The Gumblers - A Children's Tale

These are the gumbler stories I tell
Of their lives in a murkey, blackened realm,
Alight with only a beam from above
That glowed on the ground around a well,
Those creatures loved the liquids bright
So they cupped them in bubbles of silver delight.
Clink, clunk, clink, clunk
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.

There were three gumbler girls with scrawny hips
And lipsticks that smeared on their thin-cracked lips,
With grim-green necks all draped in jewels,
They drew a slew of gumbler fools
To bewitch them all with bubbles twinkling
Between their fingers, fat and wrinkling.
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.

There was a giant mole with crooked hands
Lugging six buckets of water to lands
Where gumblers wanted more than their share,
Promising one day a bucket he’d spare,
So gumblers came from far and wide
Fastened their chains, and followed behind.
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.

There once was a gumbler who chased the mole,
Then fell right into a mercury hole!
And everyone sighed and clucked and said,
“He should have seen that crater ahead,
We’d help him get out, if only we could,
But one mile more and a bucket we’ll hold!”
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.

That poor gumbler did sit all night in the pit
Where no one else saw him throwing a fit
He knew not what to do with no light
On which to fix his eyes through the night
He wailed and—yes—he cried, he did,
For waterless, he had never been
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
Was the time I heard a gumbler cry,
His eyes were dull and his face was sunk,
And he knew not to look to the lighted sky.

And that gumbler was sad until he saw
Such a sight he had never seen at all
A gumbler who did not look like the rest
For she held no bubble of happiness
With hands scot-free and skin aglow
Her eyes were locked on a heavenly flow.
Click, thrive, click, revive,
Was the time a gumbler ceased to cry,
His eyes were at rest, and his face, alive,
When he gazed for love of the lighted sky.

Illusive.

Wonder wells with dreams in my watery eyes.
A touch, a wrinkle, a smirk.
All feeling was forgotten until the bright-eyed phantom came...
We press our gaze through blurry windows
For arcane sky and moving planes.

Escaping in its soft, but brilliant light
We light it up and live to love and wisp away like paper.
Illusive. Transient as feather.
Like birds who fly and fly from place to place
With sweeping grace to spiraling down
We lit it up and lived for love and sang a lovely song,
Dreaming.
Waking to a hollow sound.

Starvation After Fill.

I was hungry, but not starved. Walking through the forest, my legs were tired, but I could go on. The air was chilly but not freezing.

Then I passed a house with broken shutters
And would have kept on going but--

A boy outside with brilliant eyes played thoughtfully with nature's toys.
Curiosity slowed me, I thought the colors interesting
Then in stillness, surrounding me, were memories of a million joys.

Stopping let my body feel its longing to rest.
The sweeping scent of food was one I knew that I could not forget.
The air seemed colder now for thought
of the spell a crackling fire brought
Years ago.

I didn't want to be trapped, I had places to see.
What if stopping there meant that I would never leave?
Fingers rested on the knob, debating what to do...

Then vidid flash of poverty, freezing in the snow
Thrown out from inside, the nights of resting warm
That gnawing pain of hunger made me vomit
but never could I die from it,
only wait in it.

That is why I started moving.

I will not forfeit motion, my saving grace from hell
I've learned to love the chill of morning, fatigue that keeps my legs from stopping.
I'd rather have hunger unrealized than starvation after fill.

Aim for Want, and Cause for War

From restful stillness I awake in
Boldness; dawning day and brilliant light
And coldness; Wrapped inside the morning haze,
Is fullness I've never felt before.

Broken beauty meets me,
On streets where so completely
Ruined relics lie unconscious to their mastery.

Oh, these are pages I couldn't read before.

In winter I was filled with love so ancient
His visage I would dream but could not trace it
Till in springtime I lay quiet, waiting, vacant
For an anchor and a song.

Then a summer I never knew would come
Came in colors I couldn't see before
There were rains that I never knew could pour
Such brilliant hues on a pallid world

It's a love like this I was waiting for
To give aim for want; and cause for war.

Order

Order is beautiful.

Beauty being my highest value, and organization being my severest fault, I'm newly surprised and challenged by their necessitation of the other.

I fell in love with beauty a long time ago, but it has only been recently that I've drawn to consciousness the subconscious way I've been living. Whenever I catch glimpses of the beautiful, it is in that moment that I feel most alive--it is there that I meet God. Since I was young I have sought out beauty in my creations, my surroundings, in others,--basically in anything that enters my sphere of contact. Except beauty was always birthed through innate intuition, emerging from the unknown. Accident inspired creation. It was luck or chance who bore the gifts of genius and excellence.

