tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2812815188817355982024-02-19T07:40:51.547-08:00lindsanityLindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-43265760726608161132014-04-15T23:35:00.000-07:002014-04-15T23:35:07.747-07:00narrative nonfiction<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Someone was in my room. The sky outside was bruising itself
with a sunset and my sweating feet were swimming in the tiny sheet that covered
them. There was a voice in my room, but it was too dark to tell who was there
and my mind was still defogging from the confusion of sleep. The person was far
too manly and Arabic-like to be my female, English-speaking roommate, Emily.
The room swelled with the voice, and I sat up, waiting to meet the criminal who
unlawfully entered our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The call to prayer.</i> The eerie sounds of
Allah’s shepherds welcomed the changing skies and calling the faithful to their
mats. I swallowed the panic sitting cross-legged in my throat and rolled over
to my clock. It was sometime between the hours of 4 and 5 AM, and I had been in
a travel-induced coma since we arrived the previous day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was my first morning in Nazareth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">_______<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nazareth
is a city on a hill—which I can only undoubtedly assume was Jesus’ inspiration
for the saying. At the very height of the cliffs sits a hospital where I lived,
and sitting at its feet was my workplace, a petite farm village snuggled into
the hills, intended to recreate life in the first century for tourists. Living
at the highest point in Nazareth meant I could see everything, even the very
distant corners of Lebanon and the scared land of warring Syria. The white
walls of the city below stood like dominoes and the blue of the sky reached out
its palms towards their roofs. The trees seemed to sing as their lungs filled
with birdsongs and chatter. The city was ancient, yet very much alive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Despite
all of its biblical glory, Nazareth was actually fairly simple, offering few
tourist destinations or holy sites. The downtown was a cramped living room: the
streets and sidewalks are one, with pedestrians, cars, and falafel stands all
packed in like fans in a stadium. There was little room to breathe, as car
horns competed with people’s voices as they ask where your pale skin hails
from. The storefronts were an interesting ode to Nazareth’s culture, selling
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hijab</i> for the Muslim wife
alongside sequined mini-dresses for the less-modest Christian believer. The
city was the meeting point of modern—laced with litter and neon ads—with
historic—composed entirely of biblically aged buildings and pathways of Jesus'
walk. It was the crash site between competing religions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was in God’s land. Allah was singing in the rafters and Jesus had danced on
this earth. I outlined Christ’s footprints with my own, walking where he once
had and among the descendants of those he preached to. I could see him
everywhere: in the blue of the Palestinian eyes, in the honey of the Arab skin,
in the strapped sandals trend that are named after him. While there, I was also
doing his work—not just ministering to others about His life and death, but
washing hands and feet of dialysis patients in the hospital and doing carpentry
work at Nazareth Village. I saw him, I mimicked him, I walked among him, but
for some reason, I couldn’t feel him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">“All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">We have left God’s paths to follow our own.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">- Isaiah 53:6</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">_______<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
had long wanted to be held in Israel’s arms and walk amidst her holy dust.
There is a love for the place that swims in my veins and lives in my marrow; a
seemingly genetic love that I inherited from my Opa, passed onto my mother and
then to me. Canadian soil had never been enough for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
a child, I would sit wide-eyed in front of the bookshelves the size of trees as
my Opa would recount the history of the Jews. He would begin with the Exodus,
when they feared the Pharoah, to the time his neighbours in Holland hid them in
their basement, when they feared the <i>Fuhrer</i>. He would trace his fingers
over the books’ spines, jumping from one book to the next as he jumped from one
century to another in their history. Some books were bigger than the Bible, and
in my juvenile mind that somehow made the books seem more important. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
mother picked up on this interest—suitably, as Jewish ancestry continues
through the mother—but for less historical reasons and more religious reasons.
