Undisguised

I have longed for the day when I could rip my bandages off--unashamed of the scars I bear. 

A bloody apology

I am currently sitting on a giant bean bag filled with foam in our apartment. My computer is resting on my lazy suzan coffee table with Nichole Nordeman playing in the background.

I have no desire to rest.

I am aroused with ambition and anxiety.

There is no root to my sentiments. It’s a raging concoction of emotion that will not easily subside. I have felt this way before, I imagine everyone has. But, I’m so beyond enamored by the mercy of God at this very moment. He remains faithful, even when I place Him on the back burner. When I decide to pull out that old friend, dust Him off, and respond to his beckoning, my world is transformed—by one simple thought. I sat in a class last semester where we had a guest speaker. I can’t recall her name at the moment, but she is in the process of writing a book. The premise of her book is astounding. It brings to the front a paradox to which we are unfamiliar.

Christ as an apology.

The most beautiful and humble apology I have ever given my heart to. Unrehearsed and bloody.

I have pains that constantly throb in the light of exposure. And even without it I am still wounded. I am learning, slowly but surely, that faith in mankind is null. But mankind doesn’t need us to have faith in it’s can’s and can not’s. No. Mankind needs us to have faith in God. I have absolute confidence in the fallibility of man. But I have even more confidence in the infallibility of God.

Sacrifice in its earliest form was a way of earning redemption. It was a human apology for iniquity and unrighteousness.

I do not wish to argue doctrine with pompous theologians or prideful Pharisees. My ultimate hope, my greatest desire, is that we learn to see Christ as an apology—a sacrifice for the iniquity of mankind. Coincidentally, men did not intend for Christ’s death to be a sacrifice—that was the intention of God Himself.

Perhaps Christ’s death would become the redeeming factor that we all lack within our humanity. Perhaps it was God saying “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry she hurt you.

I’m sorry he left you.

I’m sorry they lied.

I’m sorry he’s abusive.

I’m sorry she cheated.

I’m sorry you lost your mother.

I’m sorry that you lived that way.

I’m sorry the drugs had such a hold on you.

I’m sorry for each and every wound,

and if you wont let me bandage each one individually then I’ll wash them all clean with the blood of my beloved.

Christ as an apology is the greatest act of mercy. It propels us into a greater capability that we don’t posses without it. We are now capable of forgiveness. Because he/she/them may never apologize—but that does not excuse us from forgiving them. Because of Christ’s apology we are now obligated to forgive. At some point in our lives we were no better than the people we despise. I am so thankful for an apology from someone who actually means it. Someone who's blood stands as a signature and a closing. Someone who remains faithful, even when they've been charred by my spiritual harlotry.

I am forgiven.

Now I can forgive.

A reflection of James 3

I am a fountain. Guzzling and spewing. I take from a source that is tainted and overflow tainted waters. My water is bitter and abundant in salt.

How did I get to this place?

What has changed the course of my flow so drastically?

I have been rebellious with my tongue. I have allowed it to utter bitter expressions and then carry itself into the presence of God.

Shame.

My salty utterances have left me strung and I am drowning in my wasteful words, every letter rises up to lodge itself into my lungs until all that’s left of me is just that—words.

How can we begin to tame our tongues? How or where do we begin with our nature and ourselves?

I struggle with changing my mindset. I’ve never been one to self motivate or even heed the motivation of others. But lately I find myself with an extreme desire to seek all things holy. I am learning that there is no satisfaction in an unbridled tongue. Perhaps that is where our transformation from salt to fresh water begins—in our simple dissatisfaction with ourselves, in our complete disgust at our current current.

You and you alone have the power to change your mind. You can decide your mood. You can decide whether or not to speak ill of another. You decide how far you’re willing to go to fulfill the purpose of God in your life.

But alas, we must first begin with a question, the evaluation of your motives and your heart.

Change the way you speak.

Change your confessions—and your destiny will follow suit.

Lets be cliche together

I hate these blogs. 

You know the ones where we gauge our wording because of the nearing holidays. But I give in this time.

***

Ah, the smell of turkey and ham. The rice, beans, potato salads, casseroles, and baked goods. 

Another good 'ol American holiday. 

Our fireplace has fake leaves on it. I'm not sure why my mother decides to decorate our house with such tom foolery. Really, its very....cliche. But, living away from home has made me that much more appreciative of every fool I've come to love throughout the years. 

My family, who have held my hand through difficult times.

My boyfriend, who's held my heart through my brokenness. 

My friends: Gab, Jess, and Ro, who have carried my weight, figuratively and literally, through my weakness. 

Fools. All of them. 

Fools for staying so close for so long. 

I love each and every one of you with everything that I have.

And tomorrow I'll be thanking God, the one who's held my life for 23 years, for you guys more than anything. 

aut Caesar aut nihil

I can only pray that my transparency goes over well. 

Im quite sure it will turn some heads and crick some necks.

All in good faith--I'll share my heart.

I have learned how to pray. I've learned how to enter into the presence of the Lord with fear and trembling. I've learned how to be bold. I've learned how to be strong. I've developed thick skin.

 I've learned humility. I've learned honor. I've learned how to be faithful, truthful, discerning, grateful, loving, submissive, creative, trustworthy, outspoken, zealous, giving, and more.

I learned to pray like a warrior in battle and travail like a laboring woman.

I've learned that the presence of the Lord is picky, so be afraid. 

I've learned to be bold in the face of adversity, but only if the adversity is directed toward you and your folk. 

I've developed thick skin through years of criticism. 

I've learned to be humble because someone else is always better than you, God can always choose someone else.

I've learned to honor those in charge, not those to whom its due.

I've learned to be faithful to the church.