But I've discovered that appreciation for beauty was in no way my ingenious invention. It was taught to me through the nature of reality. When I look around this vast cosmos I see the meticulous functions by which it operates. This universe filled with gorgeous design, art, and wonder, has solely shaped my idea of the beautiful. And so if I am in love with beauty, I must love order too.

They are inseparable. The only other alternative is cute absurdity. Cleverness. "Interestingness." And as Dallas Willard has said, absurdity and cuteness are “fine to chuckle over and perhaps to muse upon. But they provide no shelter or direction for being human.”

I want something more. If possible, what I'm really after is the highest form of the beautiful.

God was the master artist of this world that has taught me to love beauty. I'm humbled. I want to forfeit my method to creating and learn His. I'm seeing Genesis in a new light. Sort of an instruction manual for the artist. The creator. The human.



(This picture is thematic of my life. Disordered, with potential, but operating without unity of thought or expression. My new goal is purity. Simplicity. Then sparkle ;)

Sex Trafficking

When broken people in a fallen world decide that they will fight, suffer, and live and to maintain what is beautiful in this life, I think there is little else as as moving to watch unfold.

Today about six hundred people raised half a million dollars and came together to walk for the organization STOP CHILD TRAFFICKING NOW. A few minutes before they were about to break the ribbon to kick it off, I watched one of the leaders give a hug to a woman on the sidelines wearing a huge, glowing smile. Their whole demeanor was wrapped in joy, with a sense of "we did it." All of those long hours event planning, marketing, recruiting, hiring, advertising, all of those sleepless nights finally paid off and they stood their witnessing the fruit of it.

It reminds me of the verse, “May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us, establish the
work of our hands for us, yes, establish the work of our hands.” (Ps 90:17)

There was a time I believed comfort was my highest desire. Safe parameters.

But the breathless awe, the fire, the influx of joy that flows from a heart ruined for this world and determined to bring about the good is far more beautiful in comparison. I could never have enacted the shift of desire on my own.

Like new eyes seeing new light,
In the same room with the same song
When indifferent for so long,
Now-I'm melody, I am love-struck

The Poetry of You

I always hoped to find escape in beauty's arms
All my thoughts are ecstasy; I dream to be alive.

Dear crippling affection
I dive, I sink, I love to have to lean on you.
Fictitious perfection
How much longer must I wait for you?

Until fadeaway mystery
You were nothing that you claimed to be,
When saccharine rapture made me
Sick in moments after.

Oh crippling affection
No longer will I lean on you.
Fictitious perfection
I will not put my faith you.

So with watery eyes that want but can't
Will the hearts half-love to stay
and live forever in the ache,
Prudence forces me to break all ties
And vainly hope its promise true;

That I must leave, for I can only love
The poetry of you.

Choose Your Bible Well

Summer nights at Barnes n' Nobles have that purposeless, wonderful quality. On one of these, I started skimming through "Eat That Frog"--a time management book which I was hoping would somehow provide the remedy for my severe organizational issues. I slowly lapsed into life planning mode. I began to see this picture of myself as the glistening wonder of perfection who accomplished all she set out to do. I would be organized. Successful. A vision of beauty. Lets be real, all I needed to do was memorize each principle and force it into habit.

After the second chapter, I put it down and started regurgitating all of the information to the helpless victim, my mother, sitting across table. Surprisingly, in my ramble emerged a profound realization--but not for its uniqueness in the intellectual heights of academia. It was an idea of a homely quality. We would pass by it on the street a hundred times without looking twice. But simplicity often triumphs complexity in terms of power and life-transformation. As Dallas Willard puts it, "the truly powerful ideas are the ones that never have to justify themselves."

I said something to the effect of, "Mom, this book has really good points, but the reason why I'm uncomfortable modeling my life habits out of it is because I don't know if the goal of life is effectiveness."

I promise I'm not just playing Mrs. philosophical here to be cute or clever. Getting to the root of things actually makes a huge difference, the reason being that all of our lives are concretely directed and shaped by what we think is most important. I'm going to call this functional value system that guides us our "Bible." Your Bible could be the randomness of your desires at whim. It could be a combination of what school has taught you is important, and the values your family raised you with. We all need one; we all have one. If our choices shape our lives, and if our choices are dependent on our Bibles, I guess its kind of important what those Bibles are saying. So we face three problems:

The first is a matter of familiarity versus legitimacy. We get so used to living a certain way and dealing with the consequences, that we often fail to see the importance of re-thinking why we're doing something, and whether or not its a legitimate reason.