When I was young, she would throw the map of Israel onto our kitchen table like
a tablecloth and map out Jesus’ life, connecting the dots and writing Bible
verses down at certain locations. She drew small stars on all the places she wanted
to visit, all the places that somehow had meaning to her although she had never
been there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
then there was me, inheriting the historical and the religious, and adding in
the political. I had my own filled bookshelves, my own marked-up map, my own “must-see”
lists. Everything I learned about and grew to love was now in front of me, the
world of my Opa’s and mom’s words coming to fruition. Their stories created the
city, decorated the walls of the churches I visited and watered the roots of
the trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
am the first one of the three of us to get here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">“He will gently lead the mother sheep with<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">their young.”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">- Isaiah 40:11</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">_______</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On
the third day, I found it. The roof laid like an open palm, waiting to embrace
or hold someone. All roofs in Nazareth were just as friendly, created flat and
ready to host a party or become a tanning bed. My roof was gated off—deemed
untouchable, despite its longing to hold someone. It was on top of the doctors’
dormitory and stood just before a cliff that fell into the open jaws of
Nazareth. It was labeled off limits, but that mystery only heightened my
determination to get there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
roof and the forest of Nazarene roofs below quickly became my shelter. Beyond
the gate sat my small amount of hope for spiritual recovery, and it became a
daily routine to see if I could connect to the eternal presence of the Holy
Spirit. Three things came with me every morning: a blanket, to save a burning,
water, to save desert dehydration, and my bible, to save my faith. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
words of Matthew and Moses quivered in the wind of the holy air, as I tried
everyday to feed my soul its daily bread. I forced my way through books I’d
read before, and saw my environment give a new translation to the words. I
would pray, closing my palms around their own sweat and closing my eyes to shut
out the city, the sun, and Lebanon. I would meditate, opening my hands to the heavens
and staring out at the eternal expanse of the desert. I listened for His
whisper of a voice in the sea of Nazareth noise. I prayed obediently, to a
different <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Allah</i> than everyone else
praying at that time, when the call to prayer sounded for a second time. Despite
my effort, the only progress was that of the wind, which slowly changed into a
dust storm. No holy fire, no moving spirit. I was in the land of God, but he wasn’t
there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">“I myself will search and find my sheep.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I will be like a shepherd looking for his scattered flock.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I will find my sheep and rescue them from all the places<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">where they were scattered on that dark and cloudy day.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">- Ezekiel 34:11</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">_______</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Three
weeks passed. My head was filled with stories of conversions from Islam to
Christianity; my heart was full of compassion and love for this unique
Arab-yet-Israeli city; and my days had been filled with exhausting volunteer
hours. Meanwhile, my spirit remained empty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On
my last day volunteering in Israel, I expected it would include much of the
same, being a bread-maker, a yarn-dyer, and a construction worker all in one
day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite
my growing professionality in those areas, I was assigned to a new job, a new
area that I had not yet experienced: the farm animals. The shepherd was called
to his second job unexpectedly, and he had to leave at lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Put
one of the Canadians on the job and see how well they do!” Samir, our blue-eyed
papa bear, offered. It was a joke, which unfortunately would be taken seriously
by Jul, the shepherd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
just have to put the sheep and the goats in the barn. It really is not that
difficult. Just call <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘yalla, yalla’ </i>and
they will run to you.” Even while he demonstrated, some stray sheep collected
at his feet, hearing his calling voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Have
fun!” he said, running off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
village covered a few acres, so the task of rounding up a bunch of fluffy
creatures didn’t seem overly difficult. The baby lambs could be carried to the
barn, and all of the donkeys were on leashes so they could be pulled along against
their own will.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come
on, sheeps! Yalla, yalla!” No clamouring of hooves, no stampede of white wool. Perhaps
my Arabic wasn’t quite as good as I thought it had been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“YALLA!”
