both will always be there,

I'm choosing to listen to the voice that ignites

Bravery and belief.

I won't hibernate,

I won't hide, or sink my head low.

There is still good in today.

And each day after that,

And a parade of tasks awaits,

That are all good and worthy,

And beckoning us to partake.

Because giving up could never 

produce a better way.