For the Love of Mondays

How is it that I can see so much pain?

Death, destruction, abuse, anger

And yet still love You?

How is it that Your majesty outweighs all negativity

How Your love transcends all?

My spirit soars as I trudge through mud

Trials that once brought grief now bring joy.

How wonderful.

I want to walk with You by the water

Lightly brushing the grass with my fingertips

Sand curling between the toes

The trinkle of water—beauty

How I long for this solitude, this solace with You

Day in, day out

Dancing is a state of the heart

Joy

*  *  *

I constantly fall to attack

And yet You wait patiently, teaching me

With love

I stumble daily, by the hour, by the minute

Weighing me down, my failures

Striving for perfection is a lost cause

And yet You wait patiently, teaching me

With love

*  *  *

I see now

I see now

Blind like Saul, I’ve staggered about

Lost, hopeless, constantly confused

“Follow me,” You say.

“But why?” Is my answer.

“I know better; I know the way.”

Child…

I see now

Your love is infinite

It is everlasting

I see You now

Pursuing me, daily

Little love letters in the wind and all around

I jump for joy, tears streaming down my face

I am free

I am free

I AM FREE

*  *  *

I will fight for you daily

Irresistibly radical for You

For love

I will fight for you in the cities,

In the jails, in the poverty-stricken houses

I will fight for you in the middle of the abuse and the death and the violence

I will fight for you in the crack addictions and the prostitution

In the brokenness, Your light will shine.

Justice.

Justice.

The beautiful justice of Love.

My soul weeps in absolute awe

In absolute awe of everything

Everywhere I look there is terrible darkness

But finally

For the first time,

I truly see darkness, no longer in naïve optimism

But because of that horrid darkness,

I’ve found Light.

5 Things I Need to Relearn from my 4-Year-Old Self

It has come to my attention recently that kids are the smartest people on earth. They see the world with stark clarity that isn’t bogged down by bias or experience. What comes out of their mouths is pure hilarity, honesty, and at times, downright inappropriate. Children are the lights in this dark, dark world—lights that give us hope and beautiful simplicity. Being a “grown up” now myself (whatever that word means, I’m still unsure), I’m finding that the things I once knew when I was young are now slipping away, and I don’t like it. Reflecting on this thought, I’ve found five things that I need to relearn from my four-year-old self.

1. Being Single is Okay.

Ladies, we can all relate to this one. Remember when this changed? When being single suddenly wasn’t okay? I believe it started in middle school that ones self worth was determined by if they had a date to the dance or a boy to PDA at the end of the school day. No boy, no worth—or it least that’s how it seemed to me. Therefore, my school years were spent feeling slightly worthless and thrown away. Truth? No. My honest feelings at the time? Yes.

Today, there has been major growth and improvement in that area that I won’t go into in this post, but let’s just say that I’ve realized that my affirmation will never come from a man or any other human being at that. That being said, I’m still struggling with this whole “single” thing. How does one not flounder in single-dom? How can I use my single years for good instead of just wasting them away ‘waiting for a man’? What does it even mean to be single?

Teach me, four-year-old Amber! At four years old, everyone was single. The adults, no, but the kids, yes. And did we think we were worthless? No. We celebrated each other’s strengths—“Look! Joe can cross the monkey bars by himself!”—and knew that there were great things ahead of us—“Someday I’m going to be a teacher!” We knew that we were worth love and pursuit and that we had something to offer the world, just as our little four-year-old selves.

2. The World is my Playground.

“I can’t sit in that mud, that’s something kids would do,” I think to myself, prudishly. After all, I was having so much more fun sitting upright in my chair with my legs crossed, sipping coffee. I watch as children climb trees, explore fences by running their fingers over them, doing cartwheels in the grass. When did I forget the joy of this world?

Yesterday, I wanted to run barefoot. I wanted to feel the grass scratch the bottom of my feet as I pounded the foliage. I wanted to explore a forest and be a princess, touching EVERY SINGLE TREE. But I didn’t. I resisted the urge because it was “childish.”

What fun is life if one can’t be childish? What fun is it if we can’t roll down a hill or scream at the top of our lungs? When did I become so reserved, so…”adult?” The word leaves a sour taste in my mouth. At four I knew that the world was my playground. If I wanted to explore a yard or scenery or toy, I did (with parental permission of course). Playing in the dirt, wiping snot on my clothes—I did it all. And I didn’t care that I was being “childish.”

3. People are my Playmates.

I’m not sure when this one changed either. Somewhere along the way, maybe puberty (what a terrible time), cliques started. Friend groups formed, and once you were friends with a certain group, it was highly unlikely that you would be friends with another group. Your best friend was your best friend, and that never changed (and I’m not saying it should now).  Not only was highly segregated during the teen years by not wanting to be friends with many people, but there were also severe trust issues as I realized that people could be mean. Really mean. That realization hurts, and therefore I became closed off and unwilling to share my experiences with many people.

But…we are going through this thing called life together. The people in our lives are our playmates, and it is okay to share things with them, just as when I was four it was okay to play Barbies with who ever was in my house. It didn’t matter, I shared that important event with them. Is it possible that this can translate into adulthood?