I could have really used the help of that call to prayer speaker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No
new sheep appeared. The five sheep that had responded to Jul’s call stood around
me, staring doe-eyed into space like a bunch of mute philosophers, and were completely
unfazed by my attempts to herd together their friends. “I’ll just put you guys
away first, then,” I told the sheep, who spoke none of my languages. I took a
few steps toward the barn, which stood crooked and brown about 100 feet away. It
stared at me, as if knowing of my coming failure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yalla, kharouf!</i>” The Arabic still wasn’t
working, so I tried English again. “Come on, sheep! Hurry up, sheep!” I grabbed
a handful of leaves and waved it in front of their faces, making ridiculous
clicking sounds with my mouth while trying to talk them into walking. The
stubborn animals would not move. Their hooves were cemented to the earth
through sheer gravity and determination, and they were not interested in
following me to the barn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
if they wouldn’t follow me, then I would force them there. I planted myself
behind one of the unmoving pillows and pushed, losing my fingers into the abyss
of their wool. The sheep quickly responded, locking its knees and leaning
backwards into me. “Oh, you stupid thing,” I told it. The fluffy factor was
wearing off and these animals were very quickly losing their cute aspect. I
tried and re-tried all of my techniques, but after 20 minutes the only thing I
had to show for my efforts was a growing tidepool of sweat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Lindsay!”
I heard my voice being called from the bottom of the hill. “Lindsay! What are
you doing?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jul,
in his Jesus sandals, came running at me from the lunchroom. Turned out his
other employer no longer needed him, and he had been watching my useless
efforts of shepherding the entire time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
trying to get your sheep together. It’s impossible!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jul
quickly showed me how it was done. His <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">yallas</i>
echoed off the cliffs, his words hanging like Christmas lights in the air. The
sheep came bounding, their little white heads bobbing above the grass with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bahs</i> in their throat. They came in
numbers, 5 then 10 then 20, and congregated at Jul’s feet, patiently waiting
for their next line of orders. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is this guy serious?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">The entire flock dutifully skipped
behind Jul’s heels, as he led them to their home. He picked a baby lamb up from
the river of white and placed the small ball of fluff into my arms. Finally, a
job I was good at. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">“Care
for the flock that God has entrusted to you.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Watch
over it willingly, not grudgingly.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">-
1 Peter 5:2<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times;">_______<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
took one last visit to my roof that night, to drink in the lights of the city
and the lights of the cloudless sky. Nazareth was tucked under its blanket of
black, but noises from car horns and conversations snuck out. The chaos never
slept. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
went empty-handed to my palm-like roof, leaving my bible, my blanket, and my
water behind. I went naked and bare, only going to say goodbye to the city that
had nestled its way into my heart so easily. The barn stood a few hundred metres
downhill, sitting tall and crooked in the darkness. The sheep were silent, and
probably standing around absolutely clueless without their shepherd to direct
them. The sheep. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The sheep.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
was what I was called to be. God could have called me to be something ferocious
and dominant, like a bear or a lion. He could’ve at least flattered his
followers by naming them after an intellectual, strategizing animal that had
built-in weaponry, like fangs and claws. But he didn’t. God wanted me to be a
sheep. He wants his people to be well trained in essentially only one thing:
following His voice, and only his voice. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t feel
him or couldn’t hear him, I had to trust that He was always <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">there</i>. Even if I didn’t have the emotion
to go with it, I had to base my faith on that knowledge. The metaphorical lightbulbs
quickly lent to smiling, as I laughed at my own sheep-like stupidity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Someone
was on my roof that night. And it was Jesus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">“If
a man has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders away, what will we do? Won’t
he leave the ninety-nine others on the hills and go out to search for the one
that is lost? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he will rejoice over it
more than over the ninety-nine that didn’t wander away!” - Matthew 18:12<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times;">_______<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-18130565081294103682014-03-20T23:14:00.004-07:002014-03-20T23:14:32.079-07:00the linden tree<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">a tree, standing in branchy
solidarity with its fellow companions<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">a tree hidden and
unassuming with arms outstretched in a lazy embrace<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">waiting to be discovered<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">waiting to have a human<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">with calloused hands and a
