love [luhv]: verb

“Hush,” she whispered, placing her finger softly over his lips that were rabid with dripping words of anger not two minutes before.

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and rapidly softened with her gaze of compassion.

She went to the kitchen and came back with their First-Aid kit. Sitting down on the couch, she patted on the cushion beside her, beckoning him to join.

He didn’t want to allow her to help. Red fire still coursed through his veins at the events that had occurred. He didn’t want to let it go.

She saw that he wasn’t going to budge. She waited, hoping that he would change his mind, that he would come sit down.

Yet he still stood, staring at the blank place on that couch that she had made for him.

She quietly packed up the First Aid kit and set it down on the coffee table, standing slowly. She walked towards him, taking his hand into both of hers, massaging his tense palm with circular motions.

“Let me help you,” she pleaded.

His eyes were downcast, staring at their hands--jaw clenching and unclenching, working through the internal struggle. Finally, the tension dissolved in his palm as his head hung lower, wallowing in his perceived defeat.

It wasn’t even that he didn’t love her. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her. It was that he wanted to do this by himself, this whole healing thing. It was his fault that he was injured, this he knew. She shouldn’t have to be involved.

Yet for some damn reason he knew that she genuinely wanted to help—that she wasn’t doing this out of obligation or because she wanted him to shut up, but because she loved him this much. He knew that she loved him enough to help him out of the messes he got himself into—like the fight with the neighbor, which produced the large, open wound that was now on his shoulder.

She led him to the couch and sat down beside him, once again opening the First Aid kit. Rolling up his sleeve carefully, the two of them winced, one with pain and one with compassion, as the wound was revealed. The skin was raw, red, and bleeding—the result of the fight.

“I think it just needs some antibiotic ointment or something,” he mumbled.

Her fingers ran over the wound cautiously, pulling out fuzz from the shirt that had lodged itself in the wound.

“Antiseptic wipes first,” she chided lovingly. “Haven’t you ever read the manual?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The manual. The First Aid Kit manual.

“Should have known that the answers for healing this bad boy would be in there,” he laughed.

She finished slowly dressing the wound, sealing in the ointment that she had used with a large Band Aid.

His eyes met hers once again, and suddenly he felt inadequate. She had once again helped him out of a self-created mess that he had made, asking nothing in return. What could he say to thank her for her actions? What could he do to show his gratitude for her love? His mouth opened and closed, incoherent words spewing out, never seeming to match up.

“Hush,” she whispered, once again placing her finger softly over his lips. “I know.”

to Abide: an Exploration

What does it mean to abide in You?

abide (v)- to continue in a place : sojourn

To sojourn with You,

To sojourn, to travel with Love.

Daily.

To travel with Love as I am at the grocery store.

To travel with Love as I brush my teeth.

To travel with Love as I confront a friend,

To travel with Love as I discover more clearly who You are.

Jesus said:
 

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 

Every branch of mine that bears no fruit, he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 

You are already made clean by the word which I have spoken to you.

Abide in me, and I in you. 

As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me.

I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. 

If a man does not abide in me, he is cast forth as a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire and burned. 

If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you will, and it shall be done for you."


John 15:1-7

Through all of this change, keep me close to Peace.

Changes of worldview.

Realizations of insignificance, and privileges based on outer shells.

To sojourn with You as these realities are revealed and I am increasingly filled with sorrow at the state of myself and the world.

Sorrow that leads me to change.

Hold me near, when I am restless


Hold me near, when I am bitter


Hold me near, when I'm rebellious


Hold me near until the end



Hold me near, when my heart is broken


Hold me near, when I'm ignorant 


Hold me near, when I am jealous


Hold me near until the end

Abiding.

Hold me near, as I am now weak.

Hold me near, when I feel “strong.”

Hold me near when I push You away and choose my own power over You.

Hold me near through doubts and fears.

Hold me.

I trust You.

I trust in You.

I trust that the Hands that crafted the cosmos,

The fish with the big gills and eyes—the redwood forest

I trust that these hands also crafted me.

And that although it is way beyond my understanding,

I trust that these Hands care about ME.

Deeply.

And that I am cared for, I, a little speck of dust

Loved by the Creator.

Job 33:4

"The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life."

Psalm 139:14

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."

It doesn’t make any sense to me.

Why I’m not expected to be strong in this relationship.

Why I’m not expected to “have my stuff together” all the time

And have everything figured out.

Yet isn’t that the beauty of the Gospel?

That we are Loved even in our insignificance and ignorance?

Grace.

Romans 5:8

"But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: 

While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

What is it to abide in grace?

To Abide in Christ as living grace?

Help me to learn.

Help me to surrender.

Help me to abide.

I want to know You.

March-ing to May

Part I 

       I sat outside of the building on a lone bench, tears overflowing like a flooded river, 

shivering with the cold and shaking with exhaustion. A car pulled up beside me and a man 

got out of the passenger side with a cigarette in one hand and his life in the other. The door 

slammed and the car pulled away, leaving the man to smoke his cigarette in solitude by the 

sniffling me.

       “You’re pretty cute, you know,” the bald, musky man croaked after a sliver of silence.

       A puff of cigarette smoke escaped his lips as he assured me that he “wasn’t trying to hit 

on me or nothin’.”

       I was a shell, as I sat on a bench next to a man I didn’t know, tears streaming down my

 face, gazing blankly at the geese gawking at one another in the pond ahead of me. All was 

quiet except for the occasional exhale of smoke and the sniffles that escaped my weary soul.