I've learned to be truthful and have had a lot of "truth" spoken to me.

Ive learned to "discern" the atmosphere and do things according to those inclinations.

I've learned to be grateful for what you're given. Its all you may ever get, no matter how hard you work.

I've learned to be loving--with conditions, of course.

I've learned to be submissive--the mark of every "servant."

I've learned to be creative--in ways everyone else, but myself, can imagine.

I've learned to be trustworthy--everyone loves a snitch.

I've learned to be outspoken--quietly.

I've learned to be zealous, I'd like to pair this with enthusiastic. I was so enthused by even a hello.

And I've learned to be giving, with what little time, money, and energy I had.

And that, my friends, was just optimism.

et nos cedamus amori

Im at that point in my life where I just want to start my life. I want to get on with my degrees and career. I want to make the mistakes that will teach me to be a better wife, daughter, and someday--mother. I want to live in my own house and let the dust pile up to the point where I cant bear it another minute and am transformed into a cleaning bot. I want to go on little vacations and lay out on the beach next to my husband, no words, just sun. I want to drink wine on the porch and marvel at this little life I have created for myself. I want to accomplish life. 

Earlier this year I thought I had found a man who was going to carry me to those moments. But the tide turned again and pulled him out as quickly as he came. I could have sworn he was going to make my life count for something, instead he left me in shambles. He had left me in a pile of rubble and had taken my will to give again. I had decided that although he had ripped me in two I was going to hold on to whatever elation I had previously experienced with him. I lived in a dream. He was still gone, and I was still holding on.

One day a very good friend of mine had decided he'd wanted some company. It was July 4th. An American holiday filled with smoked brats, grilled burgers, red white and blue face paint, and a false sense of pride and security. Everyone goes about their family gatherings mingling and smiling, watching the children play with flags and light little firecrackers. Its the same every year. That night I planned on visiting him and then planned on heading over to another friends house for a midnight swim. Upon my arrival at his house I greeted his family and we proceeded outside to the roof of his garage. Theres a set of metal stairs that connect the patio to the roof, so we made our way up. 

Really, I had see much more spectacular views before. He lives in the Humbolt park area of Chicago, a predominantly Puerto Rican part of the city. The roof was plain. There were no chairs or tables. Nothing added as decoration, just a roof. For the next hour and a half, that roof became a key in one of my lifes most defining moments. See, for the first part of the summer everyone we knew kept prodding us and asking why we weren't dating yet. I could never date him, I knew if I did it would get too serious and I had never been ready for that kind of commitment. I would brush off everyones comments and continue with my summer. Til that night. 

We began a casual conversation about how strange it was that people keep asking us. It was surprising and flattering, but a risk we both knew could cost our friendship. I remember trying my best to avoid eye contact as our discussion progressed, he maintained a steady eye--on me. I leaned over the side of the garage and told him I wouldn't be able to give him everything. It wouldn't have been fair to him. My heart was still stuck somewhere under the ravaged remains of a past love. How could he want that? Who in the world could want a broken heart?

I can't imagine if he had never taken on such a daring feat. There he stood, a man, asking me for my heart--knowing I didn't even have it all to give. A man, who wanted my broken heart. 

How could I be selfish? I paused for a moment, breathed deeply, and handed it over. He's held it ever since. His tender grasp hasn't let go for a second.

I recently came across a quote that read, "I hadn't realized how much I'd been needing to meet someone I might be able say everything to." How true that rung for me. I've spent my life on paper. I never had to say anything to anyone cause all I would do is write it down. Now, I wish I had practiced saying more. I never thought that I needed to. 

I have found love. What I thought I had before doesn't even compare in the least. There is nothing closer to Godliness than this. To experience love is to come as close to God as He will allow without Him having to show His face. It's in Julio's eyes and smile that I learned what God must look like. It's in his arms where I felt the embrace of the Father, and in his hands where mine were safely kept. It's in the way he says " I love you" and the way he gives without inhibition. Its in his heart and his passion that I find my heart and my passion.

He brought me to that point. He makes me want to be a better daughter, and someday wife and mother. He makes me want to pick out coasters and couches. He makes me want to rent movies and slump around in my pajamas, eat take out, and laugh till we're sore. He makes the anticipations of days on the beach worth the wait. I look forward to the next 80 years with him here on earth, and the infinity after that. And to reaching that point together where we've accomplished life. 

In vinculis etiam audax

Those days where your heart is pained beyond belief. 

Those days where the scars seem too deep to heal.

Those days when you're so overwhelmed with anger and resentment you lash out at anyone.

You know,

Those days where your guard is up so high--

not even your own senses can climb up over it. 

Those days where all you want to do is sit at the foot of that mountain

cause you fell down it last time.

Those days where the altar seems un-kneelable cause you haven't been in so long.

Those days when you yell and respond to yourself through echos.

Those days when you can't leave your apartment cause you have no where to go.

Those days when everything you know is changing.

Those days that define the rest of your life. 

Those days.

Those are the days I wish I could put my heart on display. 

I'd set it in a glass box and let the world interview it.

I'd let it share its scars and breaks. 

I'd advise it to untape and unbandage every wound so the world could see what a real heart looks like.

I'd let it cry to the people who've hurt it the most.

I'd let them know how much they stole my mind.

I'd tell them how much it killed me to know that their love could grow so cold 

so fast.

I'd replay every word I've ever said to assure them that I was on their side. 

I'd flash pictures of the years I had spent waiting on them,

Hoping they'd look my way, hoping that I could gain their trust--

their hearts. 

Id give them every piece of me all over again

just.to.have.peace.

And Id put a name to every pain, 

so they could see the damage they've left on a real human.

A real heart.

On display.

But only on those days.