heart of naivety, I climbed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">we were introduced to one
another as we traded touch for cuts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">at 20 feet, the perfect
branch:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">a hammock-shaped limb, like
a wooden cupped hand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">waiting to hold
something/someone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">another day, another ascent<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">I brought pencils in my
teeth and books on my back<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">a tree became a desk and
the canopy <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">peered over my shoulder,
cheating<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">reading my answers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">another month, another
ascent<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">not to be held<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">not to do homework<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">but to hide<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">and escape walls hunched
under the weight of hateful words<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">to hide from parents
erasing their marriage<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">and erasing each other<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">parents who pushed me into
learning to love trees<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">rather than people<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-30443035090324157622014-01-25T19:56:00.000-08:002014-01-26T20:56:25.601-08:00i'll punch you with my wordsi'd rather open my mouth than close my fistsLindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-65518232852005891822014-01-11T22:47:00.003-08:002014-01-11T22:47:39.220-08:00Backyard Pools<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I swam on the
moon,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">you told me one
day, while we held pinkies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and handed one
another our secrets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What? How? How do
you swim through rock or<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">in cheese, if
you’re old fashioned?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I asked his eyes
of certainty,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">his face of
marble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, these
geologists and NASAologists and whoever<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">is important in
this world on other worlds <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">are all
completely missing it. Completely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They’re so
convinced Mars or Mercury could hold water <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">that they’re completely
looking past <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">our
perma-cloud.” That hadn’t answered my what or how. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I believed
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt his hand
wrap around my idea of truth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and wring it
out. I was raining on the inside.<br />
“What was it like?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the watery words
spilled from my mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“There were
great pools,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the colour of
silver and dust. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They were like
liquid statues in a museum of craters.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Will you go again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He traced the
cliffs of his collarbones,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">while I planned how
to trace the fingerprints of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">luna</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and dance on her
freckles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The air between
us was a question mark,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">hung like
Christmas lights. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had picked up
on my whispers of hints but showed no wear of it:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A liquid statue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Let’s go to Ganymede. I hope you like
skating.” </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-1083756961689292512013-11-20T22:44:00.000-08:002014-01-11T22:48:52.358-08:00october<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
silent murder of orange<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">pierced
skin, punctured head,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">embalmed
organs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">it
was the mummification of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">squash
on a floor of newspaper <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">alive
with words<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
wine glasses were finger- and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">lip-printed,
ringing with<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
echolocation of our words<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and
laughter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">van
gogh sat on the couch, painting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
starry night into a <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">carrot-coloured
landscape<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
flower child made her pumpkin a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mirror
and carved her soul into it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
freckled one looked<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">casually
belonging in our museum<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">of
