Something Is Missing

I feel like my poetic writing is dead. I used to be able to wax poetic about my surroundings and the smell of the air and... I'm stuck looking around for the right word but nothing follows that 'and'.

It is like the words have gone away. There are no words to grasp. They have run away from me and then won't let themselves be captured by my pen. The words are free. But not freely flowing on to my paper. Free to run away. Free to roam the world, not confined to the page anymore. But because of this flight my pages remain blank and unloved.

What remains is an empty sorrow. It is hollow and alone. Colors. Colors might still present themselves to me in a vivid array of madness.

The words contain no order. No sense rests within them unless it be a sense of unease.

Something is missing. It's not just the words that have run away. Something is missing.

Do you hear the silence? Birds are chirping, the wind is stirring the trees, a mechanical whirring sound. But the silence is profound. Months of death. The words aren't escaping into their ownness. They are dying. They are dying from their lack. They have no where to go and no one to walk beside. They sit in the land of no use awaiting the return. But they sit in solitude not knowing their neighbors. Not knowing what to do, because a word alone can't make sense without the other pieces around it. It might have the best location of all but with no neighbors to love, it lives a meaningless life of solitude. But alone it sits. Waiting for the life to breathe into it.

Waiting for the breath of lives.

Looking toward the shore

There is nothing more lovely than sitting on the beach in the early morning, hearing nothing but the Lord’s wind and waves. I love that peace. I often sit with His Word. Sometimes just holding it for a while, feeling prayers before I open and read.

The beach is my favorite place to be alone. I just want to sit in the near perfect silence with only the roar of the waves, the morning birds and the breeze. I hear the Lord’s voice in the roaring of the waves and I picture looking out over the waves at my Human God, holding out His arms, welcoming me into His embrace.

There is nothing so perfect as that morning peace… unless it be holding a baby. Picking up a sad child and having her nestle into you arms in comfort, and immediately fill your arms and heart. That soft puddingy weight as they melt into your arms in trust.

I don’t like comparing myself to my Savior God, or putting myself in His place, and yet we are meant to emulate Him. And He compares Himself to a mother hen gathering in her chicks. He IS our Father. So wondering at the tiniest bit of what He must feel when we come to Him must not be too bad.

The open arms over the sea inviting me in. I long for that feeling of comfort that an innocent child feels when they melt into the safety of someone’s loving arms; the feeling in my heart when a baby’s head rests against it.

I wonder if I will ever feel that safety and that comfort and that sense of belonging; to feel completely safe with someone, to feel that deep feeling of peace.

I think the closest I come is when I am kneeling at the Holy Supper railing in the cathedral, very close to the open Word, tasting the bread and the wine, feeling the Lord’s hands on my head as I hear the words “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you. The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.” The words are whispered to me in a promise, and for that moment I feel the Lord’s love on my heart, and I believe in everything that He promises me. I feel safe, loved, wanted, needed. In short, I feel like a real human, created in the image and likeness of God.

I wish I felt that more often. I wish I could hold on to that feeling.

It’s unlovely and scary, but I guess the way for Holy Supper to feel lasting is to examine myself more, and remove the evils standing in my way. Repentance is the way to the Lord.

“The saying of God came to John the son of Zacharias in the wilderness. And he came into all the countryside of Jordan, preaching the baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet, saying, The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord; make His paths straight.” Luke 3:2-4

It is through repentance that we prepare the way for the Lord in our lives. I can approach Him, and feel close in the Holy Supper, but it won’t be a lasting feeling of living in Him unless I choose to actually live my life in Him, and that is only possible through repentance.