Questions

Why is it, that while I am searching for answers, yearning for meaning, that I neglect, purposefully ignore that which contains the answers, provides the meaning?

Why is it that I search for God but ignore his Word? Why is it that I ignore what he says while I cry for him to speak to me? Why do I shut my eyes tight while I yearn to see him working? Why do I hold out my arms to him and ignore his arms reaching toward me?

So why do I blame him for the struggles I have created? Why do I hold him responsible for my actions? Did he choose to sin? Has he ever held the blade? Was his the yearning for blood? Did he cause my pain?

When will I be honest with myself? When will I realize I am lying to myself? When will I take responsibility for my own life? When will I search for truth in truth's Source? When will I choose to look forward and not back?

When will I choose to stop existing and live?

Once Upon a Time...

Once upon a time...well, I wish it was "once upon a time." But this is no fairy tale, this is reality. My reality. But just as fairy tales disguise deeper, darker meanings, I will use "once upon a time" for you, my friends. I will tell the truth in the form of a story. So let me start once more...
Once upon a time there was a girl. She was a fairly ordinary girl. She lived with her fairly ordinary parents and two of her four fairly ordinary brothers. But she had a secret. And it was no ordinary secret. It was certainly no ordinary secret for a twelve-year-old girl to have. She knew this. She knew, but for four long years she had kept this secret. It was time to let go. It was time to seek help. And so she did. And the aftermath of that telling was terrible nearly beyond words.
But what was this secret? What secret could a twelve-year-old girl have of such terrible proportions so as to rip her very soul to shreds? It had a name, but the girl didn't know it. She didn't call it by that name when she sought help, nor for nearly a decade afterward. Even now, she resists that name and the label it imposes on her. The word? Abuse. Sexual molestation. The girl had been touched. Not in a platonic way, no. He touched her in all those secret places. His mouth followed his fingers, and he invited her to do the same. She was confused. Was this some new sort of game? She did as he asked, though. After all, she was lonely, and prior to this point he'd never seemed much interested in her. Nobody had. So she loved the attention. And so the next time he came to her, and the next, and the next, for months, she did as he asked. They incorporated all the childhood games into their "play," from paper dolls to War to dress-up. For her it was just another game, a way to spend time with her now-favorite friend. For him, well, who knows what it was for him, though one can guess. But as the months passed into years, she began to realize that this wasn't all fun and games. There was something wrong here, something dirty. Perhaps the need for secrecy should have tipped her off sooner, but what eight-year-old doesn't love secrets? By then, too, they'd moved on to more than just touch. She'd grown breasts, an early bloomer. He was fascinated by those breasts. He couldn't get enough of them. She didn't like this. She desired it to stop. It was wrong, she would tell him. But you're so sexy, he'd reply. I can't help it. She knew he was right, it was her fault. Guilt and shame kept her silent.
It was then that he started forcing the girl. Not physically, no. No, he manipulated her. He preyed on her loneliness, he played on her shame. And so it continued for more years. And it wasn't just touching anymore. Now it was all but actual intercourse, including oral sex, at least on her part. And by now the girl blamed most of this on herself. Oh, some small part of her knew that he was responsible as well, but would any of this have happened if she wasn't so sexy? Of course not. So it must be her fault.
She reached her breaking point the summer she was twelve, and he, fifteen. This had gone on long enough, and guilty as she was, she had to tell someone. She wanted help. She was at camp, Christian camp. She told her counselor. She told, and turned her life into living hell. Because when she told her counselor, and then the camp director, and finally her parents, they believed her when she claimed the blame. Not that he escaped condemnation, no, but she still shouldered the lion's share of responsibility.
But her parents' first reactions gave her hope. Her father admitted his shortcomings as a parent and promised to do a lot better. There were many tears. A lot of restrictions were placed on the girl. The girl was okay with that; she understood the need for consequences, and she certainly didn't want anything happening ever again. And when two nights later, her parents called her to their bedroom and informed her that this would never be mentioned again, she was relieved. She thought she was getting off easy. It wasn't until months later that she realized the truth. Not mentioning it meant not speaking of it directly. It didn't stop her parents from referring to it indirectly every time she did something wrong. It came to be a proof of her utter inability to do anything right, and unspoken testimony of her complete worthlessness. Not mentioning it gave her no chance to seek help, but that didn't matter that much since she didn't deserve any anyway. There was no trust left in her family. Her parents started fighting, and she knew it was her fault. Her mom, never the most trusting, started being suspicious of everyone and everything; the girl recognized and accepted the blame for this as well.
As the years passed, the girl learned the fine art of masking. She didn't call it that; she called it "being all things to all men," not for the purpose of evangelism, no; merely to survive. She lost track of the times she wiped away tears in the car and walked into school with a smile on her face. She lost track, too, of who she was. Everything from the times with him stabbed her over and over, leaving her heart open and bleeding. It was too much, and she buried it deeper and deeper. In so doing, she buried all of her other emotions, and was left floating on a sea of emptiness, drowning in nothingness. Those two, the pain and the nothing, were her whole life. She tried killing herself once, but stopped herself before she swallowed the pills. If she died, she would face God, and she hated God. He did nothing to help her, nothing to relieve the pain. Even though she was to blame, she was sorry, she wanted forgiveness. Eventually she reached the conclusion that what she had done was too bad for even God to forgive, and lost all hope. After all, she knew God was supposed to be the reason for living, but he had forsaken her, and life had no point.
She turned to other things for a while, looking for...something. She knew that what she had done with him had given her something, made her accepted. She turned to those things again. Her mind became a dirtier place than the average porn addict's. She fed it when she could, which was rarely. But she knew this was wrong. She sought help, this time from her youth pastor. He brushed her off, told her of a different counselor, a lady. Have your dad call her, he urged. She understood the awkwardness of gender differences, and asked her dad. She knew she was skirting the edge of "not mentioning it," but she didn't care. She was desperate. Her dad refused. You have to do it on your own, he said, no one else can help you. She believed him, but she knew she wasn't strong enough. So she decided to die. She was no longer afraid of God; she just didn't care anymore. Once more camp rescued her. Once more her parents ignored everything. Once more she sank back down into the pit of darkness. And so it continued.
The girl had no close friends, but she didn't deserve any. She had no thought of marriage, even though she wanted desperately for someone (anyone!) to love her; she knew that no one would ever want her if they knew what she had done. So she resigned herself to a lifetime of pain and tears, sorrow, anguish, regret.
College offered an opportunity for change, but she didn't expect much out of it. All her friends (she had a few, none that close) could talk about was boys and marriage. She hid her pain and gave them advice when they asked it; for some reason, they kept asking. She gave what help she could and caught a glimmer of hope: maybe she was good for something after all. But it wasn't enough to live for. Once more she intended to kill herself. Once more she was talked out of it. The pain grew yet more. Nothing would ease, nothing could relieve it.
Nothing, that is, until one desperate day she picked up a piece of sharp plastic and slashed it across her arm. It hurt, but then a strange thing happened. In the midst of the physical pain, all the emotional pain she had carried for so many years just faded away. For a few priceless hours, she tasted freedom. She bought a knife and did it again. Again she tasted that blessed relief. Freedom from the pain! All it took was the willingness to bleed, and she had that in abundance. She hated her body; seeing it bleed was no great hardship. Soon she was cutting not just for that overwhelming pain, but every normal pain and everyday stress. She worshiped the blade and the blood. It didn't take her long to realize that she had become a slave to the cutting, but she didn't mind. It gave her what she wanted from it, and she was content. She was happy. She knew the reckoning would come some day, but for now, she was free.
Her story doesn't end there. But the many things that come after, expulsion, firing, suicide attempt, mental hospital, marriage, baby, etc, are too new for a "once upon a time" story. Maybe someday that story will be told as well. Not today. Storytime is over for today, my friends.
This is my story. This is my reality. This is my life.

