My soul is weak
But I am strong
in You
I come before You
Broken
Deaf though I am
I hear You now
Choirs and choruses
Saving me
Singing me home
Wrapped up in a lullaby
And buried in belief
I am wicked
Weakened
Resurrect this spirit
Make me whole
Wreck me
Create me new
These damaged hands
Clinging to Your truth
Falling in love for the first time
Absolute
Unyielding
Boundaries undefined
Wild and reckless
Wings no longer clipped
A promise of the heart
And soul
A taste of immortality
I am only human
But because I have You
That is enough
Friday, July 27, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Aurora, Colorado.
***I've been sitting on this post for a few days...ping ponging back and forth about whether or not I should post this publicly or keep it set to private. I wrote in a state of sleep deprivation and deep sadness. I know I'm long overdue for a blog and I have a poem I wrote in church today that I could post, but these are the thoughts that keep niggling in the back of my head. So here it goes...***
Maybe I shouldn't be blogging about this. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should leave it to those better informed. More judicial. Less emotional. The last thing I would ever want to be is disrespectful of the deceased or those mourning. So maybe I should just go back to sleep. But I can't.
There's a hurricane inside me and it's stirring up broken pieces of things I wish were forgotten.
I remember watching the news in October of 1998 and hearing about a 21 year old named Matthew who was beaten, tortured, robbed, and left for dead. I remember being so sad and confused. I remember asking why anyone would do something like that and being told that at 10 years old, I was too young to understand.
Some months later in April of 1999, I remember hearing on the radio about two high school seniors named Eric and Dylan who killed 12 of their classmates and one of their teachers. I remember being scared to go to school the next day. I remember asking who would do such a thing, and being told again that it isn't something an 11 year old can understand.
A few years later, packed into a classroom with 70 of my peers and 3 teachers, I watched in horror as thousands lost their lives in the middle of lower Manhattan on a September morning. We held each other's hands as silent tears poured down our faces and we asked our teachers what it all meant, what would make people do something as terrible as this. We were 13 and 14 years old, we could do algebra and read Shakespeare, surely we could understand the reasons behind this. But they refused to give us any and told us to speak to our parents about it.
Several years after that, at 19 years old, I read on the internet about an English major in Virginia who took the lives of 32 people on campus. Shocked and heart broken as I was, I didn't ask a single question. Because I knew, finally, I would never understand these acts of malice and it had nothing, nothing at all, to do with my age.
There are always all these analysts and experts and pundits and lobbyists all over the tv after a tragedy. They blame this video game or that mental illness or demand stricter laws. They toss around big words and try to make sense of the situation. They plaster images of the "shooter" or "perpetrator" or "assailant" everywhere. They inundate us with their history of instability or extremist beliefs. They vilify. They make it easy to place blame. Despite all of that, I've come to believe that it would be better placed on the reflection we see in the mirror. Do not misunderstand me, I know that each one of us is responsible for our own actions. I know that the majority of people on this planet find the thought of harming another soul in anyway to be completely abhorrent. I know that. But I also know that most of us are too busy, too wrapped up in our own pain to notice the hurt of others. How often do we walk around with our eyes down, fingers glued to a keypad, earbuds in, oblivious to all but ourselves? There is a brokenness in the world. It is deep and vast and dark. It is also inside each of us. It is the reason why we hate the sinner instead of the sin. I know because I am as guilty of it as anyone else. I am reactionary. I hear about 12 people being murdered and 50 others being injured at a theater and I immediately reach for anger and outrage. But I am learning to fight my nature. Because I have to. Because it is what Jesus has asked of me.
"For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins" Matthew 6:14-15
"And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins. " Mark 11:25
I know that there will be those who criticize me, saying that I have no right to preach about forgiveness in these situations because I am not directly involved. "How would you feel if it was your family member or friend?" I would hurt. I would mourn. But I hope with all that I am that I would still come to the same conclusion: we have more hatred and fear than the world should hold. We are sorely in need of love and acceptance. I will pray for peace over those left behind. I will pray that the Lord take the souls of the departed. Alex Sullivan. Jessica Ghawi. Matthew McQuinn. Micayla Medec. John Larimer. A.J. Boick. Gordon Cowden. Veronica Moser-Sullivan. Jonathon Blunk. Jesse Childress. Alex Teves. Rebecca Wingo. And I will pray that He forgives the shooter, James Holmes.