The second problem is that too many of us let our immediate external influence, literally, decide what our values are. Whether its contemporary culture, family, friends, or books we've been exposed to.

And the third problem is our lack of confidence in the fact that we are fully capable, in the most practical way, of changing our values and habits to crate a different life for ourselves.

Point blank: Our values dictate our choices; our choices create our lives.

And that is why I am uncomfortable with the way Eat That Frog toots the horn of time management for the purpose of being as-effective-as-possible. I think its great to get things done in a timely manner, however, efficiency is a poor Bible. The success so chased after that efficiency makes a reality will definitely bring you moderate happiness. But you won't be thriving. Because you were not made to be merely efficient. All of your make-up was fashioned for something more profound, more beautiful.

Do we want to be human doings or human beings? Is the purpose of life to make every minute count and be so conscious of the counting?

Really, now, what should our Bible's be saying? I think it would do us all a great service to blow off the dust of our Bibles, find out what they really say, and see if they are harmonious with the truth by which everything operates in accordance with. If they are dissonant we are bound to be frustrated. Endlessly lacking.

So discover. Analyze. Decide. Change.

The difference between living for efficiency at base or living for something like grace, love, and the glory of God is astronomical. You will not just live, but thrive.

H . a . r . m . o . n . y

I Found God.

I remember his small beady eyes listening intently to my frustrated declaration of confusion over why truth is so damn obscure in a world where supposedly God wants us to find it. After a few seconds of quiet he said something I've had a hard time forgetting since then. From the mouth of an academic--a rationalist, he said, "have a little faith, Leah." In the short pause I was given a view of myself from the outside. Profound mistrust masked in academic piety of my quest to get concrete answers. The power in his accusation was in its succinct expression. I realized that I virtually had checked faith at the door.

A lot has transpired in short six months between that conversation and where I stand now. Essentially what I've come to realize is that God would not have left truth as hieroglyphics to be deciphered by a handful of academic elites who would eventually make claims to, in fact, have come to terms with understanding the nature of everything.

Last year I lived solely for one desire to find truth. It being my first year at a prestigious, rigorously academic college, my genuine belief was that the means to discovering truth was through logical analysis of both religious texts and philosophical treatises, and the faculty of my mind to somehow synthesize it all. The process was really daunting. To be honest, that approach only led to a deeper, more complex confusion. I started to wonder how people were to find truth and whether it was even possible.

Believing in God was easy. Mere logic and inquiry will prove that. But which God? Is he knowable? How? After a long, hard year of questioning I came to the defeatist conclusion that truth had to exist in order for the world to operate, but while we are capable of hypothesizing about it, we are not capable of knowing it with certainty.

Simplicity of wisdom later made it clear that if God existed, His divinity meant sovereignty; sovereignty meant power--power I couldn't conceive. Thus, He has ways of reaching everyone: The intellectuals. The feelers. The impoverished. The consumers. Those who've heard, those who haven't heard. Because at the end of the day it really does come down to trust, and the openness of the human heart.

Now I've found God. Now I know who I love, yet He is no different than the God I've always loved. It's just that all of those dark splotches I could not reconcile in His character, the ugliness that made me scream and run have been wiped clean so I can see Him. And yes, He's beautiful. Yes, He is a Father. And yes, He commands obedience. Yes he sometimes calls us to suffer, but that does not negate his love for us. The most poignant thing is that this person is not a flowery vision brought into existence by my wishful thinking. That was always the problem before. I wanted safe, I wanted comfortable, I wanted lovely, I wanted utopia.

But he gave me something better.

He taught me how to love reality. And to be honest, if the truth that is unchangeable turned out to, in fact, mirror the truth I was fabricating, it would be a sorry day for all of us. Because life is not utopia, and God knows that. I would have been seasonally happy, but ill-equipped to live a life of freedom. Down the road it would have gotten really difficult to reconcile real life stuff with the expectancy of static transcendent, permanent peace. My current joy is not rooted in the fiction I wanted so badly to call a reality. But all of me rejoices with all of Him--the good and the bad--bad in the sense that we, as people, are forever vexed by our fixed notions of good and evil, that are most likely, but sadly, inaccurate. We're so reluctant to let those opinions be re-informed. Or better, redefined.

If we would only trust enough to let go of our illusive stability and see our individual worldiews for what they are--completely dichotomous. We claim belief in something, yet we functionally live differently. Why accede to the dishonesty?

The admittance that perhaps I didn't really believe in Christianity because I lived like a functional existentialist (or agnostic) was uncomfortable. And by functional I'm talking in the realm of hopes, thoughts, desires, decisions, life planning, and daily activity. Whatever Christian was, mine weren't Christian. So maybe Jesus wasn't real, and praying people were just so far convinced of something that the experience of everyone believing it together gave them that rush and that glow. There was the possibility that I was completely alone, and that everything I had given my life to was a lie.

After honest recognition follows honest search. I started looking for somewhere legitimate to anchor my belief. Then, I knew that once I had found it, I had to surrender my ideas.

I know, surrender has scary implications. Especially to a religion. because most of them are a) fatalistic, or b) a product of human construction flaunting the facade of divine instruction. And this leaves a bad taste in everyones mouth. Hope in science is worse--it makes US the saviors. Clearly we're not.

No wonder the contemporary American spirit is to make it up yourself. My gosh, that's better than submitting blindly to something that will control or screw up your life. But what about option c? Submission to a way that is actually better than yours. I'm pretty sure that if those of us who have testified to have found this way were truly convinced, we would be happily surrendering our consistently failing, disappointing methods.

The Bible says that those who are pure in heart are blessed because they will see God. When you picture purity, you get this picture of something really simple and liquid, almost clear--like water. It has no added elements. The pure in heart are those who recognized a long time ago that their water was contaminated and filthy. But they saw what pure water looked like and wanted it. Then they gave God room to purge out the muck, until the water glistened true in itself. Holistic. Beautiful. Pure.

I think purity starts with a recognition that sometimes we don't know what we're looking for. We don't know what is best. In some deep corner of every heart we know what goodness is and want it, but our understanding of it might be a little off. And so the particular way of life we are clinging to really is, to quote C.S. Lewis, "a mud pie when God wants to give us a holiday at the sea". This is your life. You have one. Don't let someone screw with it. Don't let lies mess with it. Don't you desire freedom?

Truth?

In the post-modern age, tolerance has painted it as too narrow. Relativism has made it inconceivable. The religious have made excuses for it, and in these waves of thought that compete with the longing of our hearts we have written off the legitimacy of a search for it.

So I would say the "good news" is that it not only exists, but it's available. Now.

Let go and let God. He'll surprise you. Trust. He'll awaken you. If you're looking, He will find you.

Longing for Nothing

If the worst evil i feel tonight
Is my aching, desperate longing
I will be okay for it will be
Forgotten in the morning.

Progress will fancy itself to be
Meaningful.
While underneath my motion,
The soil of my soul will suffer
One more day of
Swift and soft erosion.

In motion I am free.
In forgetfulness I'm beautiful.
In city lights I change hues but
In myself I am nothing.

I am in love with light,
But I am only shifting shadow
I am dishonest.

Because in stillness I'm not free
In reality I'm ugly
I am beautiful inventions
Webbed in lies beneath the masking.

In battle fire I felt safe, for I could not be killed.
But nights like these, in naked silence
Questions like arrows begin to gnaw away my armor
What am I really desperate for?
What am I really longing for?

I cannot be just desperate
I cannot be just longing.
For nothing.

The Base of Love

To be stolen from, but to hold no grudge
To bear the sores and scars, yet think no more of where they came
All fear disposed
So eager to exert again
Nonsensical it seems, but willingly
You'd give it all again.
To be given eyes to see
You were not stolen from at all,
But were shown the base of love.

Transcendence

Then transcendence, she whispers to my heart
Secrets of the world
Discreet enough so I listen closer; Deafening in power
Illuminating souls of things
In a language understood but unable to be spoken,
Gripping to the soul, but healing for my bones
Waves, waves, oceans of gravity pulling me down, ushering me in till I'm
Finally home.
The only constancy is dreams; the only salvation to me is beauty
Where my one sensation believes I am free

Finally escaping,
In the loss of me that I've been hungering for
Finally perceiving
Making sense of what is seen.

I choose the real,
Replete with sick and pain
I choose to feel
Cause happiness grows thin to fade
I trust you; I relinquish all
Compelled to love, I rest in awe
Where silence speaks
The softest song of God