orange<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">we
had long since left the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">dusty
streets of the city of peace,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">but
one thing remained with us:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
small, domestic camel on the box<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">that
spoke half in Hebrew, half in Arabic</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">we
wanted Jerusalem in our lungs again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m
scared that I’ll choke,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">said
van gogh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“oh
please, you’re Dutch, you’re<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">practically
born with smoke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">in
the lungs,” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
freckles piped in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">there
were no coughs,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">just
laughter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the
smoke rose from the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">candles
in our throats<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">trails
chasing each other in the <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">midnight
air, only to sit slowly into the fog<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">like
clumsy limbs into a chair<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and
our pumpkins sat inside,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">with
death in their teeth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and
fire in their lungs,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 252.0pt 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">while
we did the same</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">outside</span></div>
Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-63948257807203997572013-11-13T23:37:00.001-08:002013-12-18T12:00:27.779-08:00from hero to humanyou never want to meet your heroes, they say<br />
because unlike in Marvel films<br />
you lose your taste of love for them.<br />
<br />
because sometimes their dark shirts are marked with that faint white<br />
paintbrush from a deoderant stick<br />
and sometimes their unshaven stubble is like a cheese grater<br />
rather than some manly coming-of-age appeal<br />
<br />
because sometimes their tongues trip<br />
and the words fall out like thrown dice<br />
and other times they say nothing and speak in silent, unwanted exhales<br />
<br />
because sometimes they hold you<br />
with their oatmeal hands<br />
and whisper into the cliffs of your collarbones<br />
and all the time you're thinking,<br />
"how did this person become so human to me?"Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-57101381379591082902013-11-03T22:35:00.001-08:002013-11-03T22:35:44.349-08:00After amany hours of personal experience and research...Reconciliation.<br />
We've somehow associated this term with all sorts of tangible objects: a bridge, a ladder, a peace sign. As if when it happens it's just over and said and done. <i>A master sketch. A final draft.</i><br />
But it's never finished. There will be days when steps are taken backward instead of forward, and feelings surface that have long been drowned out. Forgiveness is a circular process.<br />
<br />
And so, in circular fashion, we should perhaps choose the sun instead to be our tangible representation. Because reconciliation is a decision that you choose to wake up to, to put on, to walk around with. It is a never-ending cycle of day and night, with days hopefully longer than nights as the process goes on. It is a light that, like the sun, shines on the oppressor as well.<br />
<br />
It's weird to think that this universe wasn't created for ourselves. It's strange to think that each morning is not just an opportunity for you, but for everyone around you. That the sun does not discriminate and is always manufacturing light at her core, always shining. Not just for you, but for those you hate and deserve your hate. For those who have carved your skin into scars and beat your heart. Because if there's one lesson we can learn from sola, it's that they deserve a chance at life too.<br />
<br />
<br />Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-14960989736884210542013-10-17T22:50:00.000-07:002014-01-11T22:54:50.058-08:00I II III<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">I</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="background-color: white;">there was sap tangled</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">in my hair that day</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and you promised you'd get it out</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">but instead you left it</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and it tangled and knotted</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and mossed,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and it took on the same wild nature that</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">your heart has</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and before I knew it</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">you arrived with a wheelbarrow</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and a grin on your teeth</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and you heaved shovel</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">after shovel of soil around</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">my ankles, toes, and thighs</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">until my fingers could feel only dirt and no