Darkness and Dawn?

You know how victories

Are followed by defeat?

You know how quickly day

Turns into black night?

You know how things looked better

But they were just getting worse?

The darkest night comes

Just before dawn, I thought

I guess the dawn comes

Just before oblivion

I started to see light

Rosy clouds and warm sun

But now I see only pain

Only darkness and black night

Oh My Father

Oh my Father
I yearn for thee
I thirst for thee
I long for thy grace

Oh my Father
I question thee
I mistrust thee
I doubt thy goodness

Oh my Father
Give me faith
Give me hope
Give me trust

Oh my Father
Wipe my eyes
Dry my tears
Draw my heart

Oh my Father
I glimpse thee faintly
I love thee slightly
I need thee forever

Oh my Father
Overwhelm
Overpower
Overcome

Oh my Father
Make me to love thee

I in Nature

The wolf lifts his silver voice
To the moon and howls, alone
He is my brother

The moon shines in her fullness
Lonely in the night sky
She is my sister

The water glistens, undisturbed
By ripple or wave
I am as water

The stone is hard, unbreakable
By force or blow or pain
I will be stone

The owl floats aloft on
Whisper wings, silent in the night
She too is my sister

The sun shines fiercely, daring
An approach to his fiery rays
He too is my brother

Nothing

These are days

When words are few
When my heart is breaking

And life is empty

When I'm floating alone

Lost in the void

When the razor beckons

But I lack the strength

I stare at the abyss

But dare not jump

Then I realize

I already have

And I'm falling

I'm floating

I'm dying alive

No thought for tomorrow

I just barely am

And what was

And what will be

Both so far away

I've only the moment

The stillness

That never ends

I wish for the dark
To see blackness and pain

I wish for the light

For hope and joy springing

For anything I wish

But this nothing

How long can I bear

The grey murky fog

Who knows? Who can?