Instead of asking questions about the whys and hows, I am working on letting go of my bitterness and anger. Because I believe that God has a plan more infinite than any one of us can comprehend. And to those that question what I would do if it was my loved one murdered...I ask you, what would you do if James Holmes was yours?
Maybe I shouldn't be blogging about this. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should leave it to those better informed. More judicial. Less emotional. The last thing I would ever want to be is disrespectful of the deceased or those mourning. So maybe I should just go back to sleep. But I can't.
There's a hurricane inside me and it's stirring up broken pieces of things I wish were forgotten.
I remember watching the news in October of 1998 and hearing about a 21 year old named Matthew who was beaten, tortured, robbed, and left for dead. I remember being so sad and confused. I remember asking why anyone would do something like that and being told that at 10 years old, I was too young to understand.
Some months later in April of 1999, I remember hearing on the radio about two high school seniors named Eric and Dylan who killed 12 of their classmates and one of their teachers. I remember being scared to go to school the next day. I remember asking who would do such a thing, and being told again that it isn't something an 11 year old can understand.
A few years later, packed into a classroom with 70 of my peers and 3 teachers, I watched in horror as thousands lost their lives in the middle of lower Manhattan on a September morning. We held each other's hands as silent tears poured down our faces and we asked our teachers what it all meant, what would make people do something as terrible as this. We were 13 and 14 years old, we could do algebra and read Shakespeare, surely we could understand the reasons behind this. But they refused to give us any and told us to speak to our parents about it.
Several years after that, at 19 years old, I read on the internet about an English major in Virginia who took the lives of 32 people on campus. Shocked and heart broken as I was, I didn't ask a single question. Because I knew, finally, I would never understand these acts of malice and it had nothing, nothing at all, to do with my age.
There are always all these analysts and experts and pundits and lobbyists all over the tv after a tragedy. They blame this video game or that mental illness or demand stricter laws. They toss around big words and try to make sense of the situation. They plaster images of the "shooter" or "perpetrator" or "assailant" everywhere. They inundate us with their history of instability or extremist beliefs. They vilify. They make it easy to place blame. Despite all of that, I've come to believe that it would be better placed on the reflection we see in the mirror. Do not misunderstand me, I know that each one of us is responsible for our own actions. I know that the majority of people on this planet find the thought of harming another soul in anyway to be completely abhorrent. I know that. But I also know that most of us are too busy, too wrapped up in our own pain to notice the hurt of others. How often do we walk around with our eyes down, fingers glued to a keypad, earbuds in, oblivious to all but ourselves? There is a brokenness in the world. It is deep and vast and dark. It is also inside each of us. It is the reason why we hate the sinner instead of the sin. I know because I am as guilty of it as anyone else. I am reactionary. I hear about 12 people being murdered and 50 others being injured at a theater and I immediately reach for anger and outrage. But I am learning to fight my nature. Because I have to. Because it is what Jesus has asked of me.
"For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins" Matthew 6:14-15
"And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins. " Mark 11:25
I know that there will be those who criticize me, saying that I have no right to preach about forgiveness in these situations because I am not directly involved. "How would you feel if it was your family member or friend?" I would hurt. I would mourn. But I hope with all that I am that I would still come to the same conclusion: we have more hatred and fear than the world should hold. We are sorely in need of love and acceptance. I will pray for peace over those left behind. I will pray that the Lord take the souls of the departed. Alex Sullivan. Jessica Ghawi. Matthew McQuinn. Micayla Medec. John Larimer. A.J. Boick. Gordon Cowden. Veronica Moser-Sullivan. Jonathon Blunk. Jesse Childress. Alex Teves. Rebecca Wingo. And I will pray that He forgives the shooter, James Holmes.
Instead of asking questions about the whys and hows, I am working on letting go of my bitterness and anger. Because I believe that God has a plan more infinite than any one of us can comprehend. And to those that question what I would do if it was my loved one murdered...I ask you, what would you do if James Holmes was yours?
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