if we dug for ourselves long enough

it's a bad day when you start categorizing the happiness of others as compared to your own.
really, why is everyone else living the life you always dreamed of? and why won't they give it back?
you start to think - why do fat and brilliant drug addicts get that happiness? why do they get to raise children with big smiles and strange names? why do people in three piece suits get it? why do people who just throw it away get it? why do parents take it from their children and run? when did we get so bad at sharing love?

how can we all stand underneath the same blue sky and not try to snatch it all for ourselves? we're afforded so little in our lives that's truly ours, which makes gratitude feel like an overwhelming task. we'll never be someone's reason for living, never be loved enough to balance the account of all our pain. we've buried that part of us that resonates on the frequency of others and makes everyone's stories form something monumental - a monument to a group of people who are more than the sum of their stories.

if we dug for ourselves long enough, the power of what we'd find would threaten to overwhelm every lie we told ourselves about the small, petty nature of our lives. it's so much harder to be a bright, transcendent star than an earthbound one. so i suppose i'll learn to live, ceding my patch of sky to someone else's dreams. it's just easier that way.

A Prayer

2/1/09

God has created the earth and the stars and everyone who will ever love me.
Whatever I look for, God knew and brought into being.
And all that I've ever loved exists for all time in the One who loves first and loves best.
God's love is sacrificial joy and willing servitude,
but it is not beyond my efforts
and it is only temporarily painful,
because all that is not love will be burned away
until all that I am rightly sings God's praise
and echoes with all the voices on the endless shore.

We've picked a difficult path but don't worry-
Jesus has danced down it before us.

On Receiving

On Receiving
2/1/09

Open the door and let the still, strong thing in.
Even if you weren't expecting guests.
Even if, especially if, you feel imperfect and ashamed of the home you have made.
Do not worry.
All the cracks will be filled and your mountain of hurts be made low when you open the door and receive.

With that still, strong thing comes a holy host of the broken, with nothing left to lose, singing Hallelujah with one voice and a thousand tongues.
Do not worry that there are not enough chairs or food or love to go around.
That's not what they're here for.
All those things are provided by the God of Gifts and the Master of This House.

No, they've come for those things only you can provide -
the losses you've tallied,
the things you've neither forgiven nor forgotten,
the lies that slip easily from your mouth,
and the tears you've shed over the person you've become.
Pack up your hurts and your wounds and your broken, porcelain soul
-that's what they've come for.
After all, these are angels and you are unaware
that the only thing they want is for you to be light enough
to join them in the end.