       I felt his eyes land upon my red, puffy cheeks, yet I was too raw to allow myself to look 

back. I felt an instant connection to my eccentric bench companion, even in my broken state.

       I heard him take a deep, resolute breath.

       “I’m…I’m just tired.” His hoarse voice penetrated the silence. “I let my son down. He’s the

 one that drove me here, ya know?”

      I snuck a look at him as he took another inhale, exhale on the cigarette.

      “Drink because I’m depressed. Can’t get out of it. Feel stuck. I don’t know what—I just…

for my son. I have to get help. Again. Alcohol, it does things to you. It started off with one, and

 then it was two and then only hard liquor worked. I haven’t had a beer in a half hour —look. 

Look at my hand.”

       His strong arm extended towards me, hand shaking as if in an earthquake.

       My eyes finally met his. I knew now—he understood.

       I spoke, tentatively.  

       “I’m here because I don’t know who I am…why I’m here—what…I think I’m depressed…I

 guess…and school. I just—.”

       I broke down again and had to look away, my brain a treadmill going too fast.

*  *  *

She came bounding into the room.

     Grabbing a towel and washcloth, she left, her matted red-dyed hair trailing behind.

     Later she sat in the corner of the large room, walls surrounding not only her body, but also

 her very being—her heart.

Unwelcoming, menacing.

     She had teeth that were cracked and yellowed, yet had brilliant, beautiful green eyes that

 penetrated deep.

“This is my third time in here, okay?” she said to no one in particular.

An eerie, haunted laugh escaped her.

“Can’t stay off the drugs.”

She licked her lips, running her nails through her hair.

     “I’m 31,” she said through her childish sky blue Aeropostle hoodie and regret at lost years.

*  *  *

The anxiety-ridden wife who desired a divorce out of an emotionally abusive marriage yet

    wanted to do “what the Bible said to do—stay married no matter what.”

The track star who had to take a year off school after running her dreams into the ground.

The unprepared pregnant woman, talking to herself to keep the loneliness at bay.

The elderly woman who made her own business and was hiring others with the 

    enthusiasm of one who dared to aspire for greatness.

The emptiness of his gaze, a teddy bear.

       -All raw, stumbling for solid ground.

Part II 

     The grass grows between the sidewalks in little clumps.

     I like these best.

     The grass, vying for attention, peeking its head beneath the slabs.

     “Don’t forget me. Beneath this façade of concrete, I am here.”

     The rawness of one’s existence.

Part III

     I kick a rock down the neglected road in inner city Akron, picking up waste along the 

cracked pavement—beer bottles, empty bags, cardboard.

     He helps me, picking up one piece at a time and bringing them back, longing for 

affirmation—a sweet child.

    We pass boarded houses and rap-rumbling cars containing people with gazes hard and 

weathered.

     Their stares are like concrete. We walk along the grass.

*  *  *

“This is the heart of the slums,” he tells me, pointing me to the jail.

The rehabilitation center on our right, on our left the homeless shelter.

“Hi Pete!” he calls to one across the street with a heavy coat and a single bag of 

possessions.

“Hey, hey!” he replies, smiling. Neighbors.

We walk by other people from the neighborhood as well, all guarded, own agendas.

Concrete.

“Oh! There’s the community center,” he states, “for those getting treatment for mental 

illnesses.”

     I met some attendees of the community center at the Porch the week before. They insisted

 on buying me a cream soda because I had never had one. We talked about roller coasters 

and laughed loudly at each other’s fears of heights. They asked me about college. He told us

 about truck driving. They complained about the Center serving baked beans—again.

My tour of the block is over. We go back to the Porch.

She comes up to me and I hug her, seeing in her wide-open eyes that something is 

wrong.

“How are you?” A question usually followed by “Good.”

But here, there is honesty. The cracks in the concrete.

“I’m homeless now. Spent the last few days in the shelter but it…it freaks me out. The people 

in there freak me out. Had to go to the hospital because I got so screwed up. Started thinkin’ 

bad things.”

She looks at me for reassurance and all I can do is give her another hug and my story.

Part IV

In them I see me.

In their pain, my own.

Concretes of wealth, sexuality, nations, gender, age

All replaced by the realization of our common humanity.

Oh, compassion.

The realization that under all the concrete I put up and

The concrete that my neighbors put up

And under the concrete facades of America and Iraq and Mexico

The beautiful realization that

We. Are. All. Grass.

So raw and irreversibly

Human.

A simple realization like that, well…

It’s enough to drive a person insane.

Psalm of the Early Morn

I want

So deeply from the soul I want.

I lack.

Always lack.

Always striving for more, a taste, a glimpse.

But of what?

What on this side of eternity can satisfy? What can satisfy this deep hunger?

Approval, pursuit, success

All fall short.

Hold me. I desire to abide in You.

To stay—protected, loved.

Every tear caught with the brushing of Your fingertips.

Every lie washed away by Your blood.

Majestic.

Take my weary soul

The soul that is coarse.

Experiences--worldly, hurtful experiences

Chisel them away

So that I may draw closer to You.

I hunger for You

The only one who can satisfy.

The One who has endless creativity

Creator of my closest friends, of intimacy

Of Beauty

Of Grace

Aid me. Guide me.

The path is rough.

Chisel. Chisel.

Who will be by my side?

Who will remember me when darkness falls?

Find me. Hold me.

You alone can satisfy.

You alone will be my heart’s desire.

Lead me, Lord.

I will follow.