Grief Said to Joy

then grief said to joy

I have made a graveyard of her expectations. It will be the perfect place for flowers. I have made her laughter homeless, so you can make it richer. I am going down every heart-road, so she stops getting lost. I am stealing all the noise of life so she doesn’t get distracted. I am piercing her heart, and though the pain is deep and canyon wide, she is safe. Because I am a road that leads to healing.

I am the wilderness, so you can come through to fill it. I am the arsonist, so you can grow hope from the ashes. I destroy, but do not leave destruction. I am the bathroom tile, so you can be the working knees that stand up tall and fight forward once again.

I am the hollow feeling, so she knows how overflowing feels. I am the earthquake that cracks the complacent house wide open. I am the framework for the home of gratitude. But framework has holes and air between and it’s painful and ugly with splinters.

I am the tidal wave that breaks rhythm with the seashore. And then beautiful things come to the surface. I am the rebel that rejects the Dayspring words, so she’ll find comfort Somewhere else. And she’ll begin to remember you soon enough. I am the cracks in the sidewalk, so you can be the green impossibly shooting through.

I am the chaos, so she learns how good it is to cry aloud. I am the tangled thoughts, so she opens up to the Psalms. I am the worker with a thankless job, so she learns what it means to give thanks.

And I am here before you, because I am only the beginning. I cannot wait to see what you’ll do with all that’s left behind. I can just imagine the wildflowers springing up…some even touching the big blue sky.

then grief went to sleep. 

and joy came in the morning. 

 

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Words from the Wasteland

I was gone for awhile.

Beneath the darkest ground.

Cold to the touch– I was hard as death.

Wasteland, Wasteland,

I’ll bury myself here.

Nothing can grow from this ash-made piece of me.

I place two hands above the mound.

Bitter cold in the spring. And fast dead leaves in summer.

Wasteland, Wasteland.

I put my ashes there.

Vigorously watching—half-hoping for the rain.

Whole-needing Light again.

Cold ashes in the ground. Anything, Anything?

Two hands above the mound.

Nothing, nothing. And I am hard as death. Continue reading

Come as You Are to the Table

Hearts full of life, heavy with grief… these fearful, crippled aching bodies that could be whole if only–

arms were spread wide open and weary eyes looked up! Our dark, cracked table is adorned with silence, and all that lies on top are scattered eggshells that we’re all told should never have to break.

The table lies dark because we’re all hiding, all afraid, all ashamed, or all just aching tired. Scrape away the egg-shells scattered at your place, because if you want to be whole, then you’re going to have to break. Don’t be gentle. Don’t be soft. Abandon what you hide behind and– Continue reading