longer skin</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and then you left me</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">waist-deep</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">in your mess</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">II</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">it was over.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">the sap in my hair</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">seemed to be in my blood</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and was making every beat, thought, and hurt</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">move slower through my body</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">you seemed to be syrup in my veins</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and just when I thought that was it</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">just when the soil around me felt light compared
to the</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">heavy hurt in my body</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">the dirt was rippling around your every</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">step, and you were running back</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">with that stupid elbowing grin</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and a bucket</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="background: white;">to free me</span></i><span style="background-color: white;">, I thought</span><br />
<i><span style="background: white;">to shovel
me out</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">but instead you traced a</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">finger on the piano of my</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">spine, pricked my skin,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and collected</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">all that I had in me left</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">"maple syrup" you said, with those
honey eyes</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">with that shy hint of accomplishment in your
lungs</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">III</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">and then you left,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">to go have pancakes with her.</span></span><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-5466005646073235292013-09-11T14:08:00.003-07:002013-09-12T10:34:01.214-07:00"always"there's a lamppost at the<br />
end of the train tracks that cut into the land and<br />
bite their way through the town with metal teeth<br />
where rust meets rust<br />
and light is cradled in a<br />
small hand of wax —<br />
meet me there<br />
meet me where the branches reach forward<br />
and the town is no more than just a whisper in<br />
a canyon<br />
meet me where the fog steps with heavy feet<br />
and blankets the cold and shivering bones of trees<br />
meet me where the strangers come on wheels<br />
from unmapped lands and the<br />
world begins anewLindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-8704482520004945102013-09-08T23:06:00.001-07:002013-09-08T23:06:11.916-07:00DIAGRAM<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"If everything on the planet cried out at once, even the moon couldn't hear."</span>Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-62459287619885072402013-09-06T23:04:00.001-07:002013-09-06T23:04:15.328-07:00concrete waterthat day<div>you were like the Hoover dam</div><div>when I mined the stone from your throat</div><div>and held it playfully in my palm</div><div>words, words, words</div><div>flooded your mouth and </div><div>poured slowly out</div><div>lapping at my hands and pooling at my ankles</div><div>words that were water,</div><div>both calm and soft, but deadly and drowning</div><div>words, words, words</div><div><br></div><div>I never knew one person could hold so much back</div>Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-80621822948081446922013-05-26T00:00:00.004-07:002013-05-26T00:00:33.622-07:00laying in bed with the windows openthe sound of planes<br />
is one of my favourites<br />
because it's a reminder<br />
that somebody somewhere<br />
is leaving behind their life<br />
and I could<br />
just as easily<br />
do the sameLindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-52209987587157854902013-04-28T00:27:00.000-07:002013-05-21T22:56:31.145-07:00four deaths in one yearfathers in the sky<br />
a death, a heaven<br />
a kingdom of cloud<br />
a place where you went when your breathing matched your level of care:<br />
<i>nothing</i><br />
<br />
fathers in the sky<br />
an elusive God who we instinctively look 'up' to<br />
a pointed finger<br />
a raised hand<br />
perhaps the world is just one big classroom<br />
and God isn't the principal<br />
but the janitor instead<br />
cleaning up after our messes and mopping our floors<br />
<br />
fathers in the sky<br />
a rookie on the team but an expert at dealing with loss<br />
but how do you comfort someone when words are just wasted breath, that can't breathe life into the dead?<br />
how can you feel mad about the situation<br />
when hers was taken away and yours only ran away?<br />
<br />
fathers in the sky<br />
why couldn't it be you,<br />
my 16-year old self cries<br />
why couldn't it be you<br />
and not him insteadLindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-86431405258846972312013-04-16T00:33:00.000-07:002013-04-16T00:33:25.706-07:00steveston highway to hell"Is it like having food poisoning all the time?" He asked, with eyes like an owl and intrigue on the mind.<br />
"No, it's worse." She said. "It's like being poisoned by yourself. It's like the venom is coming from something within you—as if your heart was made of cyanide or your blood was the wrong type. It's like your lungs are on the outside of your ribs and every breath is a reminder of pain. It's like you have knots in your body, but no one to untie them. In a weird, twisted way it seems like it's your own fault. Because it begins and ends inside your body."<br />
"Hm. Sight must be your dominant sense then." It seemed like an awkward time to bring this up now; something they had both learned years ago as psychology majors. <i>Listen to the verbs</i>, they were once told. <i>Within 5 minutes the other person will have said enough for you to know what sense is their primary one.</i><br />