4. Everything is Exciting.

I remember being young and getting four quarters from the tooth fairy. SO EXCITING. A dollar was a fortune to my young self, but now it barely thrills me as it once did. I’ve lost the wonder of life—that beautiful newness that one experiences when a child, where you are excited that you get to eat off the big kid’s menu, where you cry after getting a stuffed animal.

I was watching a home movie of our families, and there I was, one-year-old and watching one of those toys that flips after a certain amount of time. Every time it flipped, I FREAKED OUT. I screamed and stared at it, and then at my dad, as if to say, “DID YOU JUST SEE THAT, DAD?! THAT TOY JUST FLIPPED!” Every time it was new and just as exciting, no matter how many times that toy flipped.

What if I could bring that sort of joy back into every aspect of my life? What if I could fully appreciate every moment for what it is—a gift that I want to share with those around me. “Look, Dad!”

5. Everyone is Equal.

This is the lesson that I’ve lost that fills me with the most sorrow. When I was four, and even younger, I didn’t care who was around me. If you could talk to me and say my name, I would play with you, and I would love you. I would show you the blackberries in the side of the yard, and take your hand and give you a hug.

I didn’t care if you were white, or black, or gay, or lesbian, or atheist, or Jewish, or Christian, or man, or woman, or African, or poor, or mentally ill, or criminal, or a prostitute, or label label label.

You were HUMAN in my four-year-old eyes, and that’s all that mattered. And because you were human, I wanted to love you.

My theory on this? If hatred and bigotry can be learned, they certainly can be unlearned.

I’m on a quest for childish lessons that contain the greatest truths, and it is EXHILERATING. Care to join me?

What do you wish that your younger self would teach you?

Fourth of July Fireflies

Ext. Christina’s backyard. Night.

I sit in my broken lawn chair, rocking back and forth to see if I can break it.  The air sits stagnantly in the sky, tiny water droplets suspended in front of my face.

I turn to Christina. “That was a great fireworks display,” I say, grinning.

Every year her neighbors outdo themselves with the amounts of fireworks and the elaborate sequencing. This year’s display consisted of a few highlight fireworks,--ones that looked like spiral noodles, others that shot up so high in the sky that one could lose track of them, and tiny sparkler fireworks.

Content, I sigh, glancing at my surroundings. Christina’s parents sit jollily, drinking a beer; the bonfire burns brightly, snapping and crackling to the right of my chair; lighting strikes in the distance. Behind the bonfire I glance at the forest path—and then glance again. My breath catches.

“Christina…” I whisper.

“What?” she asks, quizzically.

“Look,” I breathlessly reply, pointing to the woods.

In front of the navy blue backdrop of the sky and trees, were fireflies. Hundreds of fireflies, twinkling like tiny stars in the trees. After seeing the fireworks display that ended not even five minutes before, I was struck by the beauty of God’s creation, between the lighting and the fireflies, it was as if He was saying, “Children, here are MY fireworks,” delighting in the one night that all look at the sky and give it the audience that it deserves.

“Can we…should we…can we have an adventure?” I look at Christina expectantly, being fearful of walking in the woods in the dark, yet not wanting to miss this moment, wanting to soak it all up like the humidity that was soaking into my clothes.

“Come on,” she courageously replies, grabbing a flashlight just in case we got lost, urging me past my childish fears.

We trample through the grass to the woods, tripping on unknown foliage, finally finding ourselves alone with Nature, away from the bonfire and people. We stand at the edge of the forest path, looking upon a swampy meadow with tall grass, and a path carefully cut down in the middle of the tall reeds and grasses. Christina leads, knowing the path well, and I follow behind.

I take one step into the woods, hardly believing that this moment could exist on earth, as it seems to come out of a fairy tale. The fireflies twinkle around me like whimsical fairy dust, flittering about around my being. Lightning strikes silently in the distance, adding an emphasis of spontaneous light to my wonder.  The tall grass scrapes against my bare legs. Sometimes I have to push the reeds out of my path, feeling like a curious child rounding a corner.

I am a princess. Tonight, I am in the woods. No purpose, no reason. Not running away, not going towards something, just existing in my serene dress, in wonder and beauty.  I am a princess, as my hand stretches out to catch a pulsing light, as my sister walks ahead, leading confidently. Water and dirt and slugs squish between my royal toes, and I relish in the feeling.

And as we walk out of the woods fifteen minutes later, having completed the semi circle path, I somehow feel different. Like I had witnessed something in those woods that was ethereal, everlasting. I want to package that walk in the woods in a box, take a snapshot of it to revisit during a later date. Walking back to the bonfire, all I can do is smile.

“Christina,” I whisper ecstatically, “We just had an adventure!” 

I giggle, still feeling like a princess.

I am fully aware that this moment won’t last, that living fully in the moment will soon go away, replaced by the daily petty worries and anxieties that I fall victim to. But for now, I can relish in the truth that was revealed to me in the woods.

This life is a gift that we unwrap moment by moment, day by day.

That’s what the fourth of July fireflies reminded me.