Crimson Red

To the ends of the earth

Till the last man is dead

Till our heroes are buried

And our skies crimson red

We will raise our last flag

We will fight one more day

We’ll endure every fire

Till we’re lost in the grey

Alone you have wandered

Lost in the gale

Fought through each battle

Though you knew you were frail

You’ve now come to save us

But the cost is high

Taken the last boat

Where the river is dry

I’ll sing you to sleep now

Lay down your gun

sleep now my hero

Your struggle is done

Not Forgotten

Charles David Gabriel

A solemn voice reads out name after name, of those fallen in battle, and those MIA. Those names, all engraved on the wall. Several roses were placed under a column, with a piece of paper attached to the stem. On this paper were names and dates of birth. And how many days they were in Vietnam before their death. Suddenly these names were no just the faceless fallen. They were people. They had families-wives, parents, grandparents, friends- left grieving after they were gone.

This wall is a memorial in honour of our fallen.

We will not forget.

Resting On My Shoulders

This small bundle in my arms is much heavier than it would appear. Not that this little babe snuggled against my shoulder is heavy; on the contrary, she was born underweight. But that only adds to her weight. I am so afraid, afraid that I’ll let her down, even though she is only a few days old. Caring for her by myself will be difficult, I know. Diaper changes, bottle feedings and eventually disciplining her, teaching her, training her, and loving her through it all. Raising a child is a weighty responsibility.

And all this responsibility resting on my shoulders.

oh Father, forgive me! {in which i share a piece of my heart}

Let’s just say I don’t agree with some (ok, most) of my coworker’s lifestyles.

And (if I’m honest) I’ve found myself judging. I’ve found myself shrinking away from them—avoiding contact because it’s uncomfortable (but God is the God of discomfort). Just this afternoon as I was about to go on break I noticed that one of my coworkers (the one I have had the most trouble interacting with) was also on break. So what did I do? I purposely sat where he wouldn’t see me so that I wouldn’t risk the awkwardness of maybe having to eat with him.

But as I thought about what I had just done I realized that it was not at all what Jesus would have done. In fact, it was the very opposite. Jesus himself provided food for the tax collectors and sinners. I had the opportunity to share a meal with someone Jesus died for, someone who needs a savior just as much as I do. I had the opportunity to build a relationship in the way Jesus so often did, to break bread with this sinner so in need of a savior. But instead I turned my face away in scorn.

Decontor

I have my gun trained on him. 

But I hesitate. I look into his brown eyes. 

Why does it have to be this moment? 

Why am I the one holding the gun?

Why did he betray me? 

Why did he betray the cause? 

How did he come to this point?

Where he kneels in front of me. 

The gun jammed into my trembling hands. 

The words. “Shoot him.” 

Repeated over and over. 

In my head. 

Off their tongues. 

The noise grows, but no one else volunteers to rip the soul from his body.

Instead he just stares at me. 

Waiting. 

Solus (for 5.30.2013)

“Have you ever stopped to realize just how alone you are?”

Shut up. Just stop it already. 

“Have you? Really?”

Yes. 

“I don’t think you have. Look around this room. All these people. They bare their teeth at you. But do you know what?” 

Be quiet, already! I’ve had enough! Shut up! 

Those aren’t smiles. They’re snarls. They hate you. Not a one of them considers you a friend. Not even one.”

Shut up! 

Please. Just stop. I beg of you. 

“Do you really think any of them love you? It’s all just fake.” 

.... I am alone. Utterly, entirely - alone 

Hypothermia (for 5.29.2013)

The water had been so long ago.

The submersion seemed like it had happened days and days ago. 

Now all I knew was the intense, painful cold. 

My body had ceased it’s shivering, and I couldn’t move to look around.

Everything just hurt. 

My lungs.

My hands.

My chest.

My legs.

Every part of me. 

I closed my eyes, but every time I did, something hit me. I faintly heard someone shouting my name. 

But I didn’t care. I just wanted to walk over to the fire and lay down in it. 