Time has no meaning

Not in here

So, words come slowly

They mean nothing new

I'm only repeating

What was, and will be

For this is my life

This and the darkness

Oh Father, hear my words

Give me the darkness!

Give me something to feel

Pain or sorrow

Agony and despair

Guilt and shame

Anything but this

Anything but nothing.

O Thou Darkness

O thou darkness
I hate thee
So why dost thou
Tempt me
With thy return?

O thou darkness
Leave off! Desist!
I dare not
Believe thy lies
Thy subtle draw

O thou darkness
Do not bind me
Do not break me
Do not hold me
In thy depths

O thou darkness
Thou has caused me
So much agony
Why does some part
Desire thy renewal?

O thou darkness
What hold hast thou?
What stubborn chains?
Why dost thou
Enslave me?

O thou darkness
Thou hadst thy years
My youth was thine
Leave off! Return
Thou from this pursuit!

O thou darkness
I beg of thee
Turn thou thine ear
Release me, I plead!
Grant me freedom!

I Will Forget

There have been many hurts
But I will forget them
Much pain not intended
So I will forget it
As far as east from west
Has God removed MY sins
And remembers them no more
So I must also forget
Your sins, my friend

Your tiny faults
Your glaring failures
I will forget
Your sinful choices
Your foolish mistakes
I will forget

Forgiveness has been sought
And obtained
So I will forget
I hold no record
Keep no blame
I will forget

It is not easy, this forgetting
My heart wants to keep score
My flesh tally offenses
My mind analyze
But I choose to forget

If you choose
To remember
That is not bad
But it is a choice
If you choose
To remember
Remember also
That forgiveness has been
Asked and granted

But as for me
I will forget

Soul Renewed

To love deeply
To believe truly
To hope purely
These are the things
Renewed in my soul

To find salvation
To cherish freedom
To seek truth
These are God's gifts
Renewed in my soul

To feel joy
To see sunshine
To trust unreservedly
These are now present
Renewed in my soul

To glorify God
To desire service
To humble myself
These things has God
Renewed in my soul

Bloody Leaves

Leaves used to stand for growth
For battles fought and victories won
But like so many other things
Are corrupted, changed, perverted now

Carved into skin instead of drawn
Outlined in blood instead of ink
They call for growth, a different kind
Of more leaves carved and blood outlined

A part of me shows beauty now
A part of which I'm proud
The rest of me I still despise
I harm and injure what I hate

It is not wrong to cut my flesh
To alter what disgusts me
It is not wrong to find release
To relieve the chains I'm bound in

So let "growth" come to me
Let bloody leaves now spread
And then perhaps one day I
Can see myself as beautiful

This is Failure

This is what failure looks like. It is not beautiful. It is not poetic. It is failure. It is lies and hiding. It is carving in living skin. It is blood. It is a perversion of what used to stand for growth. It is a continued statement that God is not enough. It is not pretty. It is a denial of truth. It is selfishness. It is temporary. It is permanent.

This is what failure looks like. Do not copy it. Do not seek to emulate it. Do not desire its pain. Do not desire its release. Do not let it tempt you. Do not start.

This is what failure looks like. This is what it is like to be in bondage.

Failure is Beautiful

Failure is beautiful

Crimson flowing down

Leaves twining around

"Love" written large

Failure is beautiful

Lonely "accident"

Close set parallels

All together - lovely

Failure is beautiful

Peace surrounding

Tranquility abounding

Pain obtaining joy

Failure is beautiful

Failure of God's way

Failure of my desire

But still so beautiful

A Prayer, Father God

Father God, judge me, and when I am found wanting, chasten me. Show me your hand, even if it must be in judgment. I have fallen too far too fast, Abba, at least inside, in my heart. I threaten to uproot months of growth in this struggle with hate and pain and fear. Because even in those months of growth I have not found in you my all-sufficiency. My heart still desires its own way, the way way that has been proven to work. Father God, why is your help so gradual, so slow in coming? I am not eternal, you know that. If I wait years for you to even show your hand to me, what will be left of my life? Is it so wrong to desire help now? I said that my way works, and it does, but it is a poor, and at best, temporary, solution, nothing like what I know you could do if you so desired. What is the purpose in waiting, Abba? I've waited years for help, as my scars multiply and fade and grow anew. My blood is like drugs, Father God...unable to fix the problem, only alleviate the symptoms for a while. But the pain is too great, I cannot wait more years for its removal. I am trying to find you through the pain, but it is a veil of shadows between us. Part the shadows, bathe me in light. Drive the pain from my soul. I beg of you, my Father, my God! Please!

