Friday, November 29, 2013

Eleven. Twenty-nine.

I'm made of stars.
Carbon hydrogen and helium
I'm not a scientist, so I couldn't say for certain
But I know about wishes and magic and light
Distance and stories and mystery
I've squeezed my eyes shut many a time
A 'star light, star bright...' wish whispered into a night sky
I'm made of stars.

I'm made of pieces.
Skinned knees and bruised hands
Heart beats resounding hollow trying to hide the mess
Inside clumsily scotch-taped mosaic
Held together by elemers covered fingers
All grown up but really
Five years old trying to hide the cracks
Of a heart that accidentally slipped
Trusted in the hands of someone
Not quite ready to hold it.
I'm made of pieces

I'm made of crumbs.
Christmas eve wishes settling in the bottom of a plateNear a letter and an ice cold glass of milk
Slippered feet illuminated by glowing colors
Lights and ornaments, wreaths and bows
Please, Santa I know I've messed up but I tried...
I'm made of crumbs.

I'm made of bits of poetry.
Words that cut deeper than the surgeon scalpel
When he took out all the bad cells
Stitching me back together in the broken spots
The spots cut open, bleeding, painful
But cut open, deep, to make me better
Make me whole.
I'm made of bits of poetry.

I'm made of eighth notes.
Half notes, quarter, rest
Little beats mixing and twirling
Tutus and ballet slipper feet
Watching the big girls and please please please
Let me dance pretty just like them
Finding my own rhythm to the song
Learning to recognize the song inside my very being.
I'm made of eighth notes.

I'm made of memories.
Flying like birds through department store doors
Their simple way in not so easily reversed
Rattling around inside and finding new places to rest
Causing gasps and sometimes breaks
Other times giggles and 'oh won't this be a story to tell'
Knocking off dust from where it wasn't even noticed
I'm made of memories.

I'm made of prayers.
Words whispered in the good and the bad
Holiday tables surrounded by families
Sunday lunches. Full-churched candle-lit hymns.
Funerals. Hospital beds.
The pleases and the thank yous, the wishes and the wonders.
I'm made of prayers.

I'm made of hope.
The little whisper that says that
When the world lets you down
When you're bruised and heartbroken
When Christmas is over and the magic slips away
When the bad things aren't able to be removed
When the music stops
When the memories fade
When prayers feel like they're sinking into tiles
Hold on.

Because I'm made of rays of sunshine.
Nighttime coming to an end.
New beginning. Another day.
Second chance.
I'm made of sunshine.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Coming Back.

Hello, dear sweet friends of mine.

This blog has seen the effects of a crazy hectic schedule. I apologize for my negligence. It isn't on purpose, I promise. I'm going to try to revamp this a little bit. I might possibly be starting an entire new blog. But I kind of like the things I've got going here. So who knows? It will be interesting to see how I continue to grow beyond the current limits of where I am as a closet writer.

SO many things have happened this semester... this year. It's a lot to catch up on, so I'll spare you the details.

I've been on top of the world and at the bottom of the lowest valleys. I've fought with decisions, searched, and loved. I've looked into the sky and breathed deep the oxygen that continues to flow through my lungs no matter how much weight feels like it is pushing on my very heartbeat. I think, though, that sometimes we need to be reminded what it feels like to have the wind knocked out of you. How else would we remember how sweet it feels when you can breathe freely?

I've been broken. I've loved with all I have, given parts of myself in trust, and had that trust broken in the worst possible way. But I loved. I loved and I gave and I am better for it. I opened my hands and though they were bruised this time, I just have to keep trying. Because love is beautiful. And just because we didn't work doesn't mean we are either of us bad people, but rather we are just different. I tried and the risk I took was calculated, but apparently I'm still very bad at math. I'm still searching out this new place. I'm re-learning the walls, breathing deep the scent, closing my eyes and soaking it in through my pores. Because this place is me. This place is being who I am in the most real and authentic way possible. And that counts for something. It counts for many things.

Through the depths of pain and heartache, I've learned grace. I've learned how to rest in the sweet, sweet beauty that is a God who never leaves. A God whose love spans all heights and depths. Please listen if you hear nothing else from my rambling today: You are beautiful, loved, and completely accepted. No matter how far you've run, no matter how long and wide you think the canyon is between you and God, it is never too far. Allow yourself to rest in grace. Be kind to yourself. Accept the grace he cakes the mountaintops with. It's a beauty that's unparalleled. Trust me.

I will be writing more, I'm feeling out how to make this blog into the blog I'm dreaming about. If you're still here, thank you. I love you and I'm praying that your day is filled with light and grace.

Sarah