The fire couldn’t hurt worse than this hell. 

cynical hypocrits

“Just be yourself—everybody else is already taken!”

“Be your own kind of beautiful.”

“Being yourself is about the prettiest thing a person can be.”

“Just be yourself—it’s enough.”

Blah. blah. Blah.

“You should join that club it will look good on your résumé.”

“You should really do another class next semester because colleges look for a tougher senior year.”

“You have to pass this test in order to do the next field study.”
“It’s ok, employers really only look at the grades for the classes in your major.”

So be yourself as long as yourself is good enough.

Sing the Amen

How good a God is this?

Every day we break bread

We have no lack

How good a God is this?

We fall sick

And rise again, well

How good a God is this?

We leave our homes and

Arrive safely back again

How good a God is this?

After drought the rains come

He will not forget us forever

How good a God is this?

We see children’s children

Have loved ones for our arms

How good a God is this?

Did He spare His own Son?

No, and we live

And all God’s people said amen and amen

Painted Starlight

Ama gestured with her hands at the entire wall. "There's just stars!"

"Not just stars! They have tails too!"

Ama shook her head and smiled. "And?"

"Well, look! These stars used to be separated, and then they joined up here." His pointing with the brush was so excited that he risked plotting bits of yellow all over his painting. "And here, this star orbited around the whole lot! Then they all separated here."

"Ah." Ama paused. The room grew quiet. "I see. Isn't that vague?"

"It's OK. I'll write about them later, and then all my writings will make sense."

The Second Part of the Dance

"He wants a dance," Gregory thought. He grew solemn. "To dance, one has to think about the other person, and step in time with them. One has to become involved. If I involve myself farther than I ought, then Dirs and I will become a new identity. I won't be Gregory.

"Ah, brilliant. If I don't, Tiffany will take my place. Then he wins."

Gregory walked toward Dirs. With every step, Gregory's face became like a mask, unchanging and guarded. He was becoming the partner Dirs hoped he would be, and after this dance, neither would be the same again.

The Last Lullaby

There’s a crackle in my ear and radio silence is broken.

I hear them, the voices of the last remaining children.

And they’re singing a lullaby.

For me.

Haunting. Desperate. They’re praying for salvation.  Singing me to sleep.

They think I’m saving them,

that when the ash settles they’ll be safe.

Lies.

I feel the trigger beneath my thumb.

Even if there’s no promised land, I’ll blow this place tonight.

Sunsets, green fields,

moths in the evening breeze,

the smile on my brother’s face,

they’re nothing but memories.

And it’s finally time to forget.

It’s better this way.

It’s over.

ellipsis

Once upon a time…The end.

What happens in the ellipsis? He grew up. She got married. They had kids. Easy things to say. But much more difficult to live.

Growing up hurts. It’s hard realizing how scary the world is. It’s unnerving finding out that the grownups really don’t know what they’re doing.

Getting married is complicated. It’s tough to find two people who share the same brand of weirdness. It’s work to stay committed.

And kids. Little bundles of joy who ensure their parents will never sleep quite as well again.

There’s a lot of living in that ellipsis.

Noticing

This evening the azaleas caught my eye. How many thousands of times have I driven this street, and never noticed how beautiful the houses, the grounds? Perhaps it’s the hurry. Perhaps it was the season. Perhaps.

“Don’t walk around with your eyes closed,” I used to tell myself. It seemed terrifying to miss anything. But life sometimes tells you to keep your eyes on the ground.

Look up. There’s beauty to be found in every dusty corner, every circumstance. The green lawns, trees in bloom. Even in draught or bleak winter. You are surrounded by it. Just open your eyes. 

response

Hi! My name is Kelly to! I am six! How are you? I am good. I love flamingos! They are my favorite animal. Is your flamingo pretty? I like plaid! Could he keep the monsters out of my closet? Does your flamingo have a name? I would love to have your flamingo if you can not have him. Where do you live? Could he fly to my house? I can not wait to meet him! Can you send me a picture? My address is on the envelope! I am glad you love flamingos! I hope you like college!

Sincerely,

Kelly