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. 

Non Omnis Moriar

Not all of me will die. 

Death

--one of the most beautiful experiences life has the opportunity to participate in. Surely our lack of knowledge on life beyond the grave would compel us to marvel at this mystery. Instead, death itself has become taboo. 

No one wants to talk about it, hear about it, let alone think on for even a moment. 

I find that strange. If death is indeed inevitable, wouldn't it be more productive to spend time acknowledging and even preparing for it? Or do you find it suitable to waste your time thinking on things that are of no use to your eternity?

Shame. 

Even modern Christianity has taken death and made it unbearable. We would much rather emphasize the importance of living instead of dying. I am completely aware of the results of ones passing. It has not escaped my mind nor will it ever. But I am worried that our devotion to life has brought us to forget that we once were devoted to death. Perhaps our most prime and influential example would be that of Christ, who we all seek to mimic. His life was brought to excellence through death, so that in turn our lives may be brought to excellence through his death. BUT, it doesn't stop there. Even the early Christians recognized that their lives were to be reflections of Christ's. Of course they took joy in the blessings of God, but simultaneously they took joy in the suffering. Not only their emotional suffering, but their physical suffering as well. You see, to them, it was a privilege to have the mark of death on their heads. To them it meant that their lives were purposed, and not only that, it meant that their lives were pleasing. They spent every moment preparing for that one instant, where their mortal eyes close and reopen in the light of Father. That was it for them; the reconciliation of servant to master. And if by their death a testimony of true salvation was born, then let it be. 

Perhaps it would do us some good to live as the martyrs. To speak as Polycarp did when he said "Father, I bless you that you have deemed me worthy of this day and hour, that I might take a portion of the martyrs in the cup of Christ... Among these may I today be welcome before thy face as a rich and acceptable sacrifice."

Perhaps even, it would do us some good to see life in the same way they did: to live as unto death.

July--A month of favor

Dear Love,

You changed your name.

 It's quite beautiful, 

as are you. 

I can speak of you with ease now,

my heart does not ache when you come to mind. 

Your voice is comfort and strength to my weakened will. 

Your hands are strong and labored, yet giving and tender.

I drove 300 miles to get to you.

Id walk that much too if I knew you'd be on the other side waiting. 

Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed I find myself having to sit in order to catch my breath. 

Yes, this is really happening.

Yes, its happening to me. 

Its real--its tangible. 

You're not a phone, or a computer, or even a memory,

you, my love, are a real person-- a real heart.

And you really have my heart, Julio.

You Have a Comforter

David Wilkerson Devotional:

I am learning something very wonderful about the Holy Spirit. He has a unique characteristic: He does not like to talk about himself. He does not make himself the primary object of our attention.

I have tried earnestly to study the Holy Spirit, digging into entire volumes about him written by respected authors. Some of these books are very deep and often hard to understand—books about his nature and personality. They are all very interesting—but not always edifying. The fact is, they can’t be edifying because you can only understand what the Spirit himself reveals and he won’t talk about himself!

I have tried digging into the meaning of the Holy Spirit’s names—Comforter, Paraclete, Advocate, Intercessor—looking for some insight as to who he is. But I finally realized that we Christians don’t have to understand the person of the Holy Spirit—because he doesn’t want to tell us hidden things about himself. All we need to know is that he is one of the Godhead: eternal, the very Spirit of Christ, sent down to this earth to live in us who believe. And his eyes are always on Christ!

The Holy Spirit doesn’t want us to know about him so much as to know about his mission, and that mission is to bring us to Jesus and keep us in purity and holiness. He is always at work, making Christ known in our hearts, and he delights in our seeking knowledge about why he has come.

Jesus said, “When he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will show you things to come. He shall glorify me: for he shall receive of mine, and shall show it unto you (John 16:13-14).

Stitch me up, doc.

I could have sworn I'd seen your face a thousand times before. 

Although I never had the luxury of touching mine to yours. It's a battle few win. Many are left wounded; some lose pieces of them and some walk away with few scars. Superficially its alterable. Internally--its a different story. 

I decided that this time I wasn't going to let my past dictate my future. I finally had it set in my mind that I was stronger than I had believed before. My heart is strong. Im not a weak willed person by any means. I can take a hit, try me. But if I've taken the time out to personally remove barriers and blockades that I, myself, have built...how is it reasonable that others don't give that same regard? My dreams are ruining me, my heart is ready to jump out of me, and my oxygen tank is low (from wasting my breath.) What gives, Love? What gives.....

Love, you fooled me once--shame on you. But, I swear, you're not fooling me twice. 

I could have sworn I'd seen your face a thousand times before. Although I never had the luxury of touching mine to yours. But I promise this time I'll win. 

I promise that this time Ill walk away unscathed. 

At first sight

Im certainly not a cynic. I truly and deeply believe in love above all things. Every so often you hear those stories about love that take your breath away. Books, movies, poems...I find myself with a sudden lack of curiosity for moments like those. Their various depictions, although true and relevant for some, have begun to bore me. Really love? You want to shout from a mountain top? I want to shout from a mountain top every time I get a new pair of shoes. Do better.