Two Full Years

Two full years;

Years of pain,

Years of tears.

Blade and blood

Overwhelm.

Son and Love

Matter not;

Only pain,

Only tears.

Where was God?
Was he found?

Was he there?
Did he care?

Possibly.

Pain and fear
Found release
Not in God
But in harm
Harm, to heal
Harm, to live
Harm, to love.
Not in God
Are these found.

Wish they were.

Wish God worked,

Find release

In his Son.

Wish I could

Love God more

Trust God more

Live for him

Not for pain.

Two full years

Years of pain,

Years of tears.

Fear Me

Fear me, weakling

For I am death

I will steal your life

And offer you

Bondage, in return.

I will stand between

You, and your friends

You, and your loves

You, and God himself

I promise you peace

For a season

But there is a price -

Guilt and shame

I will free you

From the sorrows of your past

But bind you

With darkness in the present.

I will cause you

To forsake all

That you hold dear.

Fear me, weakling,

For I am death.
I am blade and blood,

And I will steal your life.

O Blade, O Blood

O Blade, I love thee.

O Blood, I desire thee.

Thou art precious to me

More precious thou art

Than that which shouldst

Be more precious than all.

More precious thou art

Than love, and Love

Time, and time again

Thou hast been so proven

More precious thou art

Than honesty, and honor

Thou providest a mask

To wear, and thereby lie

More precious thou art

Than Word, and God

Thou has usurped

Their place in my heart

O Blade, bind thou my heart

O Blood, chain thou me fast

I desire thy bondage

Thy power hast me in thrall

But not unwillingly.

Build thou thy walls

Leave no gate nor fault

Shut thou me off

From love and friend

Thou hast captured my soul

Thou, O Blade, slice and harm

Thou, O Blood, run down

Upon the ground.

Thou art my god

I have crowned thee

Master of my life

Hold thou my heart!

Let not God draw it

Let not love corrupt it

More precious thou art

Than beauty, and joy

Let thine shadows obscure

All that giveth peace

Flourish thou in thy darkness

O Blade, keep thou me fast

O Blood, hold thou my heart!

Find Me Freedom

Find me

Freedom

Hurt me

No more!

Razor

Calling

Must I

Answer?

O God!

Abba!

Save me!

Shield me!

I beg

Humble

Broken

Worthless

Nothing

Such pain!

At least

I live.

At least

I love.

At least

I hope.

I must.

O Christ!

Hold me!

Love me!

Forgive!

But, God...

I'm blind.

No light.

Hope fades.

Razor's

Calling

Are you?

Shepherd

Guide me

Feed me

Guard me

Judgment!

Coming

For me

I sowed

Anger

And fear

And hate

And shame

I reap

The same.

Find me

Freedom!

Bind me

No more!

Siren Song

A tune, half-heard

Floating past on

Unseen wings.

A siren song

Calling to me

"Come! Find the place

Of crimson peace."

The melody of blade and blood.

It rises, falls

Haunting my dreams

"Do not stay here -

Release the pain

Let healing come

Ease aching heart."

The melody of blade and blood.

Whispers in my ear

Calling, calling

Promising peace

Offering hope,

The melody of blade and blood.

Reflections upon the Past

My infant son lies near me,

Powerful evidence of what is

But tonight my thoughts turn

Backward, to what was

My intentions were not clear that night

Did I desire to die?
Or just to leave this life?

If I wanted to die, why tell?

But if not, why put knife to wrist?

Not once, but several times

I searched for veins

But then came the pounding...

No friend ever knocked like that.

I was angry. I hated them

For coming to my door

Perhaps I did mean to succeed, then
I was so tired after that

Tired physically, oh yes -

I lost a good bit of blood

But more than that

So tired of half-trying

Of wanting and not wanting

Of falling and not caring

Of looks, and smiles, and lies

I wanted them to be over

They would have ended with my life.

Eleven

Eleven bloody wounds march down my leg,
And not content, for companions they beg.
They halt not for God or Love or my son,
Proof of a battle hard-fought, but not won.
Strange it is, this lust for blood and a knife -
Strange desire in a mother and a wife.
Anger drove the blade, and fear, and shame.
Darkness covered all, but was it to blame?
To neither Love, friend, or God did I run -
I felt the urge, obeyed, and it was done.
Boundless pain and darkness renew their hold,
And lust for blood grows ever more bold...
Will it ever stop? Will it ever end?
Not while to shadows my knee I still bend!
Oh God, part the Dark, send light streaming through...
Make me a child of light - a child of You.