"What? Am I like your client now? You're going to speak to me in my own language and be my Chuck Macknee?" She accused, misplacing his empathy for pity.<br />
"No, I didn't mean... I just..." He wavered in his attempts to help. "I just meant that it must be hard to have no tangibles. To have nothing to hold and see and feel and to put all the blame on. Nothing to break if you want, to scream at, to blaspheme..it's just you. You are your own scapegoat."<br />
"I'm not goat," she looked up. "I'm a sheep, for heaven's sake." She aggressively unhugged her legs, smacked the linoleum floor with her feet, and walked down the hall to the nearest toilet.Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-53093021132716063902013-03-29T11:59:00.000-07:002013-03-29T11:59:28.718-07:00bind my wandering heart to yoursshe picks the cat hair<br />
off my clothes<br />
but why can't a soul<br />
be de-linted as quickly<br />
because your beard<br />
is still on my neck<br />
and I carry you around<br />
like the luggage<br />
that weighs you down<br />
in an airport<br />
or the weight of the sea<br />
on your chest<br />
when you try<br />
come up for breath<br />
and tell me why is it so much easier<br />
to stay obsessed about<br />
a love that never happened<br />
than a love that never ends<br />
I'm talking Jesus, people<br />
where are my Jesus people?<br />
and why do I pretend like<br />
the weight of luggage<br />
or the weight of the waves<br />
is anything compared to<br />
the weight of a cross?<br />
<br />
Christ, I'm a mess.<br />
Christ. I'm a mess.Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-15871915399627600712013-03-25T23:40:00.001-07:002013-03-25T23:40:19.345-07:00earth hourI watched the sunset from my bathroom tonight.<br />
I watched as the horizon swallowed the sun<br />
and digested it in hues of yellow, pink, purple.<br />
maybe the clouds are the good guys after all<br />
hiding us from the colourful murder that takes place<br />
every night<br />
that I watch with delight<br />
from a place so commonplace<br />
as my sinkLindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-6317749054936063742013-03-24T00:06:00.000-07:002013-03-25T23:40:38.840-07:00I can still taste those s'mores in the sky<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Apparently I wrote this last June...</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">The sky is made of marshmallow here. After the sun dips its toes beneath the pool of the horizon, the sky is a rope of pastel colours and easter shades. It is a bag of coloured jet puffs melted onto the curtains of the heavens. It's an edible sunset.</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">It goes well with the moon that follows the sun's tail and comes loyally after it. At times it is a sliver; like a nuisance in the heel of the stars and the dark. Other times, she is full and watching, and the colour of a fresh pencil. And if you're lucky, luna is the shade of an expired sun. She is a simple glow with the suggestion of yellows + oranges + cheese-like qualities.</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Who knew you could taste a sky from a roof in Palestine.</span></span></span>Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-80968082399625562013-03-21T23:30:00.003-07:002013-03-21T23:31:07.732-07:0093"Whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars."<br />
<br />
- Victor HugoLindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-33071652930500512182013-03-17T00:52:00.002-07:002013-03-17T01:05:28.944-07:00my wife ran off with the butcher againthe girl who carried her words with her.<br />
her mind was a suitcase<br />
filled with things she meant to say.<br />
stuffed. heavy.<br />
<br />
the girl who stormed with words<br />
wanting to throw her thunder at others<br />
and impale people with her voice.<br />
wanting to be a weapon.<br />
<br />
<br />
but she really was the girl whose words were a desert<br />
empty, dry.<br />
thirsty to speak her mind, but parched when the time came.<br />
but at night, with no one around, she came alive;<br />
with no one to talk to, she finally found her voice.<br />
<br />Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-66820993562734911502013-03-11T15:52:00.001-07:002013-03-11T15:52:58.442-07:00Her place in the universe"I don't know myself", she whispered, listening to the echo of her thoughts.<br />
"How does a person not know themselves?" She was wondering out loud now. She was waiting for an answer from someone, anyone. Twenty years, and she was looking for one answer.<br />
When had she been certain? When was she sure? Perhaps an unspoken part of adulthood was a continual life crisis of understanding. Perhaps maturity came in those moments of raw introspection, but she couldn't see it yet. The sunlight danced in the window, as if teasing her with its certainty of character.<br />
"The sun certainly knows what it is. It knows what it does, that it's needed, that the solar system depends on it. It has some strength to it, at least." Tears were welling, and that teasing light wasn't helping her vision any.<br />
"Yeah." His voice seemed to be bright, and she squinted when he spoke. He was like the skies. "But not without a little internal turmoil. I mean, have you seen the sun before? It's bruised with sun spots, and its surface is always shattered with plasmic loops. I'm pretty sure that's the equivalent to a personality dilemma in a star, anyway. It knows it's needed and necessary, but that doesn't mean it's not conflicted about it."<br />
She looked around the room for an escape from the words. Poster; lamp; bed sheets. His words were everywhere she looked. Sitting cross-legged like opened presents, waiting to be looked at a second time.<br />
"It's different, though." He was cute, but she had to fight him and his romanticized idea of the universe. "The sun doesn't have a gender or a boyfriend or a sexuality or a future career or ...or... pressure. The sun doesn't have to be worried with--with life." She wanted her sentences to come out like fists, punching his in the stomach. Instead, they were coming out with no bones, shape, skeleton—weak.<br />
"Oh? If you want to learn about pressure, I invite you to the core of our sun's colliding soul. If you want to talk about life, you can begin and only begin at our breathing star. And truly you must think that the sun is a boy?"<br />
She looked at him and couldn't help but smile. Damn him and his charming ways.<br />
<br />Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-47864172576250884352013-03-10T00:31:00.000-08:002013-03-11T15:55:48.794-07:00"For you I was a chapter, for me you were the book"You sounded like a Monday, coaxing me gently from my weekend of sleep.<br />
Your words were like amethyst, carved from rock.<br />
You were like the seconds spent in a waiting room, keeping me hopeful and waiting.<br />
<br />
<br />
But what I missed was that you were actually a Friday, putting me to bed and throwing heavy blankets on me like snow.<br />
You were a cliff, unable to be scaled or sculpted. A cliff I would throw myself off of.<br />
And you were really the hours, the days, the weeks. Nothing hopeful. And no longer waiting.<br />
<br />Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-8441315136087689672013-03-07T15:24:00.002-08:002013-03-09T14:05:28.002-08:00the reasons have all run away, but the feeling never didhow great is it when you hear and begin to love a new song. you crave the taste of those notes on your lips. you learn the words and trace the outline of the lyrics with your fingertips. you keep it on repeat until you've successfully brainwashed yourself into memorizing every breathe and hiccup. when it's not around, you find the song on the edges of your thoughts and at the tip of your teeth. you speak the same language. you almost romance it.<br />
<br />
but after a while, it begins to fade. the words become stale and the notes taste bitter on your tongue. the instruments sound like cracked knuckles and the voice bites at your eardrums. the tune is like paint drying and you can't believe there was ever a time you had enjoyed it. the notes slip away from your mouth, your mind, your memory. a quintessential decrescendo.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>you are my new song.</i><br />
<i>you are my new song that needs to become my old song.</i><br />
<i>please, let me be sick of you soon.</i>Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-36728895769917562432013-03-02T10:16:00.000-08:002013-03-09T14:06:05.875-08:00Time for Jesustime<u><i>Philippians 2:12-30</i></u><br />
"I hope to send Timothy to you soon for a visit." (2:19)<br />
"Meanwhile, I thought I should send Epaphroditus back to you." (2:25)<br />
<br />
What would faith look like if we were willing to be sent?<br />
What would faith look like if we walked—feet dragging under our own weight, sun baking our skin— where God and fellow Christians needed us to be?<br />
<br />
Often times we fall into the trap called <i>self</i>. We clench our needs, our worries, our desires, our faith into fists and we forget to leave room to carry others' burdens or joys. Our ability to be His hands becomes seriously diminished by our need to hold our own worlds. We're too busy entertaining ourselves to realize there's an audience before us. Welcome to the fall of man, where we are our own trap.<br />
In these verses, Paul presents us with three examples of <i>self</i>less community and selfless faith. Timothy and Epaphroditus desperately craved growth in the Philippi church, but knew this could not be done without support—tangible support. In an effort to be Jesus' hands and to be the builders of faith, they went. Oceans that drown, bodies that ache, governments that arrest; they suffered the miles all to simply uphold the Christian community. They would risk being broken if it meant keeping their brothers and sisters strong. What would happen if you had this same sense of sacrifice for others' spiritual walks? How would those around you grow?<br />
<br />
Paul himself also speaks a message of selflessness in verse 17, when he says, "But I will rejoice, even if I lose my life, pouring it out like a liquid offering to God." He seemingly taunts death, attributing joy to it and wagging his imprisoned fingers in its face. Even behind bars, with the execution scene at hand, Paul remains God-centered and bold in this perspective.<br />
These days, we arm-wrestle the idea of boldness to the ground, somehow, ironically, with our laxity. We stay busy, we stay scheduled, we stay cowered behind our mountains of to-do lists, we stay focused on "me, me, me." We find ourselves walking straight into the metallic teeth of that same old trap. A part of being bold, however, is to lose one's pride and let go of one's <i>self</i>. How would your day change if you spent the same amount of time focusing on God as you did on yourself?<br />
<br />
Today's challenge: Be someone's Timothy. I'm not saying walk an ocean or travel to Macedonia, but be intentional in supporting a fellow brother and sister in Christ. Pray with someone you've been meaning to pray for lately. Write a note of encouragement to someone who's been struggling in the mire of life recently. Be a pillar of strength in someone's house of God.Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-91507294999030962042013-02-28T20:33:00.000-08:002013-11-03T22:25:52.582-08:00"I found our spirit instrument"we<br />
are like a violin.<br />
strung around one another,<br />
built on tension.<br />
hitting those notes<br />
of frustration.<br />
yet wanting, needing, craving;<br />
a crescendo of lust.<br />
fine-tuned to hostility,<br />
but hard-wired for love.<br />
<br />
<br />
about to snap<br />
and become two forever.<br />
or<br />
about to make a symphony<br />
and at least taste<br />
being one for a moment.Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281281518881735598.post-1460810544448937352013-02-24T01:43:00.004-08:002013-02-24T01:43:48.775-08:00you're my West Bank, not my Dead SeaI could use an ocean to wash this away.<br />
I could use a beer to wash it down.Lindsay Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11554860481636088113noreply